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archangeldyke-all · 6 months ago

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riding plug sev in her car 😍😍🫠

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PLEASE listen to this song it's sooooo plug sevika coded omg...

men and minors dni

"shit, it's pouring." sevika curses.

you're driving home from a late night movie, and the drizzle that started as you left the theater is now a torrential downpour.

"might be safest to just pull over and park until the storm rolls over, babe." you suggest.

sevika nods and throws her blinker on, pulling into a nearby park.

for a few minutes, the two of you sit, waiting for the rain to slow. but, after a while, it becomes clear that the storm's got nowhere to be.

you don't mind. the pair of you have nowhere to be either.

sevika sighs as she reclines in her seat, wordlessly pulling open her center console to grab a pre-roll-- always looking for a minute to slow down and smoke with you.

you giggle, flicking the headlights and wipers off, turning the radio up a bit, then holding your hands around the lighter to keep the a/c from blowing the joint out as your girl lights it.

"did you like the movie?" you ask with a fond smile.

sevika grins around the joint.

it was some obscure sci-fi flick, you had no idea what was going on half the time, but sevika had read the books that went along with the movie earlier in the year, and she'd been talking non-stop about it since. you spent most of the movie just watching your girlfriend wiggle in her seat as she nerded out.

"it was amazing. the casting choices were ridiculous, but the soundtrack was incredible, and the special effects were amazing! the scene where commander gorzo gets infected with the virus was so gory and nasty-- that black goo they used was just like in the book, it was perfect!"

you smile. "you're fucking adorable."

sevika blushes, hands you the joint, and tries to hide her pretty smile behind her hand.

you laugh and take a hit, before unbuckling your seat belt and reaching across the console to grab her shoulder. "take this." you say, handing her the joint.

sevika puts the joint in her mouth, takes a long hit, and then chokes in surprise when you crawl into her lap, straddling her legs.

"wha?" she asks through a cough.

you smile, let her catch her breath, then lean forward and press your mouth to hers. sevika melts into her seat and her free hand reaches out to wrap around your waist.

you pull away to gasp for air, and sevika blinks up at you with big, sparkly eyes. "what was that for?" she asks, her thumb sliding under your shirt to rub circles in your hips. you giggle.

"it's really cute seeing you be all nerdy. i was so convinced you were all cool and suave all the time-- but now i know better." you tease. sevika huffs and leans forward to bury her face in your tits.

"shut up."

"no, babe, i love it. i love you. love that i get to see you all sweet and excited."

sevika doesn't respond. she just reaches up and pushes the joint into your mouth to get you to shut up. you giggle, scratching her scalp where her head rests against your chest.

for a few minutes, you just cuddle like that, passing the joint back and forth and becoming more and more relaxed as the weed, the sound of the rain, and the low music on the radio lull you and sevika into a hazy state of relaxation.

then, sevika bursts into giggles.

"what?" you ask. sevika just continues to laugh, grinning up at you. "what's so funny, baby?"

"i just remembered..." she leans forward a bit, her grip on your waist tightening to keep you upright as she fumbles around in the glove box.

"what're you looking for? snacks?"

"this." sevika cackles as she hands you her treasure. you burst into laughter when sevika shows you the little silky pouch that you use to store your dildos when you're traveling.

"when'd you stash this in here?!" you ask, opening the bag with a snort and pulling out the harness and cock.

"few weeks ago." she says with a giggle.

"you're a genius." you laugh, kissing sevika's cheek.

it takes a while for the two of you to untangle enough for sevika to get the harness on, constant giggle fits breaking out between the pair of you, but eventually you figure it out, hiking your skirt up and sliding your panties to the side before you sink down on sevika.

you both sigh in relief as you adjust to the stretch of her. sevika's kissing up and down your neck, fiddling with your bra clasps under your shirt as she patiently waits for you. "you feel so good." sevika sighs.

you chuckle. "not as good as you." you sigh. sevika snorts, smacks your ass, then reaches into the center console again, pulling out another joint. you burst into giggles.

"go ahead 'n ride me baby, i'm just gonna smoke and enjoy the view." sevika sighs as she sits back in her seat, sparking up.

fuck, there's the cool sevika you were talking about earlier. her eyes are dark and predatory as she waits for you to follow her instructions, and you shiver as you start to grind slowly on her lap.

"there you go, baby." she sighs, smiling. "fuck, take your shirt off i wanna see your tits." you scramble to follow her directions, flinging your shirt into the back seat and your bra on the dashboard. sevika groans when you're revealed to her, the cherry of her joint illuminating you in a red-gold glow.

she reaches out with her free hand to pinch your nipples and you huff, smacking her hands away. she smirks. "adorable."

"sevika." you moan as you start to pick your pace up a bit, bouncing on her lap. she holds the joint to your lips, lets you take a quick hit before pulling it away.

"there you go, love. just feel good for me. love watchin' you like this-- fuck, you're so pretty when you're stuffed full'a my cock." she sighs.

you duck forward and press your lips to sevika's in a sloppy kiss, shutting her up before her words make you cum two minutes into getting her inside of you. it's a sticky, drooly mess-- your lip gloss and spit making sevika's chin shiny whne you pull away.

her eyes cross a bit as she watches a string of spit stretch between your lower lips, and she claws at your ass when it finally breaks and lands on your tits. "you're so fuckin' hot." sevika growls, ducking forward to start sucking a hickey into your throat. she's abandoned the joint, letting it smoke out in the cupholder beside her. "can't believe you're mine. 'm so fuckin' lucky-- can't believe you watched that whole movie with me babe, it was like four hours." sevika chuckles.

you giggle and tug her hair. "i'd do a whole lot more for you, baby." you say. sevika shivers, and you tug her hair a little more. "y'know that right?"

"fuck, yes." sev whines against your throat. "fuck. you're soaking my pants, baby, look." sevika grabs your wrist and drags your hand down to her pants, where you're soaking the base of her cock and the fabric beneath it. you whimper.

"s-sorry."

"don't be fuckin' sorry, i love it. wish i could wear your cum in public, baby-- show everybody you're mine all the time."

you gasp, your thighs starting to shake. sevika takes over for you, both her hands on your ass, pulling you up and down on her cock.

the squelching noise of your cunt starts to drown out the rain and music, your squeaks and moans getting louder and louder as sevika sinks further down in her seat, props one foot up on the dash, and starts fucking into you from underneath you.

"sevika!" you scream. "sevika, shit, there, baby, there!" you cry.

"fuck, baby, cum on my dick, give it to me, baby, give it to me." she spits on two of her fingers and starts rubbing your clit in harsh little circles as you start to fall apart on top of her.

"se-sevika!" you cry. "i'm gonna--"

"fucking cum." sevika growls as you squirt on her dick, soaking her lap completely. "fuck, baby, just like that, there you go baby, my perfect fuckin' girl--"

"s-sev." you sob.

sevika pulls you forward with a hand on your jaw, shoving her tongue down your throat as you gasp for air. "fuckin' love you." she whispers against your lips. "love you so much, baby, fuck, you taste like strawberries."

this makes you giggle. "'s my lipgloss."

"fuckin' love it. bet your pussy tastes like strawberries too. gonna let me try?" she asks, smacking your ass. you laugh.

"maybe when we get home."

"mmm. but it's still raining and we won't be home forever..." sevika pouts. you just reach out blindly for the joint in the cupholder, shoving it in your girlfriend's chest as you try to catch your breath.

"fuckin'-- suck on this for now." you sigh.

sevika laughs so hard she snorts.

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#sevika #sevika imagine #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x you #soft sevika #sevika smut

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grapejuicenharry · 3 months ago

Text

Angel (part 4)

Y/N fails her exam and has a slight miscommunication with Harry, but he takes care of her. (4k words)

warnings: angst, smut, 18+, squirting (sorry i got carried away), fingering.

✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆ . ✶⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶. ⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶ ⋆.˚꩜ .ᐟ˙⋆✶

Y/N woke up with a sour feeling in her stomach. She'd been on edge since the weekend, dreading today because her psychology exam results were coming out, and she knew she hadn't done well.

She remembered how exam week had lined up with her period, the dull ache in her head making it nearly impossible to focus or prepare like she wanted.

Harry had been there atterward, pulling her close, covering her in kisses, and telling her how proud he was and how she'd done her best. In those moments, she'd felt a bit lighter, as if the weight had lifted. But now, as she thought about the results again, that same heavy pit began to settle in her stomach.

Y/N's day was off to a terrible start.

Nothing had gone right since morning.

She'd nearly slipped in the bathroom while brushing her teeth, burned her breakfast because she was so lost in anxious thoughts, and then, on the way to university, a creepy guy wouldn't stop staring at her. All she wanted was to hide away in Harry's room, wrapped up in his arms, safe on the couch.

She wished she could call Harry and ask him to be with her, but she knew he was busy preparing for his own exams. He had a calculus test in a few days and was buried in studying. She was thankful she hadn't chosen calculus this semester—she'd probably flunk it for sure. But Harry was such a nerd, so smart and hardworking, she knew he'd get through it easily. The image of Harry buried in his book, glasses perched on his nose, brought a smile to her face. He was just too cute.

Y/N sits in the library, her laptop open in front of her. She nervously chews her nails, contemplating her recent life decisions. Closing her eyes, she whispers, “It’s okay,” and clicks to view her grade, silently praying for a passing mark.

She failed.

A big, fat D stares back at her from the screen. Her eyes go glossy as she struggles to hold back the tears that threaten to spill over. Embarrassed, she glances around, hoping no one saw her screen. The thought of telling Harry makes her stomach twist—Harry, who always believed in her, his favorite girl. Part of her wants to call him, to feel his comforting embrace, to hear him tell her it will be okay. But another part worries that he might be disappointed, maybe even embarrassed. Harry always calls her smart and brilliant, but how would he react to this? Would he laugh? Would he be ashamed?

No, she tells herself, he would never do that. He loves her; he always takes care of her. Her grade wouldn’t matter to him—she can always retake the test, after all. Taking a deep breath, she decides. She should definitely call Harry.

Harry doesn’t pick up. Y/N tries calling him three times, but each call goes unanswered. She texts him, but the messages remain unseen. Frustration and exhaustion settle in, and she decides she can’t stay at the university any longer. Packing her laptop, pouch, and books into her bag, her stomach growls, reminding her that she skipped breakfast after burning it earlier. She decides to stop by the campus café on her way home.

But as she approaches the café, she sees him—Harry. Her Harry, leaning against the wall, deep in conversation with Emma. The same Emma who never missed an opportunity to get close to him. And worst of all, they’re laughing together. Harry says something that makes Emma throw her head back in laughter, standing far too close to him. Y/N stares from a distance, her eyes stinging with unshed tears and a headache starting to build.

Harry and Y/N have been dating for a while now—ten months, and she trusts him completely. She knows how much he loves her and that he’d never cheat. But her chest aches at the thought that he might’ve ignored her calls just because he was busy with Emma. Y/N feels so alone, so vulnerable with everything that’s gone wrong today.

When Emma places a hand on Harry’s shoulder, Y/N feels a spark of anger she rarely experiences. She’s not usually the jealous type, but today has been a disaster, and her emotions are all over the place. All she wanted was to be with her boyfriend, for him to comfort her, but he's... occupied.

Of course Harry would enjoy Emma's company, she thinks bitterly. Emma, who's so good in all her classes, probably never fails at anything. She's beautiful, with her blonde hair, perfect white teeth, and tall, slender frame that seems to match Harry's so well. Unlike YN, who feels foolish, even small, in comparison. She's never felt this insecure, this low, and right now, she just feels... dumb.

Blinking away her tears as discreetly as possible, Y/N turns and walks back to her apartment, her appetite gone.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

Harry was confused. He was finally done with his studies for the day and wrapped up to go home. He was so excited because he can finally spend the night with Y/N, whom he hadn't seen for two days. He had been so busy with his exams that they did not get time to meet each other. He missed her terribly, and now he just wanted to go to her apartment, cuddle with her, and just be in each other’s presence. She’d been the first thing on his mind all day—the person he’d wanted to see as soon as he got a break from studying.

He fumbled with his keys as he opened the apartment door, unlocking his phone to make a call, but his eyes widened when he saw that Y/N had called him three times in the afternoon. “Shit,” he whispered, mentally cursing himself for silencing his phone. He dialed her number back, but the calls went unanswered. He tried texting her, but there was no reply.

Sighing, he slouched on the couch. His muscles were sore and achy because of sitting in front of his laptop all day. That made him think of Y/N’s touch—the way her hands would move over his shoulders, soothing every ache, her voice soft and calming. The thought only made him miss her more. His hair was all messed up and tousled, eyes red and sunken behind his glasses, and a face with exhaustion written all over.

He hadn’t even gotten the chance to have a proper meal all day. He was so buried in his books that he forgot to eat. But that did not matter. Now he just wanted to be with her, to talk with her, to breather her, and to share a meal with her.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

Y/N was a mess. She had been crying for the past two hours and couldn't understand why her tears wouldn't stop. Her face was all blotchy and red. Her eyes swollen with tears, and she declined Harry’s call yet again. He’d been calling nonstop and even texted, asking if he could come over. But she didn’t want him to see her like this—all blotchy with snot covering her face. Y/N knew she was being immature, but her feelings were hurt, and she just wanted to let out everything that had been bottled up since the morning.

Cuddled on her couch with a blanket wrapped around her as she stares at his contact yet again. She couldn’t help it. Finally, she texted him not to come over, saying she was busy. Harry would just assume she is busy with her assignments. She tried to come up with some other excuse, but she knows if she had told him that she was not well, he would rush over to see her.

God, Y/N couldn’t help but feel pathetic.

She knew she should just call him and, for the truth, talk to him and clear the air, but right now she just wanted to be alone... with no one around but her broken heart.

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ────

Harry visits Y/N the next morning, His night went by tossing and turning, unable to get a wink of sleep, so upset after her text message. There was a sour feeling in his chest, one where he couldn't quite put a finger on. He knew Y/N well, and she never acted like this. Even when she was in an unpleasent mood, she never refused to hang out. This was the first time she had ever done something like this, and he couldn’t help but worry. Weird thoughts started creeping up his mind. But he pushed them aside and made his way over to Y/N’s apartment. He wanted to know what’s wrong and if she is okay.

Harry rang the bell twice, but there was no response. Concern tugged at him, so he tried opening the door, and thankfully it was unlocked. Slipping inside, he made his way through the quiet apartment towards her bedroom. When he reached her room, he paused in the doorway, his gaze softening as he took in the sight of her sleeping peacefully. A frown took over his face when he looked closely at her puffy eyes and red cheeks. Wondering if Y/N had been crying. He couldn’t help but advance his steps towards her bed and carefully sat beside her. His fingers traced her features: the stray strand of hair, the fallen strand of her delicate nose, and her pouty lips. She looked like an angel, his beautiful angel.

Y/N stirred in her sleep, opening her eyes, which was somewhat an effort because of how late she had been to bed after exhausting herself. Blinking up in surprise, she sees Harry,

Harry, who was sitting beside her and his fingers playing with a strand of her hair.

“Harry… What are you doing here?” Her voice barely above a whisper. Y/N sits up, rubbing her eyes with her knuckles, pulling her blanket closer around her. Seeing his face clearly after two whole days, worry written all over.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you." He said softly, “You wouldn’t answer my calls last night. And I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” He murmurs, but his face fell when she looked away quickly, avoiding his eyes.

“I am fine,” she mutters sharply, looking down at her lap. Harry frowns at her response.

“You don’t look fine, love. What’s going on? Did I do something?”

She takes a shaky breath, trying to hold back tears that are threatening to pour any second. She hated herself for not being able to control her emotions during such times. She looks down at her lap, trying her hardest to avoid his gaze.

“You didn’t answer my calls either, Harry. I needed you. Yesterday was... hard for me. And you..” She pauses, taking a breath. “You were with Emma.”

Harry’s brows knitted in confusion. Then realization dawned on him. His expression softened, and he reached out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Y/N, no. My phone was on silent because I was studying, and I didn’t see your calls until later. I’m sorry. I never meant for you to feel that way. And Emma..” Harry shakes his head and takes a deep breath before saying, “Baby, she is dating Alex. She just wanted to know, ask me a few things to plan his birthday party, since I’m his close friend.”

"Oh,” whispers Y/N, more to herself as realization dawned upon her. Her fingers nervously pick at her cuticles. She’d been so stupid, so dumb, to jump to conclusions.

“You’re not stupid.” Harry says softly, as if he can read her thoughts. He knows her tendency to blame herself for even the smallest things.

“I just.. I failed my psychology exam, Harry.” She admits, her voice breaking as she sniffles. “I felt like everything was falling apart, and you weren’t there. I didn’t know what to think.” Her cheeks were red with tears.

Without hesitation, Harry pulls her into his arms, his hand rubbing gentle circles on her back. She buries her face in his neck. His clean, masculine scent gives her comfort as she clings to him and straddles his lap. Her arms wrapped around his neck tightly.

“I am sorry, Y/N." He murmurs, “I should’ve been there for you, but failing that exam doesn’t change anything about how smart you are. You’re going to get through this. And I’m going to help you however I can. I’m here, okay? You don’t have to go through this alone.”

Hearing him say these words instantly brings relief to her, her mind instantly relaxing, easing some tension from her body. The weight of failure soon dissipates. She clings to him tightly. How could she ever think Harry would be ashamed or embarrassed of her?

He is right—she will get through this; failing an exam doesn’t mean it’s the end of the world. It was just a stupid test.

After a while, she pulls back, feeling much better. “I just felt so alone. I didn’t mean to doubt you.”

Harry gently lifts her chin and presses a soft kiss on her forehead. “And I'm sorry for making you feel like you couldn't reach me. I love you, Y/N. The last thing I want is for you to go through something like that by yourself.”

Her lips curl into a smile. Her heart is still racing at the sound of his ‘I love you’, even though he says it to her so often. “I'm sorry too... for jumping to conclusions.” She whispers back.

Harry smiles, his thumb brushing away a tear. “C’mon, no more tears, okay? Let’s get cleaned up, and we’ll have breakfast together.” He suddenly stands up, with Y/N in his arms, making their way to the washroom. Y/N laughs at his antics.

He sets her down on the counter, handing her toothbrush with toothpaste already on it. She takes it and starts brushing her teeth, keeping him caged between her legs.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

After she was done brushing her teeth, they peeled off each other’s clothes while stumbling into the shower eager. The hot water cascaded over them. Harry applied shampoo to Y/N’s hair, his fingers massaging her scalp gently. She tipped her head back in relaxation, letting her eyes flutter shut, enjoying the sensation. His touch felt like heaven. He felt like home; it all felt so natural. She loved these domestic moments—showering together, cooking for each other, sleeping in each other’s arms—like they were meant to be.

As Harry rinsed the shampoo from her hair, his hand drifted to her shoulders, rubbing soothing patterns into her tight muscles. He was tracing every curve of her neck. Y/N shivered under his touch. Harry hated seeing his baby stressed, exhausted, and drained. He wished he could take all her worries away.

His hand then moved to her front, cupping her breast in his soapy palm, squeezing and pinching her nipples. Y/N let out a soft gasp, resting her head on his shoulder now, her eyes fluttering shut. How had a sweet, comforting moment turned into something heated? but she didn’t mind. Not when it had been so long since they’d touched each other like this. They hadn’t had the chance to initiate anything with each other in a while because of their busy schedules. So naturally, Y/N was very aroused by his simple touch.

Harry began planting slow, deliberate kisses along her bare, wet shoulder while his fingers continued to caress her breasts. He could feel the tension in her body and how she was clinging to him like he was her lifeline. “Feels good, yeah?” he murmured huskily, his voice thick with desire. She nodded feverishly, unable to form any words.

As Harry stood behind her, she could feel him, his hard length pressed against the curve of her ass. The feeling sent a thrill through her. Unable to resist, she pushed back, grinding against him slowly, teasingly. Harry’s breath hitched. She felt a sharp inhale against her ear.

A smirk tugged at her lips; she knew what she was doing. But she did not expect a sharp sting of his palm on her ass. The slap was lightly, sending a jolt of pleasure straight to her core. She gasped at the contact.

"Behave,” he murmured in her ear, his voice low with arousal, nipping at her ear lightly. Her pussyclenching around nothing, she could barely hold back any longer. She was so wet, drenched with desire, her wetness coating her thighs. She wanted him to touch her pussy, make her cum—

In the next moment, Harry turned her around and pressed her against the wall. She gasped at the cool contact with the tiles. He captured her mouth with a heated kiss, sucking her bottom lip. His lips moving hungrily against hers. Her mind was spinning. It took her a few moments to process. Her body arching as she let out a soft, needy moan.

Harry groaned in response. The kiss was messy and passionate, as if they were trying to make up for the lost time. Harry began trailing kisses down her throat and sucking a sensitive spot below her ear. He needed her to know this—how much he’d miss her. He dipped his head and took a nipple in his mouth. Y/N gasped as the heat of his mouth came into contact with her cold nipple; he started sucking gently while his other hand played with her other breast.

“Harry, it feels so good,” Y/N whispered, her voice barely above a breath. Her eyes closed, her hand tugging at Harry’s hair.

Harry looked up at her, his gaze dark with desire and lust. Seeing her so needy, so desperate for him, he loved her like this. He wanted to take care of her with pleasure and satisfy her needs. Without any worry, Harry dropped down to his knees. He hooked one of her legs onto his shoulder, his fingers slipping between her legs and playing with her wet slit. He looked up, meeting her eyes as he brushed his thumb on her clit.

“Fuck, you’re dripping, baby,” he muttered, his voice hoarse with need.

Y/N’s breath hitched, fingers tightening in his hair, as in the next moment he dipped his head and licked a long path from her opening to her clit. “A-aah, yes,” Y/N breathed out. Her moans became more loud as he began sucking her clit, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud. His both hands gripping her waist tightly, He smirked at her response. Y/N tightened her grip on his hair and began grinding against his face. Harry groaned in response, the vibrations making her legs shake.

He pulled back just enough to catch his breath, his lips glistening and his eyes dark with lust as he muttered, “I need to have this sweet pussy for breakfast every day." With a smirk, he dove back in, devouring her like she was his last meal.

The filthy, dirty words made her feel gooey inside, a warmth spreading from her chest to her core. She’d never understand where Harry got his filthy mouth from, but it always stirred something deep within her, making her brain all mushy and puddled, like she could barely think straight. It made her want to do everything that he said, every sinful thing he whispers in her ear, with that husky and deep voice of his.

Finally, the deep bubble of pleasure in her belly burst. Her vision hazy, her head tipped back as the loud moan escaped her lips. Just at the right moment, Harry thrust two fingers inside, curling them up. It sent her over the edge. Her back arched as she moaned breathlessly. Harry groaned into her as he felt her walls clenched around his fingers. Y/N squirted, her pussy fluttering, as she tried catching her breath. Harry, whose face was now wet with her release, was lapping up every drop of her arousal like a starved man.

Y/N never thought she could squirt; never in her wildest dreams could she have imagined Harry making her squirt, but it felt so euphoric. She was so sensitive, shivering at every flick of his tongue. When she managed to look down, her breath hitched. Harry was still on his knees, his face wet, eyes closed, lost in devouring her. But what caught her eye was the way his own cum dripped down his abs—the evidence of his own release. He had cum without even being touched, just by eating her out. The sight made her clench around nothing.

Harry looked up at her, following her gaze. It took a second to realize what she was staring at. He glanced down at his abs; his face flushed an even deeper shade of red in embarrassment.

Y/N quickly pulled Harry on his feet, his cheeks red, lips glistening with her arousal, and eyes dark and hypnotizing. Y/N leaned forward and captured his mouth with hers. Pouring every emotion she couldn’t quite put into the words. She could taste herself on his lips. They both pulled away, resting their foreheads together, trying to catch their breath.

Harry laughed breathlessly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess, I got a bit carried away, huh?”

Y/N’s gaze softened as a smile curled on her lips. “Seems like you had a good time down there.” She teased, her fingers tracing circles on his abs.

Harry chuckles as he pecks her nose. “You have no idea.” He admits.

༘˚⋆𐙚｡⋆𖦹.✧˚

After they both actually showered and cleaned each other up, tired and exhausted. The hot water relaxing them, Y/N leaned on her toes and began applying shampoo to his head. She loved that he smelled like berries now. Harry wrapped her in a towel and then dressed her in his shirt—the one he’d wore that morning. It reached her thighs, and it smelled like him. It felt like home.

While he himself walked around shirtless, just in his gray trousers that slung low around his hips. Not that Y/N minded; she loved the view.

Harry made his way to the kitchen, quickly preparing a breakfast for her. He scrambled some eggs and poured a fresh glass of orange juice. They both had their meal while being in each other’s arms, tugging at the corner of the couch. His arms wrapped around her tightly.

This morning felt like heaven. Y/N decided she wanted every morning to start like this, filled with sweet words, kisses, and gentle touches, without the crying part, of course.

She felt Harry behind her, bringing her back to reality. “I’m going to tutor you for your psychology rest, baby. We’ll go over everything, and you’re going to do great; I just know it,”

He murmurs, reassuring while pressing a chaste kiss on her cheeks as she felt all the worry leaving her body. His confidence in her made all the worry drain from her body. She knew she would pass the next exam, with him being on her side.

#harry styles imagine #harry fanfic #harry styles fluff #harry smut #harry styles au #harry styles blurb #harry styles book #harry styles drabble #angel #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles x reader #i hope you like it <3 #<333 #my au

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restinslices · 1 year ago

Text

Everything

PJO Show Ares x Child!Reader (no gender specified)

Word count: 2459

Summary: Ares supposedly hates kids, so it’s really strange that he comes when you call. (Do not let the summary fool you, this is not fluff. Based on a dream I had a couple days ago. Warning for possible ooc Ares and brief mentions of abuse. Blink and you’ll miss it type shit)

“I don't wanna say”, Grover fingers fidgeted with each other as he purposefully avoided eye contact with you.

“We're friends, right?”

“Of course!”

“Then you have to tell me! You spoke to my father, I gotta know what he said! What was he like? I bet he was really cool! Man, I wish I could've been there and talked to him”, you looked down at your shoes and added more misery to your face than was necessary. It was extremely childish and petty but Grover kept refusing to tell you what your father Ares was like. You had to know though. You doubted he brought you up, but you still wanted to know what he said and what he was like when he was just out and about. Grover had the opportunity to have a long talk with him and that was something you'd kill and suffer for.

“I doubt you'd wanna do that” he mumbled, but you heard him.

“Why'd you say that?” You asked.

Grover refused to expound on what he meant… at first.

Everyone knew Grover couldn't hold water so it didn't take too much prodding before he spilled his guts.

The memory replayed in your head more than you'd like to admit, and if it were up to you, you'd no longer be a half blood.

It made you feel pathetic. Tons of gods- no. All the gods were shitty parents. After all, they had children with mortals and left the children on Earth, knowing they'd be hunted down. Plenty of half bloods died in a gruesome painful way and at a young age. Plenty of gods never claimed their children, even if they made it to Camp Half Blood. But Ares did claim you, so you assumed that that meant he cared for you in some way. He even gifted you with a double sided sword. Surely, he must've loved you.

You were foolish and you hated how foolish you were. You should've known he didn't care. He left you here with mortals and watched as your home life got worse and worse which was due to multiple factors including a piss poor mother and step family, the aura children of Ares give off that makes people around them experience rage and of course the random monster attacks that your family blamed you for. It was as if they thought you begged Ares to be his child. As if you'd ever do something as stupid as that.

The rain soaked through your hood, making your hair all wet and gross. You were an idiot. You tried coming home for the school year, thinking maybe your family changed. They said they did. They tended to lie a lot though. You got into a huge fight and stormed out and you were in such a hurry that you completely forgot to grab your pouch full of drachmas and you didn't wanna step another foot in that house. So now here you were, outside with freezing cold hands that couldn't be warmed because your hoodie was soaking and you couldn't call Chiron. Perfect.

You checked your pockets once again, hoping to find something other than the lighter and fruit roll up that was there but alas, nothing magically appeared. You held the two objects in your hand and an idea formed in your mind.

You could always set the fruit roll up on fire as an offering. You could pray to your father and hope he hears you and sends you something to help.

No. That's incredibly stupid. Could you even light a fruit roll up on fire? It didn't matter. Not only was that the stupidest offering ever but you refused to pray to him. You'd rather sleep out in the rain then sneak inside when your family was gone to get your shit.

You put the two objects in your pocket and let your head rest on your knees, exhaustion hitting. It wasn't even physical exhaustion. It was all mental and emotional. Like a leech was sucking on you constantly. Or a vampire. You'd prefer that. At least you'd die quicker.

The hum of a motorcycle filled your ears, getting closer and closer. Best case scenario, it was a neighbor. Worst case scenario, it was a murderer. Honestly, you'd welcome both.

The hum stopped and a familiar voice made you look up, “rough night”.

It was him. Ares. God of war. Father to who knew how many. It was someone you definitely did not want to see… or so you thought. Part of you absolutely despised him now and everything to do with him and wanted to rip him apart. The other part of you though still felt an immense amount of joy when you saw him and you wanted to cling to him like a child clings to its favorite toy. If you were alone, you would've screamed.

Then a thought crossed your mind. You didn't burn anything. You didn't make an offering.

“You were going to” he said, seeming to read your mind.

“Why are you here?” you managed to get out after some time of just staring at him.

“Why do you think I'm here?” he asked and you could tell by his tone he meant it sarcastically. Like “the reason is so obvious. Stop being stupid”.

Something about that sarcastic and irritated tone made you think back to what Grover told you.

“Why don't you like me?” You asked and you hadn't meant to. It was supposed to stay in your head.

He squinted his eyes at you and looked you up and down, “what?”.

You could've let it go. You could've said nevermind, thanked him and let him help. You couldn't though. You didn't know when you'd have this chance again (the camp visited them but damn, there was a lot of you) and if you did something to make him not like you, you wanted to fix it. But that wasn't your job, right? Parents are supposed to care for their kids.

You did that a lot. Your mind juggled opposite thoughts and it drove you insane. This was just the latest bit of juggling you'd been doing.

“Grover said he spoke to you-”

“Who is Grover?”

“Percy's friend. The satyr”. A look of anger flashed in his eyes. You knew he remembered Percy. You didn't give him time to start yelling about the 12 year old that beat him in a fight. “Grover said that he spoke to you. I asked what it was like and he said that you said that you hate kids. Even your own. And when we visit, it's the worst day of the year. So, I was just wondering why you don't like me. Is it something I've done?”.

Ares just rolled his eyes and sighed, “you're taking that personal?”.

“It's kinda hard not to”.

“I came to take you back to camp, not talk about whatever crisis you're having right now”.

You didn't know if you were angry because of what he said, or because of his effect on others. Either way, blood started rushing to your head. “I'm not asking for a lot. I'm asking for an answer. A simple answer. Why don't you like me?”

“I don't like any of my kids”

“And that makes it better?” You asked in disbelief. Ares just stared at you, emotion void on his face.

“Why do you do this? You keep having kids even though you hate them. Why?”.

“It's not that simple and I don't have to explain anything to you”. You wished he'd show emotion. Any sliver of it. He was too calm, too numb. You'd prefer him yelling at you but nothing seemed to phase him. He was talking to you the same way you'd talk to a toddler.

“It is incredibly simple. Just stop having sex with mortals. You already have Aphrodite -who is a married woman but whatever-” you rushed the last part. You didn't particularly care for the affairs between the gods. “How could your eyes possibly wander?”.

Seeing him show a sliver of anger when you mentioned Aphrodite only filled you with more rage. That’s what angered him? That’s what got emotion out of him? “Really? That's what gets you? What about me being drenched?”

“You chose to come out here” he said through gritted teeth. If you knew Aphrodite was the key to him showing any piece of human emotion, you would've brought her up earlier.

“I didn't choose this!” Your voice rose, “I didn't choose to be abandoned by my father and be stuck with a dysfunctional family for the rest of my life. You should be angry at that, not me mentioning Aphrodite. You should be enraged at the thought of anyone putting their hands on me and your hands should be covered in their blood! That is how it should be”.

“Believe it or not the gods aren't too keen on the idea of killing mortals”

“But turning them into various objects and ruining their lives when it's a boring Tuesday is ok?”. His face went back to being blank and emotionless and your plan to stop talking was scrapped. You weren't even sure what you wanted. You wanted him to show something besides anger. Sadness? Regret maybe? Just something to show that maybe, just maybe, he cared deep down and regretted leaving you.

“None of us asked for this. You all just decide to create and leave us. And you hating the people you created is… I don't know. And it's so stupid that I've spent years of my life trying to get you to be proud of me, only for it to be impossible!”.

“I claimed you didn't I?” he defended himself, but you scoffed.

“That's the bare minimum dad! That's like saying your kids should be grateful because you feed them!” You were full on screaming by now and you wouldn't have been surprised if a neighbor came out to see what the fuss was about. “I don't even know why I'm having this conversation with you. You probably hate being called 'dad’ and you don't care. You're never gonna get it”

“I try everyday to make you see me and you do everything in your power to not see me. To not see any of us. I would work myself to death for you. I would betray anyone close to me for you. If you asked me to burn down the world for you, I would. If you asked me to extinguish the sun, I'd find a way to because to me… to me you were everything. You are everything”.

You couldn't tell if your face was wet from the rain, or from tears of sorrow and anger. It could've been both. Your eyes certainly stung and you hated it. You knew you had every right to be frustrated, but you hated how weak it made you feel. The children of Ares weren't supposed to cry. They were supposed to be headstrong and fight their enemies. They were supposed to be fierce warriors capable of bringing armies down to their knees. They were meant to shed blood, not tears.

You thought for a second you saw an emotion cross his face. You couldn't pinpoint it though. It happened too fast and there was a good chance you were imagining things.

“You can go. I'd rather sleep in the rain. I wouldn't wanna be even more of a burden” you spat with such venom you didn't know it was possible. Sure, you could have a bit of a temper but this felt different. It wasn't just anger or annoyance. There was a mix of grieving.

It went silent for awhile, and the adrenaline you felt slowly went down. Reality started to sink in. You just yelled at a god. People who were known to cause destruction for something as small as “I think my shoes are better than yours”.

“Are you gonna curse me? Or, I don't know, strangle me with my own shoe laces?”. Ares reached into his pocket and you looked away and closed your eyes. You expected to feel a burning sensation. That's what you assumed being cursed was like. A burning sensation and then you'd lose a limb or something.

All you felt was something land on your lap. You looked down and saw a red pouch with gold string keeping it closed. You looked up at him, but he didn't say anything. You untied the string and opened the pouch and inside laid a pile of drachmas.

Now he spoke, “call Chiron or whoever else works at that camp. Don't die out here”.

“You're leaving?” You asked. You didn't know why you were disappointed. You should've been happy. After all, you just went off on him about how shit he was.

“I have a busy schedule”. You wanted to ask if he'd be seeing the married woman he slept with or another unfortunate mortal, but you figured you pushed your luck enough today.

“Thanks uhh…” you debated on calling him dad but instead you called him by his name. “Ares”. Then you remembered some gods could be particularly upset when you used their name. “God of war and all those other honorifics”.

“Yeah” was all he said before he sped off, leaving you alone once again. You didn't know what he was saying “yeah” to but you didn't have enough time to ask and he probably wouldn't even answer.

You called Chiron and asked to be brought back to camp but you didn't tell him about the conversation you had with Ares.

You couldn't get the conversation out of your head, even after you showered and laid down to finally get some rest.

Of course you kept thinking about the conversation and how lucky you were Ares didn't throw you into the street and run you over.

Another thing stayed on your mind though.

You didn't give an offering. You were told the gods would listen if you burned something that mattered, like the thickest piece of meat on your plate. You weren't sure they were actually listening and honestly you thought it was a real asshole condition.

All you had was some stupid candy and you didn't even burn that and the minute you thought about it, he appeared like he was already watching.

But you doubted he was watching. You doubted he listened to your prayers at all.

You were one of his children which was something he hated. He'd claim you, possibly send a gift then be done with you. He didn't listen to you anymore. He didn't watch over you anymore.

It was a coincidence. That's all it was.

You were sure of it.

At least, you tried to be.

This is definitely ooc Ares but YA’LL KNOW I’M A LITTLE FUCKING SLOW! BE PATIENT WITH ME GOTDAMMIT😭 If you saw any errors, no you did not. I already proofread it once and I don’t feel like doing it again like I typically do. It’s 1am. I should be asleep.

#percy jackson #percy series #percy jackson ares #pjo tv show #ares pjo #pjo series #pjo angst #percy jackson angst #ares x child #ares x reader #ares angst #idk what else to tag #ares would’ve probably drove off but LISTEN-

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halcome · 2 months ago

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Gary "@

Grian's snail from Wild Life, smaller than Snumbo

Will climb your fridge without permission

Absolute menace and I love em

Made this lil guy whenever I had a second from homework. Went on a little shopping spree to get more snail fabric and magnets after Snumbo, my wallet has not been the same since.

Gary's a lil lighter tone than Snumbo cause of that though. Saw a fabric that matched Grian's skin more and I ended up buying a bunch of it.

Putting in magnets was a new experience, sewed some into the shell and the belly. I saw methods of fabric glue, tiny pouches, or patching it in, but I think I enjoyed darning it for this. Mainly cause fleece is so thick you can sew in one side only, if ya wanted to.

Don't know if I'll make more snails, 2 sizes is enough, but if I ever feel like it then making more accessories sounds like fun.

Also I am glad to say, Gary was not made with double sided tape! (Used some for pictures so the shawl scarf thing defied gravity... Im sure its fiiiine)

#life series #wild life #traffic smp #grian #mumbo jumbo #wild life snails #snail plush #snumbo #gary

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irisintheafterglow · 1 year ago

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here we go again with my bullshit about coparenting megumi with satoru

most days, megumi and tsumiki are with distant relatives on tsumiki's mom's side. however, during what satoru affectionately calls "fun weekends" or fweekends when neither of you are sent on a mission and tsumiki is hanging out with her friends, you call whoever megumi is staying with to tell him to get his backpack ready for an adventure. and, at 9:00am sharp on friday, you sign megumi out of school early and meet satoru at the zoo.

you hand megumi one of those applesauce pouches to eat with one hand while his other firmly grips your pinky as you approach satoru at the front entrance. he's opted for sunglasses instead of the blindfold today and is unironically wearing a fanny pack slung around his chest. he gives you a peck on the cheek and whispers you look so pretty today in your ear before grabbing megumi and hoisting him on top of his shoulders, marching into the zoo.

and that's where megs stays for the majority of the day, stationed on top of satoru's towering body to get a better look over the crowds. his hands find fistfuls of snowy white hair but satoru doesn't mind at all; with megumi on his shoulders, satoru's hand finds a permanent place in yours and the other hovers next to megumi's waist in case he loses his balance. when he does let go of your hand, it's to hold megumi's legs in place as he jogs around the surrounding area making racecar noises.

you make megumi wear a bucket hat to protect his face from the sun and satoru takes him to the bathroom every time you pass one, which he reluctantly obliges. satoru also gives him a very extensive lesson on the importance of sunscreen while you're in the bathroom and they're looking at the flamingoes.

despite his indifferent disposition, megumi finds the zoo fascinating. his eyes give his emotions away, and your heart feels lighter as you see them twinkle with intrigue and widen with surprise as you navigate the exhibits. quietly, he asks satoru to take him closer to the wolf exhibit because it matches the stuffed animal you got him when you first introduced yourself. you stay there for a while until satoru tries to make them howl, in which case you drag both of them out of there. megumi also points at the polar bears and sarcastically asks satoru if he's related to them because of their fur color. his little hand reaches up to touch the flowers blooming in the trees of the aviary and he freezes up when a multi-colored bird lands on his head. you take a picture, megumi with a bird on his head and satoru glancing up at him, and make it your lockscreen. during lunch, you get another funny photo of megs and satoru having matching ice cream mustaches after you get soft-serve for dessert. satoru beams at the camera while megumi's tongue tries in vain to lick the ice cream off his nose.

before you leave to have dinner, you let megumi pick out a souvenir from the gift shop and he gets another wolf stuffed animal to be friends with the one you gave him. satoru buys you and him one of those magnetic best friends bracelets except the two halves make a bird resembling the one that landed on megumi in the aviary.

megumi hangs on to the wolf stuffie during dinner and snuggles it closer as he yawns in the car. when you tuck him into his room at jujutsu tech for bed, he asks when he can have another adventure with you and satoru.

#jjk x you #gojo x reader #gojo x you #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #jjk drabbles

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mxtxfanatic · 3 months ago

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"If He Catches Me..." a Meta on Lan Wangji's Unconditional Support Pt. 1

Despite the heavy rumors about the supposedly terrible relationship between Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji in the former's first life, Wei Wuxian's resurrection opens up a side to Lan Wanji that he'd never gotten to experience. From the moment Lan Wangji realizes that "Mo Xuanyu" is actually a newly-revived Wei Wuxian, he has lent the other man unconditional support.

This support covers things as small and easy to provide as money, protection from dogs, someone to lean on, and an offer to carry Wei Wuxian when multiple injuries on his legs makes it difficult for him to walk:

“Do you have money?” Lan Wangji said. “If I don’t have any, you’ll give me some.” As Wei Wuxian spoke, he stuck his hand into Lan Wangji’s robes. He hadn’t expected to find anything, but after groping around for a bit, he pulled out an exquisite, and heavy, money pouch. The pouch didn’t seem at all like something Lan Wangji would carry on his person, but these past several days, Lan Wangji had done more than one or two things that Wei Wuxian had thought unimaginable. Nonchalantly, Wei Wuxian took off carrying the item. Sure enough, Lan Wangji allowed him to grab it and leave without uttering a single discontented word.

—Chapt. 20: Sunshine II, fanyiyi

However, when the dog turned its head and saw that he was carrying Jin Ling on his back, it leapt off its feet and flew towards him. Wei Wuxian let out a miserable cry. Just as he was on the verge of hurling Jin Ling off and away from him, Lan Wangji stepped before him and blocked the dog’s approach.

—Chapt. 23: Malice I, fanyiyi

Wei Wuxian had only managed to retreat a single step when his ankle rolled beneath him and he seemed in danger of falling to his knees. Lan Wangji’s expression changed. He rushed toward Wei Wuxian and clutched his wrist in the same iron grip he had exhibited at Dafan Mountain.

...

“You should not walk,” Lan Wangji said. “If I don’t walk, are you going to carry me on your back?” “...” Lan Wangji regarded him silently. Wei Wuxian’s smile froze on his face, and an ominous shadow swept over him. If the person in front of Wei Wuxian had been the Lan Zhan of years past, these words would have definitely made him choke, and he would have either thrown Wei Wuxian a frosty glare and promptly departed, or completely ignored him. But exchange him for the Lan Wangji of today, and it was very difficult to say how he’d respond. Indeed, upon hearing Wei Wuxian’s question, Lan Wangji moved in front of him and genuinely appeared as though he were about to stoop, bend his knees and pick him up, like a noble submitting and serving a commoner. ... The pair was deadlocked for a few moments, when suddenly, Lan Wangji’s arm wrapped around Wei Wuxian’s waist, he lowered himself slightly, and his free hand came for Wei Wuxian’s knees. The latter was shorter than Lan Wangji, as well as lighter, and as soon as the taller man grabbed hold of him, he was easily lifted up. His entire person was now in mid-air, supported by a pair of sturdy arms.

—Chapt. 25: Malice III, fanyiyi

But the support also comes in the form of physically defending Wei Wuxian from foes, being so dependable that Wei Wuxian has no fear turning his back on a fight.

Moments later, the corner of Jiang Cheng’s mouth pulled upward into a twisted smile. His left hand began unconsciously caressing his ring again. “...Good, good. You’ve returned?” He released the ring. A long whip hung down from his hand. The whip was extremely thin, and true to its name, consisted of a bright, crackling violet current, which looked as though it had been stolen from some thundercloud covered horizon. He gripped one end firmly in his hand. When he brandished it, lightning struck, fast, nimble, and chaotic! Before Wei Wuxian could even move, Lan Wangji’s guqin was already in its owner’s steady and sure hand. He plucked a single string, and like a stone dropped in water stirs a thousand ripples, the sound of the guqin reverberated through the air in countless waves. The note and Zidian struck each other; the former waxed and the latter waned.

—Chapt. 10: Pride V, fanyiyi

Sure enough, his cultivation level is high, Wei Wuxian thought. A moment later, he shouted, “Hanguang Jun, the gravedigger is here!” Lan Wangji needed no reminder. He knew something had happened immediately upon hearing the noise. He didn’t reply, and let the swift, savage swing of his sword answer in his stead.

—Chapt. 34: Flora II, fanyiyi

Wei Wuxian had finally run into someone more shameless than him. Smiling in turn, he said, “It’s better to offend an honorable person than a hooligan—that means you. I won’t fight with you any longer. Someone else will take my place.” Xue Yang’s eyes crinkled as he smiled. “Who? That Hanguang Jun? I sent three hundred walking corpses to surround him. He—“ Before he could finish, a set of white robes descended from the sky, and Bichen’s icy, clear blue light flew directly at him.

—Chapt. 37: Flora V, fanyiyi

Before he even finished talking, dozens of sword glares shot toward Wei WuXian. Lan WangJi blocked off all of the attacks. Bichen threw some people to the side to make out an unobstructed path for them.

—Chapt. 50: Guile, exr

Suddenly, Wei WuXian felt someone approach. Turning around, he saw Jin Ling stand behind them, limbs frozen. Lan WangJi immediately stood in front of Wei WuXian, while Lan SiZhui stood in front of Lan WangJi, speaking carefully, “Young Master Jin.”

—Chapt. 68: Tenderness, exr

Nor will Lan Wanji ever put his reputation above standing by his beloved's side and lending support:

Lan WangJi, though, was different from him. He wouldn’t even have to explain, and people would explain for him, such as how HanGuang-Jun had been deceived by the YiLing Patriarch. Wei WuXian, “HanGuang-Jun, you don’t have to follow me!” Lan WangJi looked straight in front of him, saying nothing in reply. The two left behind them a crowd of cultivators shouting to kill. Amid the chaos, Wei WuXian spoke again, “You really want to go with me? Think carefully. After you walk out this door, your reputation will be destroyed!” The two had already dashed down the steps of Koi Tower. Lan WangJi grabbed his wrist, as though he was about to speak.

—Chapt. 50: Guile, exr

Lan QiRen stood before the crowd. He seemed much older. Strands of white even began to grow at his temples. He called, “WangJi.” Lan WangJi’s answered in a low voice, “Uncle.” But he still didn’t stand to his side. Lan QiRen understood more than anyone. This was Lan WangJi’s answer, firm, resolute. With a disappointed expression, he shook his head. He didn’t try to persuade him any further. A woman in white robes stood forward, her eyes filled with tears, “HanGuang-Jun, just what is wrong with you? You... You are not you anymore. In the past, you clearly could not even stand the YiLing Patriarch. Just what technique did Wei WuXian use to bewitch you for you to stand on the side opposite to us?” Lan WangJi didn’t pay attention to her. Having not received a reply, the woman could only add in pity, “If so, then how undeserving of your name!”

—Chapt. 68: Tenderness, exr

Suddenly, Wei WuXian said, “HanGuang-Jun!” Lan WangJi turned to him. Wei WuXian breathed heavily continued, “There’s something I want to do.” Others’ gazes drew towards him as well. Wei WuXian, “Are you with me?” Lan WangJi looked at him with steady eyes. His words held the weight of finality, crisp like mallets on iron, “I am.” A smile blossomed on Wei WuXian’s face. He striped off his black robes. Underneath his black robes were a layer of white ones already half drenched in red, but they interfered little with the patterns he now drew as he wiped on them with a blood-caked palm. As the patterns he drew on them become clearer and clearer, astonishment crept into everyone’s eyes while they watched, as if looking at a monster. ... When he finished, he was no longer wearing white robes, but a painted flag. A flag that would lure all the dark creatures and evil beings miles beyond onto one single person, a Spirit-Attracting Flag!

—Chapt. 81: Core Part 3, boat-full-of-lotus-pods

Jiang Cheng glared at the smaller, fishing boat with a silent, icy rage. He glanced Wen Ning once. Just as his eyes were about to settle on Wei WuXian, Lan WangJi unconsciously took a step and shielded Wei WuXian from Jiang Cheng’s gaze.

—Chapt. 84: Core Part 6, boat-full-of-lotus-pods

All of this culminates in a tender moment where Wei Wuxian is able to make new memories to replace the bittersweet ones from his childhood.

Suddenly, Wei WuXian was overcome by a strange yet powerful urge. He wanted to fall down, just like that time many years ago. A voice in his heart said, ‘If he catches me, then I will’...... At the thought of the words ‘I will’, Wei WuXian let go. At the sight of him falling without a hint of a warning, Lan WangJi’s eyes widened. Instinctively, his body moved and the next moment Wei WuXian was in his arms, or, more correctly, in his embrace. Though Lan WangJi had a long and slim built and the air of a scholar, his strength was not to be underestimated. Not only was his upper body strength exceptional, his lower body stability was also quite impressive. Still, a full grown man had just fallen out of a tree, so even Lan WangJi staggered a little from the force of catching Wei WuXian. It only took him a moment to adjust his footing before he’d straightened up again though. Just as he was about to let Wei WuXian down, he realized that Wei WuXian’s arms were tight around his neck. He couldn’t let him down even if he tried.

—Chapt. 87: Core Part 9, boat-full-of-lotus-pods

Because of this unconditional support, Wei Wuxian can travel through the rest of his life knowing that he will always have someone in his corner, someone willing and able to stand by his side as well as catch him if he falls. Such is wangxian's unwavering love.

Pt. 2

#xiantober #mdzs #human metas mxtx #happy bday wwx from your husband 🩵

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heavenlyraindrops · 2 months ago

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The Devil Made Me Do It | Arcane | Silco x Reader | Chapter Seven

available on AO3 and Quotev | visit the first tag to find other chapters | warnings: cuts, mentions of blood, alcohol, brief mentions of blades, profanity, flashback (in italics), smoking, being drunk

summary:

In the midst of an unfortunate run-in with the enforcers, you meet the young revolutionary Silco, and by extension, his friends Vander and Felicia. Growing close friends, you get through life in the undercity together, determined to make Zaun a better place. Until tragedy strikes, and betrayal and carelessness stabs hard enough to turn you bitter. Years later as time solidifies the scars, Silco proves to be a thorn in your side. You, in his. Hatred festers. And your world cracks further open.

Chapter Seven:

The Lanes were in an uproar. Clients talked, of course, and the odd conversation with a newcomer gave you the opportunity to milk every last drop of information that had been withheld from you.

“Silco’s taking over. No one knows what to do.” The man’s shifty eyes followed a worker as they strolled past you both. You grinned and grabbed him.

“Well, sir, this is the best place to forget your troubles,” you purred, and nodded your head at the worker. Clearing your throat, you turned around to leave.

“Wait.” The client hissed. You turned, raising an eyebrow. He cleared his throat. “I’ve got friends who I owe a favour. They’re in trouble with someone, and need to lay low for a while.” The worker wrapped his hands around the man’s arm, promptly being ignored as the man took out a pouch, holding it out to you. “Money,” he said gruffly. “To let them hide here.”

You stared at the money, surprised, then narrowed your eyes. “Who exactly are they in trouble with?” Your voice had a sharp, venomous edge to it. The other boy, the worker, upon seeing your sharp expression dropped the man’s arm and scurried away.

“…Can’t say that,” he muttered, eyes downcast. You pouted.

“Oh, but I think you can.”

He looked up. A group of masked women had surrounded him. Sharp blades glinted in the honeyed, rose coloured light.

You stepped towards him slowly and dangerously. He didn’t move, not when you dragged a sharp, metal fingertip down the side of his face, or plucked the money from his trembling hand.

“Is it Silco?” Your voice was soft, apologetic. “You know I can’t make an enemy out of him.”

He didn’t say anything, and you pulled away, and nodded at the girls. One stepped forward to place a cigarette between your teeth and another held a lighter beneath the end. You took a slow drag, eyes unmoving from the man’s nervous face.

Smoke coiled into the thick air as you spoke. “Fine. But I want this-“ you weight the pouch of coins in your flat palm “-in double, and whoever boards here must be at my every disposal.”

The man looked at you, mind turning over the options. You knew he didn’t have much of a choice; he’d looked desperate the moment he set his foot in the building.

“Fine. I’ll bring them and the money tomorrow.”

You didn’t have time to reply before he raced out, pushing past the tinkling beads into the street. You took another smoke-filled breath, and blew it out. The masked girls looked at you expectantly.

“Open the windows,” you said flatly, “before I smoke the place up again.”

A hushed “yes, Madam,” before their footsteps receded down the hallway.

Back in your office, you opened the pouch.

Gold coins spilled out over the table next to the rose. You crouched, turning one over in your finger. It was legitimate. You bit down, a metallic tang flooding your tastebuds. Music played from one of the rooms further down the hall, the sounds of hushed giggles travelling across the carpet. Other than that, it was calm.

Heavy footsteps you’d recognise anywhere sounded from the entrance, and the beaded curtain swept to the side to reveal Sevika’s tall frame standing in the doorway. You looked up from your position on the floor.

“Sevika,” you said flatly. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Her eyes flicked to her muddied boots. “Take your shoes off.”

She did as you said, wrenching the footwear off. You smiled coyly and flicked your head at the sofa opposite your own. “Glad you decided to finally pay a visit,” you drawled, blowing smoke as you talked. She eyed the half-open pouch on the rich, dark wood table, gold spilling from it.

You noticed her staring. “Payment,” you said simply. You took a slow drag, crossing your arms as you did so. Still standing, you looked down at her.

“You here for a client.”

“Yes and no.” She knotted her fingers together. “Tell me why someone I’ve been ordered to take out just ran out of here like you’d burned him?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been staking out my place, have you?”

She scoffed. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. You’re not that special.”

You smiled. “But I’m definitely on the map.”

“On the map, but not on my boss’ radar, if that’s what you’re so hopeful for.”

At this your cheerful facade fell, settling into disdain. “What do you want, Sevika?”

She shrugged. “I came in here for a good fuck. Just happened to see something else along the way.”

You scoffed, leaning down and stabbing the cigarette into the ashtray with an unusual aggression, different to your usual flowy movements.

“Well, he must have been intimidated.” You flicked your head at the curtains. “Go on. You want me to find you someone myself?”

“No need.” She stood up slowly, dusting herself off. She looked down at you.

“You ever look normal?”

“Huh?”

“You know. Without all the shiny bits and flashiness.”

You sat back. “Of course I do. This,” you waved a hand down your body, “Is just for work. Being eye-catching helps.”

She snorted, then nodded, not bothering to reply as she disappeared behind the beads.

You frowned. Maybe housing someone that Silco wanted was a bad idea.

But maybe you did want the attention from him. Sooner or later, he’d have to face you. Face the fact he left you without a word, when you needed him most. You rolled a coin between your fingers thoughtfully, lounging on the velvet. Your eyes fluttered shut.

Bass made the floor thump beneath your feet as you jostled through the crowd, Vander and Felicia were conversing idly while waiting for patrons to order, and your eyes flew to the figure sitting next to them. Silco was too engrossed in his journal to notice you press yourself to his back, hands covering his eyes.

“Nose buried in a book in the middle of a bar,” you slurred, resting your chin on his shoulder. He tensed, relaxed, melted into the touch. “You’re no fun.”

He gave a low chuckle, one that you felt vibrate against your own chest as he flicked a page. Vander and Felicia side-eyed you both.

“You’re wasted,” he muttered, flicking a page. You shook your head, voice muffled by his shoulder.

“No.” Your hands had fallen to rest around his neck. “Yet.”

“No yet?” He sounded amused. You threw your head back and groaned. “You’re drunk, [name].”

“I’m not as think as you drunk I am,” you said, sliding off of him to flop into a barstool. You watched as he brought a spoon of soup to his mouth, eyes following his tongue which darted out to lick his lips. “Drunk as you think,” you corrected yourself, looking away. “Vander, pour me a glass.”

Vander hummed, amused, as he got up to pour you a non-alcoholic drink. Of course you didn’t know it wasn’t alcoholic, downing it in one go. You wiped your mouth with your sleeve.

“Why are you even writing right now anyways?” You complained. You leaned over and snapped the book shut. He frowned, opening it again, and your palm slammed down on it again. Much to his chagrin.

“Drink with me, Silky.” You pushed your glass towards him, not knowing it was non-alcoholic, and he scoffed, unable to hold on to his annoyance at the hilarity of your actions.

“Don’t call me Silky.”

“Drink with me, Silky.”

“I’m not in the mood.” He pushed your cup away, and you grabbed his hand.

“Dance with me.”

‘Silky’ sighed, frown deepening. “Janna, [name]. Stop pestering me.” His tone had either come out harsher than it was meant to be, or maybe in your drunken state you’d heard it wrong, but your face immediately fell with hurt. He didn’t notice, turning back to his journal.

“Seriously?” Your voice wobbled. He sighed, pushing a strand of his hair out of his eyes.

“Seriously,” he said firmly, not sparing you another glance. A hand went to your shoulder.

“[name], are you okay?” Felicia looked concerned. Your eyes were glassy, face turning red. Silco finally looked up.

But not in time to catch you as you fell off of your stool, hitting the floor with a harsh thud.

A few collective gasps sounded around you. You groaned, hand flying to your forehead as your skull thrummed, head pounding. “Fuckkk.” Your glass which was once in your hand had shattered, a single shard of glass digging into your skin.

Silco dropped his pen, leaning down. He was frowning again, but now out of concern, hovering and unsure what to do with the drunk mess that you were as you sat up and pressed your back to the bottom wall of the bar counter, drawing your knees to your chest.

Or when you burst into tears.

“Oh, [name]-“ he dropped to his knees, looking over you for any bruises. “Are you seriously crying? The fall was that bad?” And then he noticed your bleeding hand and grabbed your wrist. “Oh, Janna.”

You sniffled, wiping your nose. “No,” you mumbled, shoulders still shaking.

“No?” His eyes flicked up to try and catch your gaze, to no avail. “Then what is it?” He muttered, gently plucking out the small shard.

“You don’t want me around!” You wailed, then covered your face with your hands. He stared at you.

“What?”

You didn’t respond, continuing to pathetically sob. He shared a look with Vander, and hauled you up by the shoulder.

“You’re really drunk, aren’t you?” He huffed, breath skimming across your hair as your head lolled on his shoulder. You nodded absently.

“Mmmmyeah. M’sorry I lied.” The words that came out of your mouth were nothing short of a jumbled mess as he dragged you across the bar, taking you to the back.

“It’s fine, dear,” he murmured. The door shut and he let you collapse onto a wooden crate. You blinked, vision wavering with tears, around the dusty storage unit. Glasses, crates, even old chairs. You watched as he rummaged around the shelves, items clattering, before he drew out a first aid box.

“Are we on a ship?” You mumbled as he gently took your wrist, thumb smoothing over your skin. He began to dab at the wound. You hissed in pain.

“Oh, stop moving, will you?” He complained, grabbing your wrist again and tugging it forward, back to its original place. “You big baby.” He worked in silence, listening to your sniffles. “We aren’t on a ship. We’re in the Last Drop.” His voice had softened.

“Then why is everything moving?”

“Because you’re drunk.”

“Makes sense,” you said, looking up at him, wide-eyed. “I believe you.”

Something in his chest jumped a little as he cast his eyes down, continuing to clean your cut.

By the time he’d patched you up you were sliding off of the crate onto the floor. He stared at the pathetic heap of your body sprawled on the flooring and sighed, nudging you with his foot ever-so-gently.

“Get up, [name].”

“M’sleepy.”

“You can’t sleep on the floor.”

“Don’t wanna go back out there.”

He sat down on the crate, and you looked up at him. He held his hand out. “Come here.”

You pushed yourself to the foot of the crate, laying your head on his lap. He tensed beneath you, relaxed, melted, before letting out a short exhale.

“I meant, get up, [name].”

“No,” you mumbled. His fingers played with a strand of your hair. “Not enough space for the both of us.”

“Which is why we should go outside.”

You groaned. “S’too loud out there.”

Silco was miffed. “You want me to stay holed up in this storage cupboard with you while my legs go numb? Thanks.”

You looked up at him, eyes shiny with tears again. He quickly withdrew his words.

“I’m joking. I’m sorry. You know I’d do that any day.” He thought for a moment. “What’s all this about me not wanting you around?”

“I’m sorry,” you said, the enunciation suddenly clear instead of sloppy. He looked at you. “I’m such a bother. I pissed you off and messed with your journal.” You sniffled. “And now I’m forcing you to stay here with me.”

“You could just let us go outside,” he muttered under his breath, but one look at your face had him melting. “You’re not forcing me,” he said firmly. “And you didn’t annoy me.” He carded his fingers through your locks, pausing as he carefully mulled over his next words. “I’d never not want you around.”

“I just want your attention,” you hiccuped. “I’m so pathetic.”

He tensed again, not that you noticed. “You want my attention?” His heart was thrumming against his ribcage.

You exhaled, eyes only half-open. “More than anything.”

He didn’t know what to say to this, other than drag you to your feet. “You’re drunk,” he said shortly. “We’re going home.”

“Okay, Silky,” you said contentedly. With you on his arm Silco brought you back out to the front of the bar.

“I’m taking her home,” he curtly told Felicia and Vander, who both looked at him, bemused.

“I can go alone,” you protested, but not before he threw your coat around your shoulders.

“You’re drunk out of your mind. It’s not safe.” And with that he promptly led you from the bar.

You stared at him, stumbling a little as the cold air bit at your face. Grabbed his arm tighter, and nodded.

“Thanks.”

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niobiumao3 · 5 months ago

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Much decaling and clear coating!

First up, Tech civies torso from S2

This one is a challenge and while I like how this came out I'm going to try it on a solid black torso instead to see if I prefer it. I painted the sides to make his vest look right but that risks arm rubbing, as would a decal, so I might forgo that in a future type. We'll see. Also the pouch is a hair too dark to see the details so I need to redo it lighter.

Next, Phee Torso!

This basically came out perfect. I'm considering a little more shirt detail but that will be something to consider after other projects are done.

Finally, cadets!

I'm short a torso so I had to photo Tech and Hunter separately. Really enjoyed these little guys, even if putting on the arms is so painful for my fingers. I'm going to do older cadets too, I just need to finalize Tech and Crosshair's heads.

#star wars #the bad batch #lego star wars #lego moc #legos #lego #tbb tech #tech tbb #phee genoa #tbb wrecker #tbb hunter #tbb crosshair

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immortalbumblebee · 2 months ago

Text

Chapter 21: The Metallic Taste of Blood

Don't mind this 7k word chapter I wrote instead of studying for finals...I'm on that grind, it's fine.

Major warning for violence and minor character death!!!

Masterlist

The sounds of clattering dishes and sizzling oil blend with the rhythmic hum of tinkering metal as Jericho and your mother work in sync behind the counter of the restaurant. The air is filled with the scents of fried fish and garlic, the chaos of the kitchen, yet your focus is solely on the disassembled Glock in front of you.

As she finished handing out the last of the change to a customer, your mother–never one to let a moment of stillness slip by–pulls a cigarette from behind her ear. She watches you for a moment, and then, with a casual flick of her wrist, lights it using the flip-top from her apron. The soft hiss of the flame catches your attention, but your hands never stop their movements as the pieces in front of you move and twist, seemingly on their own accord. Wordlessly, she offers another cigarette from the same pocket, which you take with a quiet nod.

Once she’s got hers lit, you float the lighter toward you with a flick of your fingers, lighting your own without taking your eyes off the intricate mechanics of the gun.

“Now, Poppet,” she begins, the cigarette dangling from her lips as she exhales, “tell me again what exactly it is y’doin’ to that wee bit o’ gun there?”

You shift the barrel components in your hands, splitting them apart to inspect each piece in turn. “Just some upgrades, ma’am,” you say, your voice steady, almost distracted. “Makin’ sure they work right. Improving accuracy, lowering the kickback... pretty routine stuff.”

She shrugs her shoulders dismissively, the gesture familiar, as if she’s seen it all before. “Y’ kids an’ yer toys,” she mutters, taking another drag from the cigarette. She turns back to the bundle of fish waiting to be prepped, the sharp, rhythmic sound of her knife meeting the cutting board filling the air.

As she works, Jericho steps around her, his movements smooth and deliberate, and sets your order in front of you. His face is stern, but there’s a small, approving nod in his eyes as you acknowledge the meal with a grateful smile.

“Thanks, Jericho,” you say, your voice tinged with the slightest hint of warmth. He responds in his native language, a quick string of sounds that you don’t fully understand but appreciate nonetheless. He gestures to your mother briefly, speaking quickly, his words laced with a touch of urgency.

She nods without looking up, distracted by her task, but the acknowledgment is there. Jericho turns and disappears into the back, his boots tapping softly against the floor, leaving you alone with your meal, your mother, and the disassembled Glock.

The quiet settles in, broken only by the rhythmic sounds of your mother’s chopping and the occasional sizzle from the stove. You continue working on the gun, a steady hum of concentration filling your mind, when your mother’s voice cuts through the silence once again.

“Jericho’s been good to us, these past years,” she hums, the sound casual, almost thoughtful. Your eyebrow lifts in curiosity as you glance over at her. “Y’know, hirin’ me off the boat. Helpin’ me feed all y’youngins, givin’ me a half-decent pay, all things considered.”

You nod, giving a slight smile. “He’s good people.” Summoning a bolt from one of your belt pouches, you carefully replace a particularly rusted one. “But he’d be a right nunce not to hire you. Nobody seasons fish innards like you do, ma’am.”

“Yer too sweet, m’love.” You can hear the smile in her voice, and you return it, your lips curving into a grin. The steady sound of the knife against the cutting board continues, the comforting rhythm of home. But then, her tone shifts slightly, and she hums thoughtfully. “But I’m bein’ serious, y’know. This city, for all its faults… it’s been treatin’ us good, hasn’t it?”

The air around you seems to freeze for a moment. Your hands pause mid-air, and the weight of her words lingers, settling into your stomach like a heavy stone. The feeling is subtle, but it’s enough to make you raise an eyebrow and focus intently on her, suspicion creeping into your thoughts.

“I’d say so. I mean, Zaun’s our home. Our family, ain’t it?” you reply slowly, voice steady but with an undercurrent of something you can’t quite place.

Your mother makes a humming noise in response, her eyes never leaving the fish she’s working on. But something about the way she holds herself—slightly stiffer, her posture just a touch too controlled—sets your nerves on edge. You feel an offness in the pit of your stomach, an unfamiliar sense that she’s not entirely present, not entirely herself.

“Ma, what’re you going on about?” you ask, your voice sharp with the need to understand.

She pauses mid-chop, lifting her knife with a deliberate slowness. For a moment, she stares down at the fish, as if contemplating the weight of the question. Then, with a casual flick of her wrist, she waves the knife dismissively, the fish innards splattering against the counter in a small spray.

“Oh, nothing…” she trails off, her voice light, too light. “Don’t mind me, Minerva.”

You bite back the urge to roll your eyes, but the unease in your chest only grows. “Ma,” you press again, your tone firm but gentle.

She doesn’t look up this time. Her shoulders are stiff, her focus narrowing as she returns to her work. “It’s nothing, love. Don’t you be mindin’ me.”

But the tension between you lingers, heavy in the air, like the scent of fried fish that fills the room. You can feel the weight of her words, even though she tries to brush them off, and it gnaws at you. What exactly is she going on about? And why does it feel like she’s trying to hide something?

With calculated motions, you carefully set down the pieces you’ve been working on and cross your arms over your chest stubbornly, gaze locked firmly on your mother. For a moment, she seems to purposely ignore you, her focus fixed on the fish before her. But you don’t break your stare, waiting her out. When she finally looks up, her eyes avoid yours for just a moment, and then, with a heavy sigh, she places her knife down on the counter.

“I’ve been thinkin’ a lot, y’know, about our future ‘ere.” Her voice is softer now, quieter, as if the words are hard to speak. She wipes her hands on her apron, her gaze shifting to the side. “Mikael’s doin’ better with the treatment, thank the Lady, but, well,” she pauses, seeming to choose her words very carefully, “it won’ be solvin’ the problem entirely, aye? Even with Yan’s assistance, which I’m more’n grateful for! He’s only got a little while left in ‘im.”

The weight of her words hits you like a punch to the gut. You knew it—knew it, even if none of you had been able to say it aloud. Mikael’s condition had been hanging over your family like a dark cloud for so long now, but the idea of his passing, the inevitability of it, had been something you all tried not to think about. It felt easier that way—safer. But now, the truth is finally out there, hanging in the air.

You don’t respond immediately, but you can feel the heaviness of it all pressing down on you. “I only mean…” She stops, her voice trailing off as she picks her words with the care of someone who’s trying not to say too much. “when he does pass, which I hope by the Lady isn’ anytime soon! …I don’ rightly know what’ll be left for me here.”

You blink, staring at her, completely confused by what she’s saying. “What?” You can’t keep the disbelief from creeping into your voice. “Ma, I’m here! The boys! We’re your kids. What do you mean you don’t know what’s left for you here?”

“Yer adults now.” She says stubbornly, her tone firm but tired. She avoids meeting your gaze again, focusing on the fish in front of her. “Look, y’know I love all of you. But…Zaun was never my home like it became yers, let’s be real now.

“Of course it’s your home!” You protest vehemently. You’re half-aware that you’re being too loud, but you don’t find it in you to care.

She sighs, the exasperation in her tone more evident now. “No,” she repeats, her words patient, but there's an underlying sharpness. “The sea is m’ home, Minerva. Y’know this! And it’s been…so long since I’ been there. I wasn’ built for all this…” She gestures around her, at the restaurant, at the walls of the kitchen, the strange city life that surrounds you both, “city life.”

“That life nearly got you killed!” You snap, your fist pounding down onto the counter. The force of the impact causes your half-eaten bowl of fish to rattle, the motion vibrating through the wooden table. “You’ve got a fucking bounty on your head, Ma! You know, that thing you’ve talked about nearly every day since we got here? There’s a reason we left Bilgewater in the first place!”

Her face tightens, her features softening with a mixture of fatigue and frustration. She rubs her temples as though the conversation alone is enough to wear her out. In the dim light of the kitchen, the lines around her eyes seem deeper, more pronounced. The years are catching up to her, but there’s no denying the stubborn fire in her eyes.

“It’s been a long time since then, Minerva. I doubt those ol’ geezers’d even recognize me at this point.”

You stare at her for a long moment, utterly stunned. Then, running a hand through your hair, you let out a frustrated groan. “Are you being serious right now? So, what? Dad dies and you’re just gonna… what, leave all this? Leave the house, your job, the boys, me? For what? To run away and be a pirate again? You haven’t even been on a boat in almost two decades!”

“That’s what I’m trying to say!” She extends her hands toward you, reaching for the fist you’ve left clenched on the counter. “We should go, Poppet! Y’n’ me, against the world! I’ve…I feel guilty that I’ve never shown y’ the skills o’ the trade, the family life! Y’ve done well for yerself ‘ere, it’s true! But…” She pauses, squeezing your hand gently, her voice softening as if trying to coax you into understanding. “Wouldn’ it be better to be livin’ a life o’ fresh, ocean air? With the waves, the smell o’ the docks, the joy o’ an ‘onest days’ work where y’ don’t gotta be dealin’ with all this…police brutality n’ revolution nonsense?”

You blink at her, stunned and momentarily speechless. “’Nonsense’?” The word feels like a slap to your face. “Ma, this is my life! Our life! We can’t just… turn away from all this!” You pause, taking a deep breath to steady yourself, before wrenching your hand away from hers. The movement is sharp, almost angry. “At least I can’t.”

She watches you, her face unreadable for a long moment, but you can see the glassiness of early tears in her eyes. The silence between you is heavy, thick with everything unspoken, everything you’re both too afraid to say out loud. You can feel your pulse hammering in your ears, the tension so thick that it’s hard to breathe.

Just as you think your mother is about to deliver another retort to you, the two of you are abruptly interrupted by a booming voice and a thick arm wrapping around your shoulders.

“There’s my two favourite ladies! How’re you doing, Ma?” Vander exclaimed, giving you a tight sqeeze. You’re still so boiled in the bubbling anger in your chest that you just allow yourself to be pulled into the embrace, but don’t return it.

You’re still seething, your chest tight with the boiling anger, but you let yourself be pulled into the embrace. You don’t return it, though—your arms stay stiff at your sides, and your teeth clench behind your lips. The warmth of his hug does little to ease the fire crackling in your veins.

Your mother, however, quickly wipes at her eyes, and in an instant, her face shifts—like flipping a switch. A smile stretches across her face, fake and practiced, her gaze diverted from yours to Vander. She does it so easily that it stings. The ease with which she hides the truth from you, the ease with which she’s been hiding her true feelings from you all these years, twists something deep inside. It makes your anger flare up again.

“Vander, my boy! There r’are! What brings y’round this level?” She puts on the warmth, her voice smooth as silk, as if the conversation you just had didn’t exist.

Vander chuckles and gives your shoulders another squeeze, leaning down to press his head atop yours. His warmth is comforting in the early-spring chill of the market. But you’re too far gone in your own thoughts to appreciate it. Your eyes remain fixed on your mother, a silent accusation burning through you.

“Just picking up our girl here! We’ve got a rally tonight before the fights.” His voice is light, easy, but he seems to sense the undercurrent of tension in the air, the thickening silence between you and your mother. His brows furrow slightly. “Am I…interrupting something?”

Your mother waves him off with practiced nonchalance, picking up her knife and going back to the fish without so much as a flinch. “Not at all! Are y’ hungry, I can whip somethin’ up for y’, real nice n’ warm.”

Her words don’t land. Not on you. As if on cue, your hands start to move, each motion sharp and precise as you gather the disassembled parts of the Glock, your fingers almost trembling with frustration. The pieces snap together with a hurried clink, far from the careful assembly you know it needs. The gun is a mess, but at this moment, you don’t care. It’ll hold, for now. But everything inside you wants to lash out, to scream, to make her understand.

“We’re fine, ma’am.” The bite in your tone surprises even you, and your words hang in the air between you and Vander, charged with a new weight. “We’re running late as-is.”

Your mother’s eyes flash briefly, but she hides it quickly behind a forced smile. “It’ll only take a minute!” She motions toward the kitchen, her voice sweet, insistent. “I can—”

“I said we’re fine!” You don’t give her a chance to finish. Your words are sharp, harsh, cutting through the air between you. Vander stiffens against you at the outburst, but you don’t care. You slam the work-in-progress into your satchel and toss it over your shoulder, the leather strap digging into your skin as you turn on your heel and storm off.

You don’t wait for Vander to follow you. The crowd of the upper-level market parts around you like water, but all you can focus on is the churning anger in your chest. You feel the burn of your magic, restless, coiling beneath your skin like an electric charge. Everything around you—every scrap of metal, every bolt and piece of machinery—vibrates, responding to the pulse in your veins. You want to tear it all down, to unleash the fury that’s bubbling just under the surface. But you know better.

Vander catches up to you quickly, his steps sure and calm beside your hurried pace. He doesn’t ask anything at first. But you can feel his eyes on you, steady and patient, as always. You don’t look at him, too lost in your own storm of thoughts, but his presence is grounding.

“…You want to catch me up on what that was about?” His voice is quiet, gentle, almost coaxing.

You shake your head, the frustration too raw. The words are there, ready to spill out, but you know they’d come out all wrong. Anything you say right now would be said in anger, and Vander doesn’t deserve that. He doesn’t deserve to be caught in the storm your mother has created inside you.

So you keep walking, your feet moving quickly, the streets of the market blurring around you as you navigate the crowd. He just walks with you, his presence a steady anchor to the chaos in your mind. You can feel his gaze on you—patient, understanding.

"Saw Violet and Baby Powder today." Vander’s voice cuts through the anger, drawing your attention. He starts digging into his pockets, and the motion is enough to pull your focus. Yet, your jaw remains clenched, a raw tension gnawing at the edges of your control. He pulls out a small slip of paper and hands it to you. Your fingers brush against his, but it's the photo that catches you.

Violet stands proudly, grinning wide, showing off the gap where she’d just lost her first tooth. She cradles her baby sister, the fragile, blue-haired little one, in her arms. Powder looks so small, so vulnerable, but the image tells a story of love, of a bond that has already begun to form, even in the hardest of circumstances. Your heart stirs, the anger that once blazed hot within you softening in the face of this pure, unguarded moment. It’s still there—raging, simmering—but now it’s tempered with something else. Something warmer, like the way the sun feels on your skin after a long storm.

You swallow hard and look up at Vander. "How’s she doing out of the incubator?" The little blue-haired baby had been kept incubated for a few weeks now, Yan clearly explained that she was much too fragile to rely fully on her own means of survival. Vander gently took the photo back, smiling proudly back down at you.

“Doc says she’s going to be just fine.” He nods, pocketing the image. “A strong little girl, that one. A fighter, for sure.”

You let out a quiet breath. “She comes by it naturally.” You close your eyes, taking a moment to calm yourself. The anger doesn’t vanish, but in its place, there’s something steadier, something that reminds you of why you’re still here. The thought of leaving this place, leaving these people behind, knowing that you might not see the kids like Violet and Powder grow up—it’s a heavy weight. But it's a weight you bear for their future, for something better.

You open your eyes and meet Vander’s gaze. “Thank you.”

He raises an eyebrow, the corners of his mouth tugging upward in that teasing way. “For what?”

You reach for his hand, your fingers curling around his. “For always knowing what I need to hear.”

His smile softens, and without a word, he brings his other hand up to cup your face, pulling you closer. You close your eyes as his lips brush against yours, gentle, almost reverent. It’s a fleeting touch, like a whisper of a promise. His thumb caresses the side of your cheek, and in that quiet space, you intertwine your fingers, drawing him in just a little bit more. As he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, the warmth between you both as if time has stopped. You stand there for a long moment, locked in this simple intimacy, the world outside fading away.

"We should do it," he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin, his nose nudging yours in that familiar, affectionate gesture. "Someday, y’know, have a couple little ones running around."

Your heart stutters for a moment, and your eyebrows shoot up, barely able to contain your laughter. “You’re kidding.”

He shakes his head, that mischievous glint never leaving his eyes. “I see you with the youngin’s all the time, you’d make an excellent mother.”

The image of Violet’s bright grin and Powder’s tiny hands fills your mind, and you feel a pang in your chest—something you can’t ignore, even if you try to. But you force a sigh, covering the soft flutter of yearning that bubbles beneath your ribs. You pull away, crossing your arms, trying to act unaffected. “I don’t think this world could handle another you, Van. Our tempers combined?” You shake your head with a half-smile. “We’d doom all of Runeterra.”

Vander follows you, keeping that damnable grin plastered across his face. "C'mon, Minnie, a little ankle-biter with your looks and my strength? It’d be a gift to Zaun."

You roll your eyes, but there's a soft teasing smile tugging at your lips. “Just my looks, hm? Kind of sexist.”

Vander laughs and shakes his head, but doesn't back down. “Fine then, my looks and your brains. Now that would be a kid that’d rule over all of Runeterra.”

You chuckle, a full laugh escaping you this time, as you continue walking, his hand slipping into yours once again. You both share that easy warmth between you, a quiet understanding, despite the world that continues to rage around you.

***

The heavy creak of the bar's door echoed in the otherwise murmuring room, drawing the attention of a few scattered faces. The dim lights flickered slightly, casting long shadows over the worn wooden tables and mismatched chairs. The bar smelled of stale beer and sweat, the kind of place where the walls had witnessed more than their fair share of secrets. But tonight, it felt alive with something else—something charged.

At the back, a makeshift stage stood, with a lone microphone perched in the center. A small crowd had gathered around it, forming a circle of rapt attention, hanging on every word from the man who stood at the center of it all. His voice was a commanding presence, rich and smooth, each sentence punctuated with a charisma that had them nodding along like they were part of something bigger than themselves.

"Children of the nation of Zaun!" Silco’s voice rang out, filling the room effortlessly. He stood tall, wearing a tailored suit that had seen better days but still held the weight of authority. His eyes gleamed with conviction as he gestured toward the crowd, making his words feel like a promise. “You’ve heard us speak to you about strength, endurance, the Undercity’s ability to survive, no matter what Piltover throws at us. But as of late, I’ve begun to think of history–”

You and Vander moved over to the bar nearby, you flagging down the bartender for a couple of pints. Silco had spotted you the moment you’d come in, and welcomed you with a glint of his eye. Benzo, you recognized was chatting up Luoi in a corner.

“You think he’s actually gonna let you speak tonight?” you whisper into Vander’s ear.

"Depends on how much whiskey he’s had," he replies with a smirk, his voice low. "But he’s got to run out of fancy words eventually.”

"…As we know from our history, from the tales passed down to us by those who raised us, this city was once a holy land," Silco continued, his voice growing deeper as he paced slowly across the stage, letting each sentence sink into the crowd. "A place of grandeur, a place decorated to the Wind Goddess…"

A sharp, jubilant ‘whoop’ rose from the crowd, a moment of genuine enthusiasm, and Silco’s lips twisted into a smile that could’ve been mistaken for warmth, if not for the coldness that lingered in his eyes. He drank it in, relishing the energy of the crowd, before pressing on. "Our ancestors stood tall in the face of turmoil because of the protection of gods…but now, as war brews over us once again, we, the people of Zaun, have become our own gods!"

“Someone's gone and given our boy a god complex,” you muttered under your breath as the bartender slid two frosty glasses of beer toward you and Vander.

Vander lifted his pint, the amber liquid swishing in the glass, and met your gaze with a sly, knowing grin. “Please, that’s been there the whole time.”

“We know that the Enforcers have gotten more bold as of late.” Silco continues, taking the microphone off its stand as he begins to slowly and confidently pace the length of the stage. “And rest assured, we’re just as mad as you are. They come into our homes, our businesses, walk along our streets like they own them. But do they?”

A resounding "No!" erupted from the crowd, raw and full of collective fury.

"Right!" Silco’s voice surged again, sharper now. He strode to the edge of the stage, his arms wide, as if pulling the crowd to him with invisible strings. "These are OUR streets, our homes! And it’s about time they’re reminded of that! For too long, we have been told that this system is just—that those rich bastards Top-side deserve their wealth because they work harder, think smarter, or simply because they were born into it. But I ask you—where is the justice in a world where a few can sit on their golden council thrones, while the rest of us are forced to fight for crumbs?”

A roar of approval followed, the room vibrating with the collective energy. It was as if the tension had snapped, and for the first time, they felt like they might actually have the power to do something about it. It was intoxicating.

“When?” A familiar voice, Sevika, growled out. “You’ve been giving these speeches for years, Silco. When, exactly, are we going to ‘remind them’?”

A murmur of agreement sounded throughout the crowd, and you weren’t surprised when Vander jumped into action, leaping onto the stage with outstretched hands. HE didn’t need a mic, his voice booming with his own power.

“The man who needs no introduction,” Silco motioned to his brother, looking somewhat annoyed to share his limelight, but ultimately not fighting back.

“You’re right for wanting action.” Vander exclaimed. “As we speak, rest assured we’re making plans on an effective plan. Trading in weapons for every able body that’s willing to fight, strategy, rations. When we cross that bridge, and it will be soon, it’ll be a right and proper storm.” His eyes darkened, his jaw tightening as the weight of his words sank in. “We’re not some forgotten backwater that they can kick around. We are not just a city. We are an army. An unstoppable force.”

Vander turned his gaze to Silco, his voice low but fierce. “And we don’t depend on some god or divine miracle to protect us. We protect ourselves. When we strike back, it won’t be a scattered, half-hearted effort. It’ll be decisive, and it will be relentless. We do it smart, we do it right, and we do it together.”

Silco’s eyes glinted with the fire of a shared purpose as he nodded, his voice rising with a raw, unstoppable conviction. “Together,” he echoed, the word carrying the weight of a promise. “Zaun’s future will not be built on the backs of the rich or the powerful. It will be built on the blood and sweat of its people—the ones who have always worked, bled, and struggled. We will not let the elites decide what we’re capable of. We will rise up, we will tear down their towers of tyranny, and we will burn their control to ash. This city belongs to us, and we will make sure the world knows it!”

His words were like a rallying cry, echoing through the room, each syllable a strike against the forces that had held them down for too long. The air seemed to crackle with energy as the two men stood together, bound by the same unyielding vision: a future built by the people, for the people. A future where their voices would no longer be silenced. In all the chaos, a certain vibration itches at the back of your skull.

The moment is cut short, however, as the door slams open, crashing against the wall behind it. Inside the doorway, Niya stands, panting and disheveled.

“They’re coming!” she yells, her voice sharp and ragged, cutting through the low hum of conversation in the bar like a knife. Heads snap toward her, a mixture of alarm and confusion painted on every face. Her wide eyes lock as she stumbles forward, desperation etched into every frantic step. “The Enforcers, Grayson, they’re—”

Her words are stolen by a deafening crack. The sound ricochets through the room like a physical blow. Her body stiffens unnaturally, arms jerking at her sides as if yanked by invisible strings. Time fractures, each second stretching into eternity as she crumples forward, the light in her eyes extinguished before she even hits the ground.

A dark, gaping hole mars the base of her skull, blood pooling around her like a grotesque halo. The crimson stain seeps into the weathered floorboards of the bar, the vivid red an accusation, a warning.

“Niya!” Benzo’s cry tears through the paralysis gripping the room. He surges forward, but a sharp clang—the unmistakable sound of armored boots—stops him in his tracks.

The front doors burst open with a violent crash, splinters flying as black-clad Enforcers flood in, their heavy boots pounding like a drumbeat of doom. Their visors glint under the flickering light, hiding cold, merciless eyes. They fan out with mechanical precision, weapons raised, sweeping the room as if daring anyone to resist. At the front of the attack, Grayson’s clear, steely grey eyes under her helmet, partially shaded from the gas mask enveloping her face.

“For what it’s worth,” she starts, reloading her pistol. The bullet casing falls to the floor, rolling to stop when it comes into contact with the sticky liquid of Niya’s blood. “I warned her not to run.”

For a moment, there’s nothing but silence, a thick, suffocating stillness as if the entire world is holding its breath. Then, someone—maybe Benzo, maybe you—makes the first move. A glass shatters against an Enforcer’s helmet, and all hell breaks loose.

The bar erupts into chaos. Tables flip, chairs are hurled like missiles, and shouts mingle with the sharp, percussive bursts of gunfire. Glass shatters, scattering like jagged stars across the floor as a few desperate souls scramble for the back exit or dive headlong through shattered windows. Most, however, are too stunned—or too furious—not to fight. Hardened survivors, people who’ve clawed their way through hell a dozen times before, seize whatever they can—broken bottles, splintered chair legs, even their bare fists—and throw themselves into the fray.

A bullet zips past your ear, close enough to sting, but your instincts take over. With a flick of your wrist, the bullet reverses course, whizzing back with deadly precision. It buries itself in the knee of an advancing Enforcer, who collapses with a howl of pain. Another grabs you from behind, his armored arms locking around your torso, but you’re already moving. Your knife, sleek and sharp, leaps into your hand.

With brutal efficiency, you plunge the blade into the Enforcer’s neck, feeling the sickening give of flesh and cartilage. A wet, gurgling grunt escapes him, but you don’t falter. Your vision blurs with crimson fury as you twist the knife, savoring the grotesque squelch that confirms his demise. When you wrench the blade free, his lifeless body crumples to the floor. You glance down briefly at the spreading pool of blood, and not a single drop of sympathy stirs in your chest.

The room is a cacophony of violence, but your focus narrows to a single point. Niya.

Ducking and weaving through the chaos, you dodge swinging fists and stray gunfire, your movements instinctive and precise. You reach her body, sprawled on the floor amidst the pandemonium, and seize her in your arms. Her weight is heavier than it should be, an unbearable confirmation of what you’re already dreading.

Leaping over the bar counter with her limp form clutched to your chest, you drop to your knees, cradling her like a precious, broken thing. Her once-vivid eyes are dull, the spark gone.

“Niya, no,” you whisper, your voice cracking as the tears begin to fall. Hot, desperate, they streak down your cheeks and land on her lifeless face. “No, no, no…Niya, please!” Your hands shake as you give her a gentle shake, your body wracked with silent, choking sobs.

But there’s no response. Her skin is already cooling beneath your touch, her blood staining your hands and clothes. She’s gone.

Benzo’s voice rises above the din, a primal howl of rage and grief. He’s in the thick of it, swinging a jagged barstool leg like a berserker, his every movement raw and unrestrained. He slams it into an Enforcer’s shield, sparks flying with the impact, but the Enforcer is relentless, shoving back with force.

Your head snaps up as you spot another Enforcer leveling his firearm at Benzo, aiming to end his rampage. Panic spikes in your chest, and you start to lift your hand, ready to send the weapon flying, but someone beats you to it.

Vander.

He crashes into the Enforcer like a living battering ram, his massive fist colliding with the smaller figure’s chest. The impact is thunderous, sending the armored Enforcer hurtling into the wall with a sickening crunch. Vander roars, a sound that shakes the very walls of the bar, and turns his furious gaze to the next target.

The fight grows even more brutal. The air is thick with the acrid scent of gunpowder and blood, the clamor of battle nearly deafening. Chairs and bottles fly, fists meet flesh, and the floor becomes a slick battlefield of spilled drinks and lifeblood.

Above it all, Grayson’s voice rings out like a whip crack. “Subdue them!” she commands, her tone cold and sharp. But the Enforcers’ rigid discipline is beginning to fracture under the relentless, desperate fury of the patrons.

But this isn’t a fight. It’s an ambush.

Within moments, the chaos shifts. What was once a raw and desperate brawl begins to tilt inexorably in the Enforcers’ favor. Their numbers and training overwhelm the uncoordinated fury of the Zaunites. One by one, people are forced against the walls or slammed to the floor, their arms wrenched behind their backs as pairs of handcuffs snap shut with a metallic finality. The patrons who moments ago had been fighting tooth and nail are now subdued, their struggles met with the cold efficiency of the Enforcers' unyielding force.

Shutting Niya’s unseeing eyes, you whisper a silent apology and place her gently off to the side, as if shielding her from the violence she can no longer witness. The rage that courses through you burns hotter than the pain in your chest. With one last glance at her still form, you unholster your knife and steel yourself for what comes next.

You’re halfway over the bar counter, ready to leap back into the fray, when your eyes lock on Silco. Two Enforcers wrestle him toward the counter’s edge, his defiance barely masking the strain in his movements. One of them slams him against the counter, forcing his arms behind his back.

Without a second thought, you launch yourself into action, your body moving faster than your mind. With every ounce of strength you have, you tackle the nearest officer, sending the two of you sprawling to the floor. The Enforcer lets out a grunt of surprise as you both crash to the ground.

Your knife flashes in your hand, aimed for his neck, but the officer is quicker than you expect. He blocks your strike with a sharp upward motion of his armored forearm, the clash of steel against steel ringing in your ears. Before you can recover, he shifts his weight forward, slamming his helmeted head into your cheekbone.

Pain explodes through your skull, white-hot and dizzying. You reel back, clutching your face as the taste of blood floods your mouth. But you’re too far gone to stop, too consumed by anger and desperation. With a growl that tears from the depths of your chest, you lunge at him again, your knife slashing through the air.

He’s faster this time. Anticipating your move, the Enforcer sidesteps with practiced precision. In one fluid motion, he draws the pistol holstered at his hip and levels it at you.

The shot rings out, loud and final.

Pain tears through your shoulder like a hot blade, and your cry of agony is swallowed by the chaos around you. The force of the bullet spins you, and you crash to the floor, clutching the wound. Warm blood spills over your fingers, soaking into your jacket as your vision wavers. But the pain doesn’t stop the fire in your chest. Even as your shoulder throbs with every heartbeat, you snarl through clenched teeth and shift to push yourself back up. The Enforcer towers over you, his pistol trained on you once more, the cold barrel glinting in the dim light.

Your eyes dart back to Silco. He’s managed to wrestle an Enforcer to the ground, pinning the armored figure beneath him with a furious snarl. For a brief moment, it seems he’s gained the upper hand—until another Enforcer storms in, grabbing Silco by the collar of his finely tailored suit and yanking him off his opponent.

Silco twists and swings his dagger, the blade gleaming as it arcs through the air. But his attacker is ready, slapping the weapon from his hand with a brutal efficiency. The dagger clatters to the floor, spinning away into the chaos, leaving him defenseless.

You grit your teeth, the pounding pain in your shoulder barely registering as adrenaline courses through you. You’re already preparing to lunge toward him when another crack echoes through the room.

Pain sears through your side as a bullet grazes your thigh, tearing through the fabric of your pants and leaving a burning sting in its wake. You stagger but refuse to fall, your rage igniting into a roaring inferno.

“Bastard!” you scream, your voice raw with fury. Your hand snaps out instinctively, fingers clenching into a fist. The Enforcer who fired at you barely has time to react as his pistol crumples in his grip like a wad of paper, the metal screeