#Wedge Weaving

[abalone-lover]

A Weaving

James Bassler

2012

Art Institute of Chicago

From the Exhibition "Threaded Visions: Contemporary Weavings from the Collection" Feb 24–Aug 26, 2024

"A Weaving depicts an infinite loop of colorful striped thread that gives the illusion of three-dimensionality on a two-dimensional surface. As an educator and artist, James Bassler makes work that honors the historical weaving techniques that he has studied, practiced, and shared with his students throughout his career. Here, instead of the normal perpendicular crossings of warps and wefts, he used wedge weaving, which diverts the wefts to the diagonal. Thus, the work pays his respects to both ancient Peruvian and Diné (Navajo) cultural traditions from which wedge weaving originates."

[plusultraetc]

some favorite Aizawa panels from TUM 5, including ‘ready for instant action’ Aizawa (dork), looming Aizawa(s), and glamorously surprised Aizawa

[beej-machinations]

Day 11 Prompt:

"You put up walls and paint them all a shade of gray"

LISTER: Looks exactly the same to me. RIMMER: No. No, no, no. That’s the new Military Gray bit there, and that’s the dowdy, old, nasty Ocean Gray bit there.

Hogan's Heroes - s4e8 - Color the Luftwaffe Red Red Dwarf - s1e6 - Me²

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Some web weaving inspired by @whatisthismandoinghere's challenge, Cruel Summer at Stalag 13!

prompt list here

my other submissions for this challenge

below: Bonus Carter! (channeling Hawkeye)

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LUFTWAFFE OFFICER: Paint it the regulation color! LUFTWAFFE OFFICER: Well? What color is used in military buildings?

[shoesparadise]

[dilf-hunter-fantasies]

fantasizing about...

boyfriend joel miller fucking you on the kitchen table on a warm spring day cuz he can't even finish putting the groceries away without bending you over the table first

1.5k words 🌸 warnings: mdni/explicit/smut, no outbreak, female reader, reader has hair that joel can weave his fingers in, size kink, pussy pronouns, unprotected piv, creampie kink talk, use of: daddy, pretty girl, baby, praise and teasing

🍒 🌸 🍒 🌸 🍒 🌸 🍒 🌸 🍒 🌸 🍒 🌸 🍒

In between gasping breaths, you beg and beg for more.

“Harder—ah—harder, please!”

Joel keeps slamming you into the edge of the kitchen table, trapping you in place with his body. He splays one massive hand between your shoulder blades, pressing down firmly, squishing your tits against the cool wood surface.

His other hand clamps around your hip, keeping you in place as he fucks into you deeper and deeper. He snaps his hips brutally against you, jolting your whole body forward, causing your ass to ripple with each thrust.

He grunts through clenched teeth, bruising you as his fingers dig into your flesh.

You know you’ve got him wound up tight. You’d been a tease all morning as you ran errands, whispering your dirtiest thoughts to him in the middle of the produce section, not so subtly brushing your ass against his crotch at every checkout line, and, of course, revealing you had nothing on under your sundress before skipping off to the parking lot. And now he’s gonna make you take it all.

“Harder?” he taunts with a strained edge. “This needy little pussy isn’t satisfied being filled with Daddy’s cock?” He’s already fucking you hard enough that he thinks you might both go through the table.

Your brain isn’t connecting your thoughts. Your head lolls, bouncing a little each time his hips meet your ass. His cock is so thick it lights up every nerve inside of you. Makes it hard to focus. But you know he wants an answer.

“No,” you murmur, unable to add any context.

He stills deep inside of you causing you to whine. His hand grasps the base of your skull, fingers wearing tightly into the roots of your hair, and he turns you to meet his eyes. “No? It’s not enough?” His eyes are nearly black, but fire flickers behind them.

Your body isn’t helping. Spineless, sweaty, and limp. You’re only held together by the table and his body curled over you. You have to fight to hold your heavy eyelids open to respond.

“No, no,” your brows pinch as you murmur the word over and over.

Joel’s muscles are tense and his body is so sturdy. You can feel his chest rising and falling as he waits for you to string a full sentence together.

“No, it’s…” you fight to pull the thought together. “Daddy’s cock s’perfect,” you slur together.

Before you can conjure up another sentence, he pulls out of you, leaving you empty and aching, a whimper escaping before you can stop it. 

“Don’t lie,” he growls right into the shell of your ear before he flips you over.

It’s disorienting when he does that but it’s also a huge turn on. You’re always pliant in his hands, but there’s a thrill in knowing how much he needs this too.

He has you flat on your back now. The damp skin on your bare shoulders sticks to the tabletop before your jelly-like limbs can protest. Your dress is functionally useless with the hem rucked up above your hips and the neckline peeled down and wedged under the curve of you breasts.

“Not lying, Daddy,” you plead. He only hums in thought. Your eyes flutter shut as his hands skim along your legs, spreading them wider. He lifts them, slipping his hands under the back of your knees and pressing them towards your chest. You wiggle just until you’re perched at the edge of the table, eager for him to sink his fat cock back where it belongs. 

His hold is always secure, his weight pressing down on you, grounding you even as he drives you wild. Only Joel can have you floating in a romantic haze while he folds you in half and let’s you tremble and drip. 

A gentle breeze flows through the kitchen window as he keeps you waiting. The cool, moving air feels sublime as it kisses your heat-flushed skin. You’re certain you recognize the delicate, sweet scent of the apple blossoms drifting over you. It’s idyllic. Or, it would be, if it weren’t for the empty, aching feeling in your cunt.

“Please,” you start, so helpless your voice might crack, “I jus’ need you.” 

You hold your breath waiting to find out if you’re in trouble after your bad behavior or if he needs you just as bad right now. 

He watches your entrance flutter with needy contractions. “Beggin’ the only way she knows how,” he remarks. You strain to hold your head up, peeking at his cock. It makes your stomach flip and your lips part. 

It never gets less impressive. The smooth mushroom tip flushed a deep shade of red, the prominent veins you nearly know by heart, and the imposing girth all the way from tip to base. 

If you didn’t know better, you’d worry it wouldn’t fit. 

But you know exactly how perfectly it fits inside of you. And you need it. 

When you look up, meeting his eyes, they’re already locked on you. A smug, prideful smile curling his lips an crinkling his eyes. 

You whimper when he curls his body over yours and his dick nudges and prods your puffy folds. You arch, trying to angle yourself so he’ll slot right at your empty hole, but he’s faster. 

Devilish man.

He nips at the hinge of your jaw, before murmuring huskily at you. 

“Say it again, baby,” he kisses behind your ear. “What do you need?” 

You grab him by his dark curls, angling that scruffy jaw and those plush lips to yours for a hungry, heated kiss. He softens, letting you deepen the kiss, groaning into your mouth as you tug at his hair and claw at his shoulders. 

When he lifts up you both have wet, swollen lips and heavy-lidded eyes. 

“I asked you a question, pretty girl,” he teases, lowly, but with no malice behind it. His face hovers just above yours, warm breaths shared between your parted lips. 

“Need you to fuck me hard, Daddy.” 

“Yeah?”

“Please,” the word slips out like more of a pained whisper as your chest heaves beneath him. 

Joel hooks your hands behind your knees leaving you to hold yourself open for him. Then, you’re too close together to see, but you can hear the slick pull of his fist stroking his shaft, still coated in your arousal. When he lines himself up, slotted at your entrance, you nearly cry out. 

“How hard?” 

You let out a sharp gasp as he continues to tease you with otherworldly restraint, pushing just enough to light you up and then easing up. 

“So hard I can’t walk. Can’t talk. Can’t think.” 

He holds still, grinning at you. 

“Please, Daddy” you keep going, “jus’ wanna be fucked out and full of your cum the rest of the day.” You know the plea goes straight to his dick, you feel it throb and kick. 

“Repeat it.” He demands, something wilder flickering behind his eyes. 

“Want your cum dripping out of me the rest of the day.” 

He’s beaming as he stares down at you.

“Beg.”

“Please, Daddy—“ you choke as he splits you open onto his cock finally. One harsh stroke and he’s buried deep as he can be, but he holds still. You blink at him and start over. “Please, Daddy. Fuck me stupid with your big cock.”

“Again,” he demands, voice velvety and low. 

You’re squirming. Tears nearly spilling from your eyes out of desperate want.

“Please, please, please,” you chant in a breathy whisper.

He starts tracing half circles around your clit with his thumb. Holding you right on the edge. Your hips jerk and his other hand flattens across your lower stomach keeping you in place and adding to the pressure of his massive length that fills you to the brim and makes you moan. 

He grins at you and starts dragging himself, almost painfully slowly, in and out of you. Your nerves are all on fire with the intensity.

“Harder, please.” 

“Yeah, pretty girl,” he concedes in his rich voice, “you got it. Gonna fuck you dumb.”

You melt, eyes rolling back and head lolling resting against the firm table. He picks up speed, sawing in and out of you, setting a steady pace.  

He increases the pressure with his thumb, still circling your swollen bundle of nerves. Everything in you is burning bright. You’re whispering mindlessly, between breaths again, “please, Daddy—please.”

“That’s it, baby,” he croons softly like he hasn’t been torturing you. “Let me feel her. Love it when she tries to milk me.”

You let him talk you into it. Tipping you head first into a hot, bright orgasm. You can faintly hear him groaning as your wells clench around him, but his words get drowned out by your pleasure. 

You can barely hear anything over your own heartbeat pounding. Waves roll though you, and your cunt continues to clamp down on his dick while he still rocks into you. He only removes eases off of your pearl when your hips are twitching with sensitivity.

When you can finally make out words again, you have to slow him down. 

“What’re you saying?”

“Keep count for me.”

You tilt your head at him. Slow to process. 

“That’s one.” He says.

Oh. 

You’ve created a monster.

“One.” You affirm and he nods.

“Atta girl.”

🍒 🌸 🍒 🌸 🍒 🌸 🍒 🌸 🍒 🌸 🍒 🌸 🍒

click here for more of my writing

[pucksandpower]

Don’t Touch Her

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: Lando will do whatever it takes to ensure your safety after the unthinkable almost happens during a night out

Warnings: spiked drink, attempted SA, descriptions of seizure, hospitalization, and the implied murder of a minor character

You sway your hips to the pulsing beat, the colorful lights of the club flashing across your skin. Lando’s hands rest lightly on your waist, guiding you to the music. You lean into him, inhaling the faint scent of his cologne mixed with the tang of sweat in the humid air.

“I’m parched,” you say, turning to face him. “Want me to grab you a drink?”

He smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I can get them, love. You keep dancing.”

You shake your head, leaning in to give him a quick peck on the lips. “I need to get off my feet for a bit anyway. Same as usual?”

“Please. I’ll be right here waiting for you.”

You make your way through the crowded dance floor, weaving around gyrating bodies and flailing limbs. The bar is packed, patrons jostling for the bartenders’ attention. You manage to wedge yourself into a tiny gap, shouting your order over the commotion.

While waiting for the drinks, you check your phone. A few missed texts from friends, asking where you are. You fire back quick responses before pocketing the device just as the bartender slides two glasses toward you.

Vodka cranberry for you, rum and coke for Lando. You pass over a few bills, waving away the change, and turn to head back to the dance floor.

You take a long sip of your drink as you walk, the bubbly sweetness refreshing after all that dancing.

Lando is easy to spot, standing out due to the size of the crowd surrounding him. He smiles when he sees you coming, his whole face lighting up. Your heart flutters at the way he looks at you, like you’re the only person in the room.

You’re halfway to him when the first wave of dizziness hits. You stumble, drinks sloshing over your hands. Sudden nausea swirls in your gut. The room starts to spin, lights blurring into a kaleidoscope.

“Hey ...” You blink hard, trying to clear the fog creeping over your thoughts. “I don’t … feel so good.”

The glasses slide from your grip, shattering on the floor. You try to take a step toward Lando and the ground rushes up to meet you. Strong hands grab your arms, keeping you from collapsing completely.

“Whoa there, looks like someone started the party a little early.” The voice is unfamiliar, masculine with a hint of mocking laughter. You try to pull away but your limbs feel like lead.

“No, I ...” You shake your head, which only makes the dizziness worse. Through your dimming vision you can see Lando pushing through the crowd, his eyes wide.

“C’mon, there’s a back door this way. Let’s get you some air.” The man starts to guide you away, arms wrapped around your shoulders. Panic shoots through you and you try again to wrench yourself free, but it’s useless.

The cold night air hits you as the door swings open. The alley swims before you, dingy bricks and overflowing dumpsters. The man keeps walking, bearing you along while your weak protests fall on deaf ears.

Fear claws at your insides. You catch a glimpse of streetlights at the other end of the alley before he steers you into the shadows halfway down.

“S-stop,” you mumble, tongue heavy in your mouth. He just chuckles, pressing you against the brick wall.

“Shh, just relax. I’ll take good care of you.” His hand squeezes your thigh, rucking up your dress. Somewhere in the recesses of your fading mind, terror shrieks at you to fight, to run, but your traitorous body refuses to respond.

As the man leans in, the alley floods with light. Heavy footsteps pound on the pavement.

“Get your hands off her!” Lando’s voice booms with more fury than you’ve ever heard from him. The man holding you whirls around just as Lando’s fist connects with his jaw. He reels back with a cry, grip loosening. Lando catches you before you can slide to the ground.

“Hey, hey, I’ve got you.” His touch is infinitely gentle compared to the bruising hold of the stranger. He strokes your hair back from your face, eyes searching yours. “Can you hear me, love?”

You try to respond but only manage a faint whimper. Lando swears under his breath. Scooping you into his arms, he carries you swiftly from the alley. You press your face to his chest, clinging to him like a lifeline as he strides toward the street. Each jostling step sends the world spinning again.

Something is wrong. Terribly wrong.

Lando lowers you onto a bench outside the club, brushing his knuckles over your cheek. “Talk to me, please. What’s happening?”

You lick your dry lips, forcing words out with monumental effort. “Dizzy … everything … blurry ...”

Lando’s face creases with worry. He pulls out his phone to dial for help, but pauses when you suddenly convulse, muscles seizing. Your back arches, head slamming against the hard bench.

“Shit! Hold on, I’ve got you.” Lando slides his hand under your head, cradling it gently as the seizure wracks your body. Tears stream down his face as he murmurs soothing words, helpless to do anything but wait it out.

After endless moments, the convulsions stop. You go limp, gasping raggedly. The world fades in and out of focus, Lando’s anguished face floating above you.

“Please, baby, stay with me,” he begs, taking your hand and bringing it to his lips. “The ambulance will be here any second.”

You try to respond but darkness crowds the edges of your vision. The last thing you see before slipping into unconsciousness is Lando bent over you, shoulders shaking with sobs as he clutches your motionless hand.

***

Beeping.

Hushed voices.

The astringent scent of disinfectant.

You drift somewhere between waking and oblivion, grasping at fractured memories.

Lando’s face, streaked with tears.

Dancing bodies.

Pulsing lights.

The weight of unwanted hands, dragging you into the shadows.

With a sharp inhale, your eyes fly open. You’re in a hospital room, IV line taped to the back of your hand. Pale morning light filters through the blinds. The beeping comes from a monitor tracking your heartbeat.

“Hey.” Lando sits in a chair beside the bed, leaning forward when he sees you’re awake. His eyes are rimmed with red, hair disheveled. “How are you feeling?”

You try to speak but your throat is painfully dry. Lando grabs a cup of water, angling the straw so you can sip. The cool liquid soothes like a balm, washing away the cottony feeling in your mouth.

“What … what happened?” You rasp out finally.

Lando’s expression turns grim. “Someone drugged you at the club. Probably targeting an easy robbery, but ...” His jaw clenches, hands balling into fists. “If I had been even a few seconds later, he would have ...”

Unable to finish the thought, Lando buries his face in his hands. His shoulders tremble. Your heart aches, and you reach out to comb gentle fingers through his hair.

“But you weren’t,” you say softly. “You saved me.”

He looks up, eyes shining wetly. “I never should have let you out of my sight. If I lost you ...” His breath hitches, raw anguish written across his face.

“Hey, no.” You catch his hand, squeezing firmly. “This wasn’t your fault. You found me in time. That’s all that matters.”

Fresh tears spill down Lando’s cheeks. He brings your entwined hands to his lips, pressing a trembling kiss to your knuckles.

“I was so scared,” he chokes out. “Seeing you like that, helpless, shaking ...” He clenches his jaw, looking away. “And not being able to do anything. Just having to watch ...”

He breaks off with a shuddering breath. You tug gently on his hand, urging him up from the chair. He perches on the edge of the bed, enveloping you in his tender arms. You cling to each other, tears mingling as the enormity of what almost happened sinks in.

After long moments, Lando pulls back to cup your face in both hands. He searches your eyes, still flooded with relief and lingering fear.

“I could have lost you,” he repeats in a shattered whisper.

You cover his hands with your own. “But you didn’t. I’m right here. With you.”

His breath leaves him a rush, the frightened tension easing from his frame. Leaning in, he rests his forehead against yours. The beeping monitor and distant hospital noises fade away, leaving just the two of you suspended in this quiet intimacy.

When Lando finally lifts his head, the fire in his eyes makes your heart stutter.

“I love you,” he says, low and fervent.

You meet Lando’s intense gaze, equally overcome by emotion.

“I love you too,” you breathe.

He cradles your face again, thumbs sweeping feather-light over your cheeks. Slowly, he leans in and presses his lips to yours in a kiss that steals your breath. It’s soft yet saturates you with his passion, fear, relief — every shade of the feelings coursing between you in this moment. You sink into it, hands coming up to twist in his rumpled shirt, keeping him close.

When he pulls back, you’re both a little breathless. Lando smooths your hair, regret pinching his features.

“I should let you rest. The doctor said you’ll probably feel weak and foggy for a few days.”

You give a small shrug. “I don’t feel that bad right now. Just … stay with me?”

He smiles softly. “Of course, love.”

Settling next to you on top of the sheets, he loops an arm around your shoulders. You nestle against him, comforted by his familiar warmth and scent. For a long moment, you simply savor being wrapped in this bubble of solace.

“Do they know who did it yet?” You finally ask, unable to quell your lingering unease about the attack.

Lando shakes his head. “The police looked at security footage but the guy’s face wasn’t visible. They’re still investigating.”

You nod, chewing your lip. Lando tilts your chin up to meet his eyes.

“I won’t let him get away with this,” he says, quiet but fierce. “I’ll do whatever it takes to find him and make sure he never hurts anyone again.”

There’s cold fury underlying his tone that you’ve never heard from him before. It reminds you viscerally of that brief glimpse in the alley — Lando transformed in the heat of protective rage.

But now the fire in his eyes is fanned and smoldering. A determination that won’t relent.

He tightens his arm around you, pressing his lips to your hair. You settle against his chest again, comforted by the steady thump of his heartbeat.

***

A few days later, you’re curled up on the couch with Lando, a movie playing quietly in the background. You’re mostly zoning out, still feeling residual exhaustion. Lando plays idly with your hair, a comforting sensation.

When your phone buzzes with an alert, you grab it lazily, expecting a text from a friend. Instead, a news headline makes you bolt upright.

Lando notices your change in demeanor.

“What is it, love?”

“That man, the one from the club … he was found dead. I would recognize his face anywhere.”

You continue to scan the article. “Doesn’t specify much, just that he was found in an abandoned building across town. Ruled a homicide but no suspects or motive yet.”

You wordlessly tilt the phone screen for him to see. He looks at it blankly, face impassive.

“Oh. Well, perhaps some justice has been served after all.”

You narrow your eyes at his mild tone. “Did you ...”

“Did I what?”

“Have something to do with this?”

Lando presses a hand to his chest, feigning offense. “Me? Now why would you think that?”

“Lando.” You level him with a knowing look. “Did you?”

He meets your gaze steadily for a moment before sighing. “I told you I’d make sure he never hurt anyone again. A man like that doesn’t deserve to keep stealing breaths.”

You absorb this, unsure how to feel. “So you ...”

“I didn’t personally do anything,” Lando hedges. “But I have … connections. People who know people who can handle things quietly.”

You bite your lip. “You had him killed.”

Lando takes your hands in his. “Hey. Look at me. That bastard drugged you, dragged you into an alley. He would have ...” His jaw flexes. “I did what needed to be done to keep you and others safe.”

“I just ...” You wrestle with your conflicted emotions. “I don’t know how I feel about you essentially ordering a hit.”

He drags a hand over his mouth. When he speaks, his voice is low and controlled. “All that matters is he can’t hurt you or anyone else now. Try to remember what he did to you — how you felt. Helpless. Frightened. I wasn’t about to let him continue terrorizing women.”

You take a shaky breath. “No, you’re right. It’s just a lot to wrap my head around.”

Lando caresses your cheek. “You have the biggest, kindest heart of anyone I know. But some people are simply too dangerous to be allowed to go on hurting people. I don’t take this lightly, but there are times when permanent solutions are necessary. Do you understand?”

Up close, you can see the storm of emotions he’s battling to contain. Anger, satisfaction, hints of doubt and guilt. You cup his face.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “For protecting me, even if it meant ...”

Lando closes his eyes, leaning into your touch. “I would do anything for you. Anything to keep you safe.” His thumb strokes along your jaw. “You never have to worry. You’ll always be safe with me. I’ll do whatever it takes to protect you, no matter what.”

His voice rings with quiet conviction. You cover his hand with your own, meeting his solemn gaze. In this moment, you truly comprehend the depths he’s willing to go for you.

“I know you will,” you whisper. “Thank you. For everything you’ve done for me.”

Lando searches your face, shoulders losing their rigid tension when he finds only acceptance and gratitude shining back at him.

“I would be lost without you,” he murmurs.

You lean in, kissing him softly. “You’ll never have to find out.”

Drawing back, you offer a tiny smirk. “And clearly, I should never get on your bad side.”

Lando huffs a surprised laugh. The lingering shadows in his eyes fade as he pulls you close. You sink into his embrace, heartbeat steadying against his.

Whatever lengths Lando went to in order to protect you, to remove the threat hanging over your regained sense of safety, you know you’ll forever be thankful for this devoted, fierce, and tender-hearted man you love.

[flametrashiraarchive]

Hey, hun is it possible to do a part 3 of Muzan with reader with big boobs or even do a version with Kokushibo please?🥺

*runs to her laptop so fast she breaks the sound barrier*

Yup!

(I'm just gonna do Muzan for right now- I'm kinda struggling to figure out Koky's character)

NSFW below the cut.

Also, for those who haven't read it, here is PART 1 and PART 2 of the Muzan x boobs saga.

MUZAN x boobs pt 3.

You're not exactly sure when the Infinity Castle became your permanent residence but you never seem to leave anymore.

In the beginning, Muzan would always come to your place for his titty sucking stress relief sessions, but if there's one thing the Demon King truly despises it's minor inconvenience.

So, you're lying on a plush pillow, reading one of his botany books in a cozy room of the castle when the sliding door flies open with so much force it smashes against the wall. Splinters of wood rain down onto the floor.

You don't even flinch. You're used to his tempers by now.

He's back from his trip to Asakusa and grumbling about hanafuda earrings and sun breathers

"Tits. Now."

You pull open your kimono with one hand, not even looking up from your book.

(If you wore bras before you've given up by now; Muzan just shreds them to bits anyway and those bitches are expensive.)

He moves with supernatural speed, and before you can even blink he's taken your place on the pillow and you're sat straddling him.

Then he pulls your upper half down on top of him, completely smothering him with your chest.

You're still engrossed in the book as he slowly licks around your areola, following the path of ridges and bumps before tickling your nipple with the tip of his tongue.

A shiver runs through your body but you keep reading, because you just got up to the chapter about the strange blue flowers which you used to weave into crowns at your grandmother's house when you were little and-

He snatches the book from your hands and tosses it across the room and into the fireplace, emerging from between your breasts to glare at you.

Muzan is just as shocked as you are by his apparent annoyance at your lack of attention. Why should he care if you're enjoying it or not? This is for his satisfaction, not yours... and yet...

He makes it his mission then to make sure you cannot ignore him.

He sucks your tits with such ferocity you feel tingles all the way down your spine and throbbing at your core.

Grips your wrists and pins your hands to the pillow above his head so your tits are hanging in his face; soft and defenceless against his wicked tongue.

He groans as he bends a knee to wedge his thigh between yours, applying such delicious pressure.

Kneads your tits with his slender fingers, trailing his pointed fingernails lightly around the undersides, making goosebumps raise over your skin and eliciting the first whimper.

Yess... he wants more of that.

He chuckles cruelly as he feels you grind against his thigh, his tongue unrelenting as he laps at your aching buds.

While his mouth is occupied, tugging one of your nipples between his lips and making them swell and harden, his fingers work the other; massaging, teasing, tugging until they're so puffy and dark, glistening with his saliva.

On and on it goes, until you're gasping his name amongst curses. Your grinding becomes frantic and arrhythmic, and the sweltering heat of your sex presses through the fabric of his trousers.

You're close... so... damn... close...

Then he lowers his knee, taking away the friction

(this asshole- istg)

He continues licking your nipples as you whine, taking sick satisfaction from the way you so desperately try to hump his hips, craving release.

"Beg me."

Even if you do, he'll keep up this give-and-take until you're a bleating mess.

He doesn't want your breathy "please Muzan, let me cum," he wants you sobbing.

And only when your tears come does he roll you onto your back, wedge his thigh back between yours and permit you to bring yourself release.

"Such a pathetic harlot," he whispers, his voice laced with darkness and desire as he watches you cum. "My pathetic harlot."

Strums his thumbs over your swollen nipples to make your body jolt as you come down from your high.

You lay there, whimpering and exhausted as he lowers his head, nuzzling your chest.

Is he... snuggling?!?

"What the hell happened in Asakusa?" you ask.

He simply closes his eyes and "sleeps" with one hand cupped over your breast, finally a little calmer.

[l-uminescent]

˚⁀➷｡˚ REVENGE [PART TWO TO KINSLAYER] ━━━ AEMOND TARGARYEN X FEM! READER

part one.

synopsis: following your brave defeat of aemond targaryen in the battle of rook’s rest, your dragon silverwing delivers your body back to your mother in dragonstone. as you are discovered, a swearing of revenge is made as your body burns in its funeral pyre.

request: kinslayer is so good. would you ever write a little drabble to see the sadness of her family. especially her mother? also to see how this changed the dance. would you ever write a different ending? where before she fell silverwing saves her. like toothless did with hiccup. i adore it and need more. only if you want to of course.

notes: a bit longer than a drabble but i hope you enjoy anyways😭 thank you sm also to @dracaryxzs @hikaerys @delightfulbluebirdtidalwave & @quickamateur for requesting a part two of the black’s reaction to the reader’s death. i had so much fun exploring what the characters would feel like, esp jacaerys. tbh i don’t think i would write an alternative ending bc i just love writing angst wayyyy too much (it’s a problem)

there’s also a lack of jacaerys requests in my inbox which i think you should all fix by pressing here!

warnings: brief descriptions & mentions death, funeral pyre, angst, feelings of sadness after a death of loved one, burning, self-blame

word count: 1.9k

THE SHRIEKING SCREAM OF SILVERWING WAS THE ONLY THING THAT COULD BE HEARD FOR MILES. it was a shriek of pure pain, a cut wedged so deep had made its home in the poor dragon's heart as she had no choice but to watch on as you plunged your sword into aemond targaryen's eye. silverwing had tried her hardest to swoop down and rescue your body as both you and the man you loved plummeted to the ground in each other's arms. your limbs were intertwined with aemond's, your soul's holding the same love they had held many years ago in your final moments.

your body had crashed to the forest floor from the great height, dying immediately - still weaved with aemond's.

another heart-wrenching scream was heard from silverwing as the bond you two had shared had completely severed with your death. all she could do now was search the forest for you and bring back your fractured body to your mother. 

silverwing had gently picked up your body in her claws, so not to bring you anymore damage than the fall had done. she had completely disregarded the body of your previous lover, sword still plunged in his eye. small whimpers left her body as she rose slowly into the air flying back to dragonstone, having lost another rider had left the dragon in an immense amount of pain as you had reminded her greatly of the good queen alyssane, her first rider.

aegon having fled the battle the moment he had witnessed aemond's death had left rhaenys velaryon, your grandmother, with too little time to come to your aid. piercing cries escaped her lips as she could do nothing but watch you fall to your death. knowing this is what you had wanted still did not heed the tears that escaped her lilac eyes, nor did it stop the blame she held for herself as she accompanied your dragon back to dragonstone, wishing over and over that it had been her instead of you, something she knew she would wish until the end of her days. 

the shrieks of pain silverwing had let out alerted the dragon's on the island as she drew near. many stirred at the noise in fright, but none seemed to be as fretted as vermax, who had replied to silvering's bellow with one in return.

with the sound of her two children's dragon's shrieks, rhaenyra knew something was wrong. her gut instinct had told her something had happened to you, as jace remained safely within the castle. rushing to her balcony, she fixed her gaze intently across the sea for any sign of you, holding her breath as she noticed silverwing's flapping wings over the horizon. as she drew closer rhaenyra's eyes scanned her saddle, and noticing you weren't atop it her eyes flickered hastily down to her trembling claws. 

she was clutching your lifeless body. 

tears streamed down rhaenyra's face as she fell to the ground. uncontrallable sobs left her lips as her body violently shook in pain. admitting defeat she crumbled against the pillars of her balcony. as she did, her eyes bore into the sky above that painted in blues purples and oranges alike. she cursed at all the gods she could as it dawned on her this was what the sky held when lucerys had died just moons before. no amount of screams or curses at both the green's and gods would ever stop the blame that rhaenyra held for herself for your death, she knew you were not ready for battle yet she still sent you anyway. 

your heart still held onto the embers of girlhood which was seen in the way you teased jace, the joy you found when you played with your younger brother's and the soft smiled that adorned your lips as she combed and braided your hair with a gold plated brush. you were too young to pass. you were meant to outlive her, to live a happy life with a husband and children who you adored - something you would never get to do it now. rhaenyra's painful screams were carried off into the wind, her grief-stricken body stuck to the place she had fallen, as her gaze at the sky hardened. she swore that whatever force had killed you would be killed in return. she knew it would never bring you back, her only daughter was gone from this world, but she needed for herself to seek revenge in your name.

━━━━━━━━━━ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ━━━━━━━━━

it had been jacaerys who had went to greet your dragon. the poor boy did not realise anything was amiss at first. he trodded happily down to your dragon to congratulate you on your first victory, proud of his younger sister. it wasn't until he noticed silverwing's sad demeanour, how her entire body trembled in despair, curled up into a ball not allowing any guard to pass through the wall she had made. as jace approached the dragon she murmured a small cry as she began to uncurl, the strange behaviour making his mind run rampant and tears start to prickle in his eyes.

no. no.

it was only a matter of seconds before jace's knees buckled, falling to floor where you lay stretched out on the floor. 

he couldn't believe it, you were so full of life only a mere few hours ago. 

reaching for you, he pulled your head onto his lap, cradling your body as he did. he couldn't stop the tears that poured from his cheeks landing softly on your skin, as sobs erupted from his lips. he had hoped in some delusional way, that you would somehow awake, that if he just stayed by your side cradling you, you would return and call him stupid for worrying so much.

the pain of lucerys had returned tenfold. he was meant to protect you, you were his younger sister for gods sake, only a year between the two of you, you had been as thick as theives. always teasing each other, throwing food across the table when petty arguments broke out. the two of you had stuck by each other's sides as you became aware of the questions that arose from the colour of your hair when luke was still too young to understand. you were meant to stay by his side, he had long since planned to make you his hand as you had always been there as his biggest advisor - the person he had trusted most in this world.

jacaerys like his mother, blamed himself. he should have been their to protect you, because that's what brother's are for, right?

there was no doubt he was a targaryen in that moment. his wetted eyes dried with a rage he had never felt before. he too swore at the sky, cursing every green, every god who had willed your fate, his voice breaking as he did. jacaerys did not care what life lay ahead of him in that moment, being heir was long from his mind as he bellowed that he would exact your revenge even if it meant he would die too. 

shallow breathes were taken as he brought his brown eyes onto your closed ones, still laying still in his lap. his anger had quickly faded at the sight of you again, his chest vibrating as he struggled to regain oxygen into his lungs. the softer side of jacaerys velaryon had once more returned as he allowed his forehead to rest against your cold one. his hands absentmindedly began to run through your hair, whispering soft "it will be okay" and "i love you's" as the tears silently fell from his glassy eyes, unsure of whether it was to reassure himself or you.

━━━━━━━━━━ *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ━━━━━━━━━

rain drops fell from the sky in a heavy rhythm, landing in small plops the cliff side where your family gathered for small funeral pyre after your body had be retrieved. it had been jacaerys who had suggested the place, knowing how you and luke had enjoyed coming up to sit peacefully and read together. 

the somber mood was evident as the rain continued to poor from the sky, each person having their heart ripped out from their chest all over again as they looked upon you body. you had almost looked like you were sleeping if it wasn't for the fact you had turned a sickly pale colour, and your chest failing to rise and fall with the inhale and exhale of oxygen.

the group of targaryen's, velaryon's and silverwing the dragon, gathered around the small wooden pyre as they said their final goodbye's to you. daemon had approached the wooden frame, placing the sword your drove deep into your lover's eye next to you that he had managed to retrieve. he hadn't been aware of how much the sword had meant to you, but to him it showed the fierce love and protection he had felt. despite not being his own daughter, he had loved you like one - always taking the time to teach you the art of sword fighting despite the other knight's looking down on it. he returned to his wife's side who nodded him in gratitude for loving her little girl the way a father should.

tears threatened to spill from jacaerys glassy eyes as he began to approach your body next, his hand clutched little joffrey's who was still too small to understand where his elder sister had left to and why she had yet to return. he had placed the letter's the two of you had exchanged when he had visited the north, the fascination you had for the wall had always brought a smile to his lips when you had asked him questions. even now, a watery smile played on his lips thinking of it as he returned to his place next to his mother. 

small sniffles could also be heard from the two targaryen girls - rhaena and baela - who stood on the opposite end of the pyre, the two girls reminiscing on the time you did spend together talking about boys, and giggling as you gossiped whilst sewing. their grandmother stood tall next to them as she gripped both their hands tightly, grounding herself with the thought that you would have wanted her to project the love she had for you onto your two cousins whom you had loved deeply.

the last to approach the pyre was your mother. her silent demeanour had been an obvious sign that her sadness had been replaced by a vicious anger that would not be calmed. leaning over the wood, she had placed the gold plated hair brush next to you, the very one she had combed your dark locks earlier that day creating the style you had always favoured, recalling how you had always begged her to do whilst you were still alive. 

rhaenyra's lips left a ghost of a kiss on your forehead before she stepped back. calling silverwing forward in high valyrian, the dragon let out a number of whimpers and cries as she knew what came next. 

"dracarys"

a single tear drop shed from rhaenyra's eyes as she turned away from the burning embers, her promise of revenge at the forefront of her mind. 

"broken by the loss of one son, rhaenyra targaryen seemed to find new strength in the loss of a second. her eldest daughter's death hardened her, burning away her fears, leaving only her anger and her hatred."

[woso-dreamzzz]

Birdie's Halloween

Mary Earps x Child!Reader

Summary: The fifteenth of my Halloween-centric fics

"Listen, Mum," Mary says as she weaves through the aisles of the store," I'd love to chat but I'm really quite busy right now."

"Oh yes, I'll let you get back to what you're doing," Mary's mother says on the other end of the phone," But just remember to send me her Christmas list, alright? And maybe that list of-"

"Mum," Mary says again," Seriously, I have to go."

"I know, I know but- Oh! I didn't tell you. Mrs Todds - you remember Mrs Todds, right? Anyway, Mrs Todds from next door said-"

"Mum. Me, go. Have to. Alright?"

"Oh, fine, Mary. You go. I'll call tonight. We can finish this then."

"Great," Mary mutters, looking down at her phone impassively," I'll look forward to it." She sighs, shaking her head and slipping the device back into her pocket with the startlingly discovery that she's lost you.

Again.

It's actually kind of incredible how she can lose an eight year old and her puppy in such a small store.

"Birdie!" She calls out," Birdie!"

There's no answer.

Mary sighs. "Y/n! I mean it, come here!"

Your head pops around one of the aisles and Newton's golden fur moves in speedy circles as he waits for Mary to get closer.

"You can't keep wandering off," Mary tells you, taking your hand," What happens if I lose you?"

Ever practical, you reply," Well, if I get lost then I have to go to the nearest shop worker or mother and tell them I'm lost. I have your number on my ID necklace so I get them to call that."

You beam up at her and Mary laughs despite herself.

"You know, I think Tooney was right when she called you a little smartass."

You keep beaming. "Ella's just jealous she's not as smart as me."

"But at least she knows not to wander off in a store."

"I have Newton with me."

Mary gives you a pointed look, staring down at your very dopey dog who's only now growing into his service dog vest. He's great for your emotional regulation and anticipating meltdowns but for your physical protection, not so much.

"Still," Mary says," Let's just stay close, alright?"

You huff, muttering," Just because you don't speak French," but still keep close as Mary looks through the racks of costumes.

"And you're absolutely certain you want to match?"

"Yes."

"Alright then."

It's nowhere near your first Halloween with Mary but it's your first with Newton, your adorable service pup who enjoys things like sleeping on a heated blanket and accidentally treading on his own ears.

Usually, you choose something to match with Mary but you don't want Newton to feel left out, especially because of everything he does for you.

Newton's your best friend in the whole world, even more than the horses at the barn you go to for your lessons.

So this year, you're foregoing a matching outfit with Mary in favour of one with Newton which is what led to Mary spending hours looking for a shop in Paris that sold human costumes and dog costumes.

"What about this one?"

You wrinkle your nose up at the cheap ghost costume Mary holds up for you.

"That's basic," You complain, "Newton deserves better."

Newton seems to whine in agreement, sitting up on his haunches in the same way he begs for scraps when he's off duty.

"Fine," Mary grumbles," Fine. We'll find something better."

"Newton's a gentlemen," You continue," That's why he deserves a better costume."

Mary smiles fondly as you go look through the racks yourself.

Newton whines a little ten minutes later, wedging his body between you and the costumes when he notices how distressed you're getting.

Mary notices too, guiding you away from the dog section to ones more your size.

"Let's choose yours first," She says gently," Are we going scary or cute?"

"Cute," You mumble, running your hand through Newton's soft fur.

"How about these?"

Mary lets you be for the most part, taking items off the rack to show you the choices.

"That one," You mumble, already halfway to non-verbal as you repeatedly run a hand through Newton's fur," Please."

"Good choice, Birdie," Mary says," Shall we choose one for Newton today or-?"

You nod your head, shuffling back to the dog aisle as Mary throws your Belle dress into the basket.

You rifle through the racks quickly, though one hand remains rooted around Newton's leash.

"This one?" Mary checks as you pull one out for her to take. "You're going to be Belle and Newton's going to be the Beast."

You nod.

"Good choice," She says," Let's pay for these and we'll head home. There's some chocolate milk with your name on it."

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Do you have any notes on hair and hairstyles by any chance?

Writing Notes: Hairstyles

Some writing tips to describe your character's hair:

Frame your character’s face with a hairstyle that reflects their story. A crewcut might signify a military soldier or someone who likes to be in control. A ponytail or pigtails might indicate a young character. Describe a character’s hair color—black hair, dark hair, brunette, redhead, blonde, gray, or white—in interesting ways instead of just stating the shade. It makes a difference whether your character dyes their hair or keeps it its natural shade. Describe the length of their hair. A confident businesswoman might have short or shoulder-length hair. A musician might have longer hair. Match your character’s hairstyle with their personality.

Make facial hair an element of a character’s style. How a male character keeps his facial hair is telling. If he’s constantly clean-shaven, he might go to a regular corporate job. A bit of stubble can signify a more casual career. From a beard to sideburns to a goatee, facial hair helps paint a picture of a male character and can help represent their life and what they do.

Write detailed character descriptions. Visualize a character in your own mind. Make them three dimensional by fleshing out both the character’s personality and physical appearance. Write down their physical details like hairstyle and hair color—do they have brown hair, blond hair, or dark hair? Describe how they move through the world and hint at what their body language and mannerisms reveal.

Here are some words to help you select more precise language and improve the clarity in your writing:

Descriptive Words to Describe Hair

Hair Texture. Relates to the circumference of individual hairs as well as the curl pattern and general state of the hair, with regards to how it looks and feels.

body, bouncy, bristly, brittle, bushy, coarse, crinkly, delicate, downy, fine, flat, fluffy, frizzy, fuzzy, glossy, lank, limp, listless, luxuriant, luxurious, medium, nappy, no body, puffy, rough, satiny, silky, sleek, smooth, soft, sticky, stiff, straight, straw-like, supple, touchable, velvety, wavy, wiry

Hair Thickness. This means the same thing as hair density. There are a number of terms for how thick a person’s hair is.

lush, scraggly, sparse, stringy, thick, thin, voluminous, wispy, wooly

Hair Styles or Cuts. Properly describing how hair is cut or styled is critical in describing the appearance of a character in a story or the subject of a work of nonfiction.

afro, a-line, angled, asymmetrical, bangs, beehive, blunt, bob, bouffant, bowl cut, braided, braids, brushed back, bun, buzzed, center part, chignon, chopped, choppy, clipped, coils, comb over, corkscrew curls, cornrows, crew cut, curled, dreadlocks, ducktail, emo, extensions, face-framing, feathered, fishtail braid, flat top, flyaway, french braids, french twist, fringe, Jheri curl, kinked, layered, long layers, loose, military cut, mohawk, mullet, natural, pageboy, parted, pigtails, pin curls, pixie, plaited, pompadour, ponytail, Rasta, rat tail, ratted, ringlets, shag, shaved, side part, slicked down, spiked, spiky, spirals, springy, stacked, straightened, swept back, swept to the side, swept up, teased, topknot, trimmed, twisted, undercut, up, updo, waterfall braids, weave, wedge, wings, wrapped

Hair Length. Hair can vary greatly in length. Choosing the right descriptive word for hair length helps readers get a better picture of the character or person about whom you are writing.

cascading, chin length, close cropped, cropped, ear length, flowing, long, medium length, mid-back length, neck length, short, shoulder length, tailbone length, trailing, waist length

Hair Color or Tints. Since there are many hair colors in different tones, some natural and some not, it’s really important to choose the right descriptive word for hair color.

ash brown, auburn, black, bleached blond, blonde, blue, bluish, bottle blonde, brown, brunette, burgundy, burnished, chestnut, coppery, dark, flaxen, ginger, golden blonde, gray, green, honey, jet black, light, mousy, multi-colored, natural blonde, oil slick, ombre, peroxide blonde, pink, platinum, purple, rainbow, raven, red, salt and pepper, silver, strawberry blonde, streaked, sun-kissed, sun-streaked, wheat blonde, white, yellow, yellowing

Treated Hair. There are a number of treatments people can use to alter the appearance of their hair.

bleached, body wave, brassy, colored, conditioned, deep conditioned, dyed,frosted, highlighted, highlights, lowlights, permed, relaxed, smoothing, tinted

Messy Hair. There are a number of ways to convey to readers that a person has messy hair. Whether the individual’s hair is messy due to a lack of care, general unruliness, or having been engaged in activity that caused it to become messy, choose the right word so readers will understand.

bad hair day, bedhead, clumpy, disarray, disheveled, drooping, knotted, matted, overgrown, shaggy, snarled, tangled, tousled, towheaded, uncombed, uncontrollable, unkempt, unmanageable, unruly, unstyled, untamed, untidy, windblown, windswept

Neatly Styled Hair. Some people take great pains to ensure their hair is the exact opposite of messy. Use these terms when you want to describe someone with neatly styled hair.

blown out, coiffed, coiffured, done, neat, runway-ready, tamed, tidy, well-groomed

More Ways to Describe the Appearance of Hair. The categories listed above aren’t all inclusive when it comes to describing hair.

beautiful, brushed, classy, clean, combed, damp, dirty, dripping, dull, elegant, enviable, fashionable, filthy, gorgeous, greasy, healthy, luscious, lustrous, nourished, shiny, singed, slick, soaked, squeaky clean, stylish, sweaty, trendy, vibrant, voluminous, wet

Words to Describe Hair Problems. There are a number of different hair problems. If the person or character you are writing about has a visible issue with his or her hair, be sure to choose the best word to describe it.

alopecia, bald, balding, bald patch, broken, damaged, dandruff, dry, flaky, fried, hair loss, lice, needs a touch-up, nits, oily, overly processed, pattern baldness, receding, roots are showing, shedding, split ends, thinning, thin on top, widow’s peak

Hair Accessories. Thoroughly describing a person or character’s appearance may require giving some information about hair accessories the person is wearing. Choose the best term to describe any items placed in or on the individual’s hair.

ball cap, barrette, beret, bobby pin, bow, butterfly clip, chopsticks, elastic, feather, flower, hair clip, hairpin, hat, headband, headscarf, kerchief, ribbon, scarf, scrunchie, side comb, snap clip, sweatband, tiara, tieback

Names of Hair Tools. When you need to describe what someone uses to style their hair, be sure to accurately describe the type of tool the individual uses.

blow dryer, clippers, comb, curling iron, diffuser, dryer, duckbill clips, fine-tooth comb, flat iron, hairbrush, hot rollers, rollers, round brush, scissors, thinning shears

Sources: 1 2 3 ⚜ More: Notes ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs ⚜ Facial Hair

Hope this helps with your writing!

[ragingbookdragon]

One Toke Over The Line

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 1.3K Warnings: Angst, Canon Death

Author's Note: So fun fact, at my Aunt's mother's funeral, she actually had One Toke Over The Line playing. Her mother in fact requested it prior to her passing. Enjoy.

**********************************************************************

The rest of the family had said their final goodbyes, and she took a seat next to her father’s bed, gently taking his hand. His eyes cracked open, and she smiled weakly at him. “Hi, daddy,” she whispered, brushing a piece of his hair back from his forehead. His lips moved and she shook her head. “No, daddy, don’t try to talk, okay?”

His throat bobbed, but his lips kept moving. Hi, baby.

A noise, akin to a dying animal, softly escaped her and she felt tears flood her vision.

A cool hand brushed her tears. “No…crying…” he mustered out. “Not…today.”

She tipped her head to the side, looking at him in the bed. Twenty-eight long years. She remembered living in the officer’s quarters with him when he was a single father. Just the two of them for so long. She’d had the call-sign “Ice-Queen” before she’d even entered the Navy. Iceman and Ice-Queen, a dynamic duo, father and daughter, nothing could separate them.

But death had a way of sneaking in.

He lifted his arm, and she crawled into the bed beside him, tucking her head under his chin with her arm tightly wound around his waist, his securely behind her back. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she hiccuped with every breath.

She wasn’t a twenty-eight-year-old lieutenant losing her admiral.

She was a child losing her father.

“I’ve lived…a good life…” he breathed. “Done more…than most…ever will.” His hand brushed her back in a soothing manner. A grief wedged in her chest. Here, her dying father was comforting her. “I’m…okay.”

“I’m not,” she whispered. “I need you, daddy.” Her tears kept blurring her vision. “I’ll always need you.”

His chest rumbled as he struggled for breath. “I’ll…always…be there.”

The lump kept growing in her throat and she bit back a sob.

“I’ll…always…be your…wingman.” She looked up at him and through her tears, she saw the gentle smile on his face; he gently reached up with the other hand and wiped under her eye. “My…beautiful girl.”

She leaned into his touch. “Please don’t leave me, daddy,” she begged brokenly. “I’m…I’m not ready.”

He let out a breath and smiled softly before he dug around in his pocket and pulled something out; he placed it in her and closed his fist around hers. “I am…always…here.”

She didn’t have to uncurl her hand to know what he put in it; the golden crucifix he’d worn his entire life.

“Fly…higher than…I ever…did,” he began. “And know…every flight…I’m there.”

Her throat was too tight to form words, but she nodded and laid her head back down on his chest.

***

She lay there for hours, listening to his breathing until his chest stilled beneath her ear.

***

It was too sunny for the occasion. Too bright in her eyes as the sun reflected the tears. She stood beside her stepmother, silent as the guns rang out over the cemetery. Her gaze was fixed on the coffin, unable to look anywhere but where they were burying the greatest man she’d ever known in the cold ground.

An hour passed and her family had departed, the other airman and sailors had departed, but she stood over the hole in the ground, unable to move her feet from the spot. She stood until they lowered the coffin down and began filling it with dirt.

She stood until the land was flat above him, and then she saluted.

***

He smiled politely as he entered the open doors of the home, weaving through people until he found Sarah.

“Missus Kazansky,” he murmured, and she smiled tiredly at him.

“Hi Jake,” she greeted, nodding to the stairs. “She’s in his office.”

He nodded and took his leave, climbing the stairs towards the office of the Admiral. The door was cracked open, and he peered inside, catching sight of her sitting at the desk, staring out the window with a blank look on her face.

Jake rapped his knuckles on the door as he opened it wider. “Knock-knock, room service.”

Usually, she’d crack a smile but all she managed was, “I’m not in the mood, Jake.”

He walked inside and up to the desk. “I know.” He pulled a chair up to the desk and sat beside her, setting his cap on the desk; he watched her for a moment, then murmured, “Talk to me, pretty girl.” He reached out, taking her hand. “What can I do?”

She shrugged half-heartedly. “Can you bring back the greatest man who ever lived?”

Jake’s expression shifted into one of a deep ache as he replied softly, “If I could, I would, pretty girl.”

Her eyes flooded with tears, but she kept her gaze on the window, the bright sky, the birds flying above the water. “I stayed with him. He didn’t go alone. I was there until the end.”

“I know, pretty girl,” he whispered, squeezing her hand. “I know you were.”

“I…heard his heart stop,” she managed to push out. “My daddy’s heart. I…heard it stop.”

Jake wished he could take the grief he knew was coursing through her like the speed of light; he reached up, placing his other hand to her cheek, turning her face to his.

She looked scared.

Like a scared little girl.

“My daddy,” she whispered, looking at him. “M…m-my, my dadd—” she burst into sobs and Jake reacted like lightning, taking her in his arms.

He rested his cheek against the side of her head as she shook in his arms, repeating, “My daddy,” over and over again through her cries.

“I know, pretty girl,” he comforted. “I know.”

***

Somehow he’d managed to get her into her bedroom, arm wound tightly around her as his chest pressed against her back. He breathed quietly as he rested his head on the pillow above her head, gazing at his arm stretched beneath her head, her own hand clutched tightly in his on the bed.

Jake gently drew circles in her stomach, and she whispered, “Did you know that one time, daddy and I smoked a joint at a train station listening to ‘One Toke Over The Line?’”

His fingers stopped as his brows furrowed, and he picked his head up. “Do what?”

She snickered weakly. “We smoked a joint. At a train station. And listened to ‘One Toke Over The Line.’”

“Your dad?” he asked. “Admiral Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky, smoked a joint…with his kid?”

“Mhm.”

He inhaled and exhaled before he deadpanned, “Never in a million years would I have ever guessed that.”

She shifted slightly. “It was his favorite song.”

“Yeah?”

“That and ‘Keep On Tryin’.’” She swallowed. “I don’t know if I can ever listen to them again.”

“I thought we were going to play that at our wedding,” he complained. “Well now what are we supposed to dance to?”

She laughed softly. “Not exactly a wedding song, Jake.”

“Says who?” he shot back, digging his chin into the crown of her head.

“Who said I was going to marry you anyway?” she asked. “Don’t you know that Bradley and I sworn to get married at thirty if we weren’t by then?”

Jake scowled and tightened his arm around her waist. “I will literally kill the man. Best friend or not, I will.”

She turned in his arms, laying her head on his chest. “I’m kidding.”

“Better be,” he warned, re-securing his arm at her back; he looked down at her for a moment, then asked softly, “You coming back to base with us? You know we won’t be upset if you don’t.”

“I’ll be there,” she answered. “I just…” she trailed off and he nodded.

“I know.” He pulled back, looking into her eyes; his hand drifted from her back to her cheek, and he brushed his thumb along her skin.

She searched his gaze for a moment, then asked, “Will you stay with me tonight?”

Jake nodded. “As long as you need me, pretty girl.”

[perlelune]

no body, no crime | Coriolanus Snow | xii. {END}

Your childhood friend returns from his exile in district 12, but he's not the sweet, quiet boy you once knew anymore.

Warnings: NON-CON, Plinth!Reader, Gaslighting, Drugging, Murder, Forced Marriage, Forced Pregnancy, Loss of Virginity, Somnophilia

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

Your nerves stir as William considers you in silence. It’s all he’s done for the last few agonizing minutes, stare at you without uttering a single word. Perhaps you’ve shared too much? Overestimated how much he could take? You’ve told him everything, not skipping over any detail as he asked. How Coriolanus lured you into his web. Weaved a myriad of honeyed lies you naively fell for. Coaxed you into staying with him. Planted a seed that will soon grow into a permanent reminder of all he did to you. 

The whole, plain horrible truth.

Much as it ached to tell the story, and relive it in a way, you were thorough and concise. Your voice may have wavered a little, your eyes evaded William’s at times, but now he has the full story. 

And he’s free to do as he pleases with that knowledge.

“William?” you inquire again. 

This time he swallows a deep breath. Fearful expectancy knots your gut. He clenches his fists and bolts to his feet. 

“I’m going to kill him.”

You wedge yourself between him and the door as he takes long, determined strides toward the exit.

“Wait!” you urge, panic trembling through your voice.

William scoff, a frown marring his brow.

“What? You want to protect him? After everything he’s done to you?”

Your lips tighten. A surge of tears fights its way past your lids but you suppress them. Too much is at stake for you to crumble right now. You straighten your spine and lift your chin.

“It’s not that. Of course I don’t care what happens to him but…” You place your hands on his forearms. He seems to relax at your touch and a sliver of relief leaks inside your chest. Perhaps there is still hope for you and William. “He’s dangerous, William. Cunning, slippery. Like a snake.”

His jaw clenches. “We’ll see about that when I have my fist in his throat.”

He tries to move forward but you keep firmly blocking his path. Once again, you try to reason with him. “No, he really is…deranged.” No other word arises in your mind. You shudder as you recall the glint of madness in his blue eyes. “He has my parents under his spell. I really don’t think he’ll stop at anything to get his way.” Your mouth quivers. “He’ll hurt you.”

“Let him try,” William grumbles, clenching his fists. 

Rage oozes off him, coating the air. You feel its intensity in your very bones. When he said he wanted to kill Coriolanus, it wasn’t a metaphor. It’s how furious your fiancé is after hearing your story.

“William, no…For me. Let it go.” You grab his hands, bringing them to your face. They slowly loosen, his gaze softening as it rests on you. “Let’s just leave. I know I’m asking for a lot. Asking you to raise another man’s child-”

He cradles your face. “It doesn’t matter. It’ll be our child. They won’t even have to know his name.” 

You drape your hands over his, emotion making your voice waver.

“You really mean that?”

His thumbs sweep over your cheek.

“Of course. I made a promise to you.” He smiles. “And I never stopped loving you.”

You suck in a sharp breath. “Even after everything?”

A glimpse of sadness crosses his features.

“It hurt. Of course, it hurt. But there’s no other girl than you for me, and there never will be.” Overwhelmed, you stare at him a long time, basking in his bottomless devotion. How did you end up so lucky? Even after all the misfortune you suffered, amidst your woe, you still found William. A love as rare and pure as a pearl lost in the ocean.

You get on your tiptoes to press your lips over his. At first, it’s tentative. You’re wondering if perhaps it’s too soon, if he’s truly forgiven you. But your doubts evaporate as he eagerly returns the kiss. Your heart swells. He cups your cheeks and you melt against him, soaking his scent and the familiar taste of his skin. You could cry. You missed him so much. For the first time in weeks, air finds a home in your lungs again.

When your lips part, he leans his forehead against yours. For a while, you just revel in each other’s presence, warm breaths mingling in the cool air.

“So what’s the plan?” he asks, his knuckles skimming down your neck. “You…do have a plan, right?”

Taking a deep breath, you stand up straight.

“I’m thinking we hitch a late night train to District 2. There’s a weapons shipment tonight.” You grimace. “My dad, h-he sends them to the Peacekeepers garrisons there.” Every time you remember the part your father plays in keeping people in the Districts cowered and afraid of the Capitol’s wrath, you feel sick. This is who the man who raised you has become. Someone who turns a blind eye to his own people’s suffering. It makes you wonder if maybe he and Coriolanus are cut from the same cloth after all. Both of them opportunists. Both of them eager to step over everything and everyone to further their goals. Your father gives the Capitol the ammunition it needs to terrorize. And Coriolanus fuels them with ideas to keep that terror alive.

“We could head South, start a new life there,” William suggests.

You blink in surprise. This is a drastic decision, one you never expected to hear leave his lips.

“You mean, leave Panem?”

“Why not? There is nothing for us here. I don’t think there ever was.”

“You’d be leaving your family and friends behind William. A-Are you sure?”

He sends you a warm smile, rubbing your arms.

“You’re my family. You’re all I need.”

Your heart flutters, a fresh breeze of hope passing through you. 

“William…”

“This is my choice. I’m choosing you,” he interrupts, his inflection firmer than before. “In sickness and in health, until death do us part, right?”

You search his eyes and are shocked to realize William means this. He wants to elope with you, follow you into uncertainty and escape the Capitol’s vicious rule.

“I’m sorry…about everything.”

His tender lips graze your forehead.

“There is nothing to forgive. None of this was your fault.”

His soothing words cast a balm over your wounded heart. You spent so long blaming yourself, tortured by your own thoughts and lamenting every choice you made. It’s refreshing to hear that maybe, not all the responsibility falls upon your shoulders.

You wipe the budding tears in your eyes.

“We have to be quick,” you say, your voice more confident than before. “Coriolanus, he…we need to be long gone before he notices I left.”

William squeezes your shoulder.

“You don’t have to be scared of him anymore. I won’t let him get anywhere near you. If he wants to breathe the same air as you, he’ll have to do it over my dead body.”

He wraps his arms around you and, for the first time in several weeks, you feel safe.

You help William pack his most essential belongings before the two of you sneak into the night. Despite what he said, you don’t miss the brief way his green eyes mist as he shoves a picture of his parents and little sister into a leather bag. Guilt floods your insides. You’re the one in trouble, not him. Several times, you grapple with the urge to tell him to stay, that you can do this on your own. But there is no going back now. It’s too late. Besides, a selfish part of you doesn’t want to. It’s scary enough, leaving everything behind. The Capitol. Your childhood home. Your parents. Having William at your side is the only way you won’t fall apart out here. You don’t see yourself surviving beyond the borders without him. As much as you complained about your life here, you’re aware of how sheltered you’ve been. You always had food on the table. You were never cold. You always had a warm bed to sleep in.

Now, those things will not be guaranteed. 

You and William try to act natural around every peacekeeper you brush past, pretending you’re just two lovers meeting for a late night tryst. Still, your heart leaps each time you get a glimpse of the blue uniforms. You haven’t forgotten the time Coriolanus spent in district 12, paranoia prowling the edge of your mind. It’s not like he has any affiliation with them now, does he?

Sensing your unease, William squeezes your hand in reassurance. You smile at him.

Still, you don’t relax until the two of you have hailed a cab and are on your way to the train station on the outskirts of the city. 

Even when the two of you successfully make it onto the back of a cargo train unnoticed, you’re still on alert. Even the whistle of the train as it rumbles to life and leaves the station doesn’t grant you peace. William wraps his arm around your shoulders. The two of you are sitting on the floor behind a gigantic crate of machine guns.

He drops a kiss atop your head.

“Hey, everything will be fine. I promise. Nothing will happen to you.”

You tuck yourself against him. You wish you could let go of your fear but dread’s had you in its clutches since you left the station. Would Coriolanus’ plans for you be thwarted so easily? You find it hard to believe, remembering his unflinching desire to make you fall in line.

Still, you give a weak smile.

“You’re right. I’m being silly.”

As soon as you utter the words however, the train hisses and makes an abrupt stop on the tracks.

William frowns.

“What’s happening? I’ll go ch-”

Before your fiancé can finish his sentence, the doors of the wagon open. A gust of frosty wind whisks inside the train. William’s eyes widen but there’s no time to process his shock as he’s kicked in the gut by a peacekeeper.

Another man appears and the two of them yank him out of the train. 

“William!” you shout, jumping out of the wagon. 

Your fiancé coughs out blood as he’s dragged away by the two blue-clad men. He tries to fight them but they kick him in the jaw. He crashes into the grass. 

Your chest seizes. You begin racing towards him. However as the two men shift, revealing someone else behind them, someone whose haunting blue stare is forever engraved into your memories, you freeze. 

He scrutinizes you before shaking his head.

“You disappoint me, princess,” Coriolanus sighs, folding his arms. “I thought you were finally coming to your senses.”

The two men force William on his knees, one of them pointing his gun at his head to keep him docile. Your eyes water. Helplessness tugs at your chest. He took no time to find you. Did you ever stand a chance?

“Coriolanus, just let us go. This is…all of this is going too far,” you plead. 

He arches his brow, disdain lacing his tone as he says, “You really think I’d let my child grow up in a district?”

“You bastard,” William spits, hate flaring in his green eyes. 

Malice sways in Coriolanus’ orbs as he takes in your fiancé. His taunting voice echoes through the field.

“Oh, does it sting, knowing I’ve had her before you in every possible way?”

He tries to lunge himself at the blond. Your breath catches as you watch the peacekeepers beat him into submission. He keels over in the grass, coughing up more blood.

Coriolanus turns to you.

“I’m going to give you a choice, princess. Come back home to the Capitol with me, willingly. I’ll forgive you, set the entire matter aside and we can focus on our guest list, cake tasting and finding you the perfect dress for our wedding.” He tilts his head, his smile vanishing. “Or don’t. And I really can’t say what I’ll do next.” He chuckles darkly. “I just know you won’t like it.”

You look at him, disbelief and sadness surging through you. You wonder where your friend disappeared to, the one who dried your tears and whispered soft words of reassurance whenever your mood dipped, the one who showered you with gifts and attentions. The one who was kind. 

Who is this stranger standing before you?

Coriolanus laughs. 

“You know Sejanus looked at me the exact same way…like he expected me to be someone I’m not, someone I never was.” His eyes lock with yours. “Right to the bitter end.”

Your stomach sinks, an awful realization digging its way through your mind. You don’t know how you know. Perhaps it’s that smug smile on his lips. Perhaps that glow in his eyes. Or that subtle inflection to his words. Either way, you just know.

You know what Coriolanus did and your entire world falls apart.

Sejanus too never stood a chance, you bet.

You nod. “I’ll come with you.”

A subtle smile blooms on Coriolanus’ lips.

“What?” William stares at the interaction in shock.

Coriolanus offers you his hand as you approach.

“It’s over, William,” you mumble, too ashamed to meet his gaze. You focus on taking Coriolanus’ hand instead. His touch is deceptively soft. “Just go back home, forget about this. Forget about me.”

Your spirits sink lower and lower with every word that leaves your mouth. You are willingly walking to your grave.

William shakes his head.

“No way…”

Everything that follows happens in a blur. So quickly you barely register what’s going on. First, William throws himself at the blond. You gasp as you watch them wrestle, Coriolanus having a clear advantage. Next, one of the peacekeepers hands him a gun. 

He points it at his temple.

Ribbons of blood fly from William’s skull, painting Coriolanus’ shirt crimson.

Time stops for you as your eyes grow wide with horror.

The blond dusts himself off, shoving William’s limp frame off him as he rises.

He sighs at his stained shirt.

“This was brand new,” he laments.

You rush to William and fall to your knees near his unmoving body. It takes all your strength to even shift him a little. 

“William? William, please?” you whimper. His lifeless green eyes rise to the moon in the sky, his soft mouth parted in a scream that never will be. 

Your heart shatters into a million pieces, the shards piercing through your being and trailing scars in their wake. It will never stitch itself back together.

In the background, Coriolanus orders one of the peacekeepers.

“Get rid of the bodies. Make sure nothing is left. And I’ll put in a good word for your sister at the Citadel,” he promises.

The other peacekeeper pipes up, “The bodies? But there’s only one-”

A gunshot erupts. A few feet away, you watch one of the peacekeepers, the one who spoke up, crash into the ground. The other one shot him. Smoke still rises from his gun as Coriolanus nods at the man in approval.

“Like we agreed, I’ll also write to Commander Hoff on your behalf. You’ll start officer training next month.”

More words are exchanged between the two men but they fade amidst the buzz rising inside your head. You lie atop William’s corpse, numb as you faintly hope to find a heartbeat.

After a while, you’re hauled off your feet by a pair of strong arms. You struggle but it’s for naught. You’re taken away, William’s unmoving form dwindling in your vision.

“No, I can’t leave him…”

Coriolanus carries you bridal style to a vehicle. He places you in the passenger seat and ties your seatbelt. 

“Shh, it’s okay, princess,” he coos. “You need to calm down. This isn’t good for you and the baby.”

The baby. You have to admit that for a second, you considered trying to pry the gun out of Coriolanus’ hands and shooting it into your own head. End it all once and for all. Your life has already ended. So what difference would it make? But then you remembered. Your life isn’t just yours anymore. 

You look at the blond through tearful eyes, your hoarse voice swelling in the car. 

“Did you get my brother killed?”

Coriolanus puts on his own seatbelt and turns the key in the ignition. “What an awful assumption to make, princess.”

He grips the steering wheel as the engine roars to life. 

“However, it might be a good time to remember…that your father’s written me into his will.” Your breath stumbles. “Which means, though I prefer him alive to walk my beautiful bride down the aisle…” His blue eyes glimmer, his lips curving upward. “I also don’t need him to be.”

He shakes his head and sighs, running his fingers atop your thigh.

“Who knows how long he still has, with those heart issues of his. Anything could happen.”

“One day you will pay. For all of them,” you grit out, the sheer hate you feel for him overflowing in your tone. 

He fondles your cheek, his smile growing. 

“Perhaps… But not today.” He pauses, as if he just remembered something. He reaches inside the pocket of his coat. 

“Here,” he says as he pulls out a small velvet box.

You witness in horror as Coriolanus removes William’s ring from your finger and slips another one in its place. It’s ostentatious, the red rubies shimmering like blood in the darkness.

Once it’s on your finger, he admires it. He brings your hand to his lips, brushing a soft kiss over your knuckles. 

“Fits perfectly, just like I know it would,” he chimes. 

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

pleasant pile of pillows

kinktober, day eighteen

warnings: brother's best friend!james potter x reader, smut, secret relationship, cuddling, corruption kink, pillow humping, dry humping

word count: 714

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist | kinktober 2023

Blinking up at the door as you heard three soft knocks resonate, the visage of James’ face poking in couldn’t help but send butterflies soaring throughout your stomach. 

“Hey, may I come in?”

Hoping that your eyes weren’t too red and puffy, “sure,” you slowly unfurled yourself from the pleasant pile of pillows on your bed. 

Closing the door gingerly behind him, he then sat down next to you, “I come bearing gifts,” and conjured a small, red lollipop from his pocket. 

Exhausted smile blossoming upon your lips, you grasped the sucker, “thank you.” 

“Are you okay?” he asked as you unwrapped the candy and popped it into your mouth. 

“Yeah…” you picked up one of the numerous pillows and clutched it to your chest, “I’m really sorry about crying back there, I just can’t stand it when my brother talks to me like that, like I’m just a child… I’m only two years younger than him, but somehow, he thinks I stopped ageing after the age of ten.”

“Hey, I get it,” he attempted to catch your gaze, “if I had a brother who talked to me the same way, then I’d probably cry too.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” a soft giggle bubbled out of you. 

“I most certainly would! Like a baby!” his chuckle mixed and mingled with yours for but a second before he offered tenderly, “I’ll talk to him-”

“No, please don’t,” you reached out and grazed his forearm, “because then it’ll just seem like you-”

“I what?” he raised his eyebrows challengingly, “like you?” 

Letting out a low exhale as a shiver promptly ran down your spine, “you know he would hate you if he found out you saw me as more than just his little sister, right?”

Reaching out his fingers, he gingerly grasped the stick that stuck out from between your lips, “I don’t care,” eyes locked on your mouth, he slowly retraced the lollipop, only to push it back inside. You were none the wiser to how lewd the motion appeared, simply blinked back at him, solely fixated on the declaration he’d just uttered. Bottom lip lightly encaptured between his teeth, he let go of the sucker and redirected his gaze up to your eyes, “can I stay here while you rest?” his tender touch descended down your arm till his fingers weaved with your own. 

With a light nod of your head, “please,” you wrapped your arms around his neck in a warm hug. 

Sloping back down onto the mattress, James intuitively slotted in behind you, one arm draped over your waist. 

“What if he notices you’re gone?” you asked nervously, wiggling slightly to get more comfortable, the leg you weren’t lying on consequently flinging gently over the firm pillow sprawled out directly in front of it on the bed. 

“He’s knee-deep in some annoying boss battle in the game he’s trying to beat,” James’ hand ghosted over your form, nearly tickling you with soft, soothing circles, “he wouldn’t notice if the house was set on fire. You just rest, don’t worry about him.”

As his hands roamed your curled-up form in a comforting dance, the sensation nearly lulled you to sleep. 

Nearly. 

Because when his fingers began to more frequently skim over your thigh, going far enough to notice the pillow lodged beneath it, he suddenly grabbed a hold of the cushion and wedged it even further up between your legs. 

The stationary plush by itself was enough friction against your clothed clit for you to suck in a sharp breath, but it didn’t stop there, as with a fist tight around the corner, James began to rut it against you. 

Letting out a soft whimper, it felt like you were floating on a cloud, and when his face then nuzzled against your neck, your hips couldn’t help but bashfully rock back against the pillow. 

“James…” you whined wispily, the cherry lollipop nearly falling from your slackened jaw. 

“Hm…” his voice vibrated against the rapid pulse on your neck, pelvis behind you grinded a bit closer, driving his hardness against the softness of your ass. 

“Y-you’re-”

“It’s okay, love,” a fluttering kiss grazed the shell of your ear as he tugged the cushion harder against your throbbing centre, “just let me help you feel better…”

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[yiiyiiwrites]

| Weight in gold |

Summary: Azriel's curious about the absence of your wings and if the loss of them is a heavier weight to carry. 2349words

Azriel x Seraphim reader (hurt/angst/comfort).

[Acotar masterlist]

With every century that passed, the same dull ache remained. The coldness of winter in Velaris rattled your bones and pushed against your spine. This time of year did nothing, but remind you of the part of you, you lost. The last part connecting you to your mother.

The only way to soothe the constant shooting pain down your shoulder blades was having a steaming bath. Windows fogged up that even Azriel's shadows fought to make themselves seen.

"How bad is it, my love?" Azriel asked, crouching down by the bath tub and slinging his arm behind you on the edge. He's careful not to touch you, even the dark wisps accompanying him hover beside him as if there’s a shield around you keeping them out.

You suck in a breath, teeth sinking into your bottom lip. The scalding water lapping against your back, if you stayed sitting up the numb tingles would wither away to nothing, but it was not a total fix.

“It’s bearable,” you whispered, gaze cast down to the oils swirling on top of the surface of water.

Without looking at Azriel you can tell he doesn’t believe you. His pointer finger chasing the curls of oil in the bath, at times like this he’s more silent than ever. You peeked out of the corner of your eye, his face as hard as stone. A line setting between his thick brows and sharp line pulling his jaw.

You drew your legs closer to your chest, arms wrapping around them and chin resting on top of your knees. The cloudy glass of the window pane glistened as the warm glow of lights danced in the horizon.

Azriel had asked you many times about the Seraphim’s and Cretea, but you always withdrew. The light dwindling from your eyes and voice lowering that he did not push it further. You’d found history books tucked away between other books, parchments and rolled maps hiding the titles.

The only time your mate had caught a of glimpse of your past self was during training. You’d catch his lingering gaze as your Seraphim blades cut through the air, the thin light metal singing in the wind. He said you moved liked lightning, fast and powerful strikes.

“Would you prefer to go to summer? Or maybe dawn?” Azriel asked, wrapping a fluffy towel around you as you stepped out the bath. It’s warmth enveloping you, but you’d much rather your mates arms. He doesn’t touch you though, afraid you’ll shatter in his hold and maybe you think the same. Like a bird with a broken wing, you want to nurse yourself until you can’t feel the numbing pain.

You glanced over your shoulder at him, instantly regretting the abrupt movement. “I want to be here, with you.”

Azriel doesn’t miss a beat, his hands dug through the drawer retrieving your night clothes. “I know, but a warmer climate might help you.” He crouched down, helping you step into your nighty and pulled it up your legs and over your hips.

The silk glided over your skin, your arms easily slipping the thin straps over your shoulders. The fabric light and soft against your back. “I can handle the pain, what I can’t handle is being away a whole season without my mate.” You pressed your lips against his cheek as he rose from the floor.

“I can visit or work from…”

You shook your head, walking around the bed and rolling the duvet back on your designated side. A few books stacked on the side table, a dagger wedged into one particular hardback cover you hated.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you smoothed your palm over the lumpy pillow. You flinched as a sharp point pricked your finger, the tiniest bit of fluff sprouting through the soft weaved cotton. Plucking the feather, you traced curve of your palm.

Azriel had never seen you in all your glory. Your wings were once your greatest pride, before they were ripped away during the war. You’d spent centuries licking your wounds, pushing yourself to train harder on Cretea.

Wings as white as the clouds you used to skim with your fingertips during every flight. You wished you could feel the wind ruffling each feather, but did not miss the downpour of rain that clung to them. Once you hated the scent of rain, now you wanted to be able to complain about not being able to get rid of the stench.

Azriel made you love the rain, but part of you still loathed it. The way he’d fix your wet hair and shield you from the heavy downpour with his own wings, reminding you of the depths of a cave. Darkness swirling around you, but his eyes were like the sun at dusk peeking through the shadows.

Sometimes you caught yourself watching the rain racing down Azriel’s wings, his shadows chasing after them as if they knew you were looking. You wondered if he had noticed the way your gaze lingered on his wings, always tugging you forward so you never walked behind him.

A deep sigh pulled you out of your trance, Azriel knelt down in front of you, his hazel eyes followed the feather as you trailed it along his jaw line. Dark wisps twirled around your wrist, but they did not stop your movements.

“What are you thinking?” Azriel mused, a light chuckle rumbling his chest and blowing his shadows away from his face. His hands resting either side of your knees, thumbs brushing your thighs.

“I used to be great you know,” you whispered, not daring to meet his gaze.

The pain you carried otherworldly, like you’d died and been reborn again. The absence of weight on your back, set you off balance and rearranged everything in the world as you knew it. People looked at you differently, they offered you sympathy much more instead of awe.

It wasn’t just the loss of your wings, but the weight of gold. The shining armour you hadn’t worn since you left Cretea a few years ago and moved in with Azriel.

The only thing you could carry were your Seraphim blades, one still hidden under your pillow as if you were still sleeping in a war tent. Sometimes you’d wake covered in sweat, thinking you were still in midst of war. Shadows comforting you and bringing you back to the present.

“You still are great, arrows or not.”

Azriel’s voice firm and clear as his finger slipped the strap of your nighty to the side and tapped the cluster wounds on your right shoulder and chest. He’d once told you how they looked exactly like a constellation of stars he used to stare at in the Illyrian mountains.

Your breath trembled, feather escaping your grasp and hand thudding to the mattress. So, he had read of your history only now confessing what he knew. You wondered how far he’d gone, how detailed the text were based on the tales shared with others.

Did your mate see you like the other Seraphim warriors? Or the shell of the thing you had become?

“Seven arrows,” Azriel mused as he joined each wound together with his touch. “There’s texts about you crawling through battlefield and still tasting victory. Of all the things you’ve done it’s your courage and will that has been spoke of. Wings do not bestow that.”

The tears tumbling down your cheeks stung, but the sobs that rack your body pulled that tight string across your shoulder blades. The muscle memory wanting to curl your wings around your form and protect you, but they were not there. The emptiness felt like a dry well, a pebble dropping down and echoing against the depths of the grounds it fell to. And it took everything within you, to straighten your spine and wipe away the tears.

“My darkest days were on the ground, but then I met you.” You’d repeated the phrase to Azriel, his shadows tucking themselves behind him as if they did not want to darken your thoughts or your days.

The heights gave you no limits, but the earth beneath your feet did nothing but try to bury you.

His rough palm cupped your cheek and you leant into his warmth, savouring the gentle touch. Even though darkness surrounded you both, he remained as your beacon of light.

Your limbs felt heavy, the potent brewed tea Madja had made you finally working its magic. “My darkest days…” you mumbled, the warmth of Azriel’s hand left your cheek and you sunk into the pillow, eyelids fluttering shut. “On the ground, before you.”

·•✦•·

Azriel combed his fingers through your hair and tied it up in a knot.

“I wish I could have known you then, but now is enough. You are enough and more.” He whispered, hoping the pain had slid away for you. The past few nights you hadn’t slept well, he’d found you falling asleep at the desk in his office or at the dining table.

“Rhys knows.”

He couldn’t understand most of your slurred words as sleep pulled you away, but he knew what you meant. You’d told him the same thing every time during the coldest months and he was yet to ask Rhys to show him a memory of you back then.

Today was different though, you wanted him to know and part of him needed to meet you for the first time again. As someone he wouldn’t recognise, but it would help him understand the weight of your loss and hopefully he’d be able to lighten the load.

So Azriel found himself standing in the hallway of the townhouse, his shadows skimming the floor as if they were trying to drag him along with them. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to see you in a different life, one of happiness he knew would be stolen from you.

“What are you doing here?” Rhys appeared ahead of him, halfway out of the kitchen. “Should I get Madja?” He raised a brow, stepping aside to allow Feyre space to pass him.

“Az, is everything all right?” Feyre’s hand lightly touched Azriel’s arm, her voice soft and low.

Nothing felt right, not for you as you tried to get used to the absence of your wings. Azriel was in awe in how you sought out the good, looked beyond the loss and lived again, chose another life. How you chose him even if it meant you were always reminded of flying.

“I need to know, will you show me?” Azriel said, his gaze fixed on Rhys and he nodded in agreement.

Bidding goodbye to Feyre, Azriel entered the office and sat in the large armchair. The back making him feel smaller as he clutched the armrests, wood groaning under his grasp.

Rhys had shared his memories a few times with Azriel, but this felt like his a blood had turned to lead. Tongue heavy and throat dry as Rhys mumbled words coaxed him to close his eyes.

Going into Rhys memory felt like wading through the depths of ice cold water. The deeper he went, the darkness around him gave way to light.

A warmth struck the side of Azriel’s face and he glanced over his shoulder. The sun glaring down on him, but he wasn’t looking to the skies he was staring at you.

Glowing, ethereal as if you were not meant to be of this world. Golden armour glistening in the sun, but it was your smile that made him stop. The curve of your lips dropping as you clenched your jaw.

You were glaring at him, fists clenched by your side and those twin blades that spoke to Azriel, greeted him like an old friend as the whistle of wind sent him leaning back.

Azriel’s heart hammered against his chest, his stance widening and mirroring yours. He felt that golden thread tighten in his chest, the bond burning beneath his flesh. Shadows nowhere to be seen, but he could hear their murmurs in his ears.

“Don’t let your guard down for every pretty face, Rhysand.”

And you were, so beautiful. Then and now. He just didn’t have the words to describe it. Nothing felt like it would live up to the way you looked, if he were to speak of it.

He touched the side of his cheek, staring down at the blood coating his fingers and palm. Not his though, Rhys’s hand.

You snapped your wings, the force knocking him back. Wings as white as snow, soft as the clouds in summer. Long feathers ruffling in the breeze, sand dusting the bottom half.

“See you’re taking on your new role well, but I’m not in need of training,” Rhys said, a chuckle rumbling Azriel’s chest, no Rhys’s.

Role? Ah yes, you were made general. The winged pin on the left part of your cape, he’d seen that stashed away in your drawer.

“I could teach you a thing or two.” You flicked your blade and lifted his chin, eyes on the wound weaving itself back together.

Wait were you flirting with Rhys? Azriel had seen that smile before, you’d lifted his chin with a blade or two many times.

The world around Azriel fell away like he’d walked through a waterfall. The heat of the sun on his back no longer burning. The springs of the armchair dug into the back of his wings, flickering candle drawing his shadows back to him as he glared at Rhys on the other side of the desk.

“Tell me you did not pursue her,” Azriel asked, rising from his chair and planting his hands on the desk.

Rhys didn’t move, smirk pulling the corner of his lips. He swatted the dark wisps out of his face and shook his head. “I did not. She was, is highly desired.”

Was. Azriel would make sure to summon that bout of flirtation as soon as winter passed. He missed training with you, swapping blades to see how much you’d learnt from each other.

“Show me again,” Azriel found himself asking.

I can just imagine Azriel and Cassian finding books on seraphim!reader and talking about all her battles. Hushed voices, books traded in the shadows. Cassian wanting to ask how true the stories are.

[squibsformers]

Feral Fears, Ch. 1

Human x Transformers fic

MTMTE/Lost Light, First Contact AU

Rating: M

Word Count: 1,004

Desc: After needing to stop off for more supplies, the Lost Light gets a strange, displeased, new passenger.

AN: Hi hi hello I hope you like this! This was the poll winner, maybe I'll do another chapter soon. If you like it let me know! I enjoy reading tags and comments on my things a lot. This one's short to kinda get me back into the swing of writing.

[Next]

“How in the pit have we gone through this much energon so quickly…?” Yellow servos tapped rapidly against the owner's desk, glaring at the report from Ultra Magnus. 

“If you bothered to pay attention, you would have heard me when I said the breach in the ship had us LOSE much of our stock, as well as how quick we went through our repair supplies... We can refuel and pick up more once we hit the next stop off, but we may be stationed at the outpost longer than you'd like.”

The prime sighed. “Longer as in a few vorns or-”

“Cycles. We have to wait for them to get us what we want if they don't have it.”

“Slag. Well… Damn. Okay, I guess we don't really have a choice- Set a course for the nearest outpost, tell the crew they're getting a… surprise few days of tourism to go run around and do whatever it is they please.”

“...That's not-” Ultra Magnus sighed. “That's bound to lead to trouble.”

“You wanna explain to everyone they're grounded to their rooms while we're parked and picking up supplies?”

Ultra Magnus sighed. “No…”

“That's what I thought. Plot a course! Let's get moving, the ship isn't gonna fuel itself!”

–---

Legs carried them desperately, ducking and weaving along unshipped cargo and barrels of fuel.

They had to keep moving. Keep moving, keep quiet, keep running. Your lungs burned, feeling like hot embers were popping in your bronchial tubes, making them hiss and whine quietly as they flex, their feet thumping quietly, trying to run on the balls of their feet as they scurried through the shipping bay.

They had to keep moving. Keep moving, keep running, keep pushing and going, it can't stop, if they stop they're FUCKED so utterly fucked-

“♠︎£°▪︎¤#%¡¡¿ ~×&%ꕥ˚꒦꒷꒷﹆¡¡”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck-

They ducked down between two shipping containers that barely had enough space that they could squeeze between, cutting down the row and looking around.

Where to go. They had to hide, running wasn't going to work, they were so much bigger, so much stronger and faster and smarter- but they could be crafty. Ohoho and could be sneaky.

….I mean they couldn't see shit but. Well. That would just be an obstacle to work past.

The organic looked around, squinting while leaning back against a crate… and stumbled some, feeling the massive box's frame was warped. Frowning, it looked up, and noticed a small, dark spot waaay up at the lid.

….Hole. That had a hole.

Hopefully, a hole the human could wedge itself into.

To the right, they spotted some metal pallets…and started climbing, grunting and huffing with effort. The makeshift knapsack weighed them down some, but they kept moving, desperate for an escape, for freedom. The fleshy's hands slip at one point and they drop, letting out a pain-filled wheeze and hearing a nasty, wet crack.

Don't think about it. Don't think about it, don't do it. Barely even slowing down, the human heaves themself up, panting. Their free hand reaches over…and they whine as they clench the break, sliding the bone into…relative place. It looked…okay. Perfectly fine. Yes.

Absolutely. Couldn't even tell it had a staircase break.

….Time to climb again.

The human sighed and began scrabbling up, wincing and trying to ignore the obvious injury it had. They didn't have time to worry about that, and they needed to get to safety-

“^^□●₩◆°°°▪︎°%”

Fuck. Those fucking robots were close.

One pallet, two, three, four, six, eight-

When the organic reached the top of the pallets stack, they looked over to that crate, judged the little distance you could out…

And leapt across the gap, purposefully overshooting the edge so it wouldn't miss but stumbled and landed hard, cracking their already damaged arm, letting out a yelp of pain.

“!#$♤♤□♡°•°¡¡”

Time to hurry. That sounded very aggressive.

Feeling along the edge of the crate, they finally found the hole… and blindly smushed themselves inside, falling a small distance onto a pile of…something.

Cabling? It felt like cables, it had the outer layer of rubbery plastic…

Geez it was dark.

……Geez it was really dark.

They heard metallic footsteps storm closer, and the little organic being covered their mouth, taking slow breaths to try and stifle the sounds of being… well, alive.

They stayed that way for what felt like hours, the dark slowly pressing more and more in on you, stifling and terrifying but at the same time a sanctuary, a safety net. They listened as those pedes paced about, searching, scouring, seeking them out. They heard the strange “Vrr wrr chtcht chitter krr bzrtkr krrrzst” that was their strange natural language. Aggressive tones. Still mad. They heard…

….

They heard beeping. Something is getting closer, beeping is getting louder. Heard new footsteps, old ones fleeing once the shouting began. Heard the beep directly outside their cable sanctuary.

And then… felt movement. The crate jostled and shook, and you held your breath, waiting for the lid to be ripped off and you to be found….

But…that didn't happen. Instead…. the crate moved. And you were moving along with it, whether you wanted to or not.

There was chatter, again. Lots of chatter. Then there was an obnoxiously loud beep near one side of the crate, another more.. blippy-beep next to that spot…And the crate moved once more, rattling a bit, before there was a hiss, a soft thud and the sound of pedes leaving.

The little human stayed in that crate. Stayed in it for hours. 

And then there was a new noise. A louder noise. A deep, thrumming, hum, that evolved into a bone and brain rattling roar, of impossible machinery kicking in, engines revving, turbines whirling, and a feeling like, for a brief moment, their soul was pulled from their body.

When they felt relatively normal again, the human slowly peeked out from the hole in the crate, and squinted.

They had a feeling they were on another stupid ship.

[kentoxo]

I’m glad your askbox is back on ♡ may I request something with Yuta and how Rika would behave (would she?) towards someone he has a massive crush on? I feel there will be a Conversation™️ between the two when things get spicier with reader, idk~ ily, have a lovely day!

omg Rika would be soo like possessive but willing. like, she would never go out of turn, but she wouldn't just stand around and let him do whatever without explanation

pairing: reader (f) x crush!Yuta (aged up) ft. Rika

warnings: kissing, touching

a/n: ily2 anon!!! thank u for the req :') happy i turned on my ask right when you wanted to send a req

Rika would never let Yuta live it down.

He, too, never expected that he'd love anyone again the way he did Rika. It was a love so profound that he could not let her go. His soul is forever bonded and imbued with her love, something that has proven to be his biggest strength. But then, there was you.

Yuta's eyes would always follow you whenever you'd train, staring in awe at the way you performed as if fighting were a tango. He'd study you at a distance, sat at a few benches with Toge and Panda. With hands weaved together under his chin, he'd stare at you adoringly. But, Rika would remind him of her existence and lightly push the bench he sat on, forcing all three of the sorcerers to try not to fall forward.

"Huh?" Panda exclaimed, looking over at Toge quizzically. He looked up at the clouds, "the wind can't be that strong, can it?"

Yuta looked over at the confused pair with a sheepish smile, "sorry. Rika was... feeling playful."

Even in the dining hall, Yuta would work up the courage to go sit with you and the other sorcerers. Taking a seat across from you, he'd quietly hum a, "good evening, y/n."

You consciously had to make sure you didn't smile too much at his presence and would give a small bow, "good evening, Okkotsu." Although the both of you were similar in age, he was still Gojo's student, and you had too much respect for him.

When Yuta spoke to you, there were fireworks. His heart felt elated and full just hearing your words, and the way you spoke. How gentle the words came out of your mouth, your tongue flicking right at your enunciations. He could remain like this here, with you, forever. But, as he lifted his spoon full of soup, the spoon immediately shot out of his hand, and straight through the bowl and table, to the ground.

"S-sorry," Yuta hums in embarrassment, immediately letting out a deep sigh before beginning to clean up. But you jumped to your feet to help him, creating a bigger problem in Yuta's heart... and pants.

"No worries, let me help!" You chime.

Finally, with much time and patience, Yuta was able to confess his feelings for you. His dark circles felt as though they cleared when you reciprocated his feelings. But in Yuta's head, he was quite surprised that Rika had yet to react. Little did he know what was to come.

You contently invited Yuta over one night as he finally had some time off. Gojo was grateful for all the missions he had taken up during a short and very needed period. He relieved him of his sorcerer duties for a week, in which Yuta had no plans besides you.

When he entered your apartment, the air immediately went hot. Although the two of you hadn't done anything yet, the sight of you in a little tank top and pajama pants was enough to do things to Yuta. Your chest was bare under that tank top, and the pants were doing your ass wonders.

He'd just stare at you, watching your lips move as you asked about his day. But once you realized he wasn't listening (and he reason why), you immediately went quiet and felt your cheeks warm. Yuta's exhausted eyes lit up, energy returning to his pale skin.

In moments, his hands snake down from your sides to your waist, slowly making its way to your bum. His dark blue eyes hold hesitance, searching for constant reassurance in your own. "Is this okay?" He murmurs, cheeks completely flushed with his bottom lip wedged between his teeth. Once you give him the greenlight, nothing stops Yuta from enjoying you.

Cold lips meet your own, and the two of you finally closed the gap. The usually respectful and patient Yuta was now replaced with the ever hungry beast before you. His tongue dragged mercilessly against your bottom lip, forcing entry to tango with your own. He tasted of green tea and fig.

You could feel his fingers dent into your ass, his force pushing your body into his own. His back meets with the wall, and your body follows suit. He smells so good... feels so good... your hands sneak its way to the top of his pants, tugging teasingly. When you did, Yuta quickly pulled away.

He kept hold of you, staring down at your beautiful face. His heart could explode now from just the way your eyes met his own. They were filled with lust and worry. "m'so sorry to stop us like this... do you think it's okay if I have a moment? With Rika?"

Your cheeks go hotter, but you understood completely. You turn around and gesture the balcony, "go ahead there. I won't disturb you." You were not even an ounce upset, and Yuta couldn't be more grateful. Leaving a peck on your forehead, he calmly walked over to the balcony and slid the door shut behind him.

In the privacy of the outside, Yuta walked over to the ledge of the balcony, propping his forearms over it. He let out a long sigh before looking up to adore the stars. He begins to toy with his ring with an amused smile, "I never realized you could do that, Rika." He referred to the way she had made the ring spin while the two of you were kissing. "I must be pushing your buttons, huh?"

Rika was above him, holding onto the side of the building. Tears began to escape her body, her hand shakily reaching down at Yuta. "Yuta..." she cried, her usual shriek replaced with a calm whimper. Yuta couldn't dare scold her, for her feelings weren't wrong.

Turning around, Yuta looks up at her and smiles, "I know; this isn't fair to you. I would give the world to reverse what happened to you, and have you here with me properly. But that isn't what happened."

Rika remains still, her gaze falling to the door of the balcony, in which you resided on the other side of it.

Yuta continues to smile brightly, "I know you don't like sharing but she... y/n, she's good to me. And I need her like I need you. She keeps me safe like you do." He walks up to her, offering a hand. "Please be kind to her, Rika."

Rika leans down slowly, hesitantly. As she cowers her head, she asks quietly, "love me [still]?"

His hand pats her head gently, "always. That will never change, Rika. I promise." After a few moments, Rika seems to accept and finds comfort in his touch. Before she exits her physical form, she causes Yuta's ring to spin once more. He chuckles, shaking his head, "I know, don't worry."

Yuta joins you back inside, where you quickly jump up and rush to him. "Did everything go well?" You ask in a hush tone.

Yuta nods, "nothing to worry about."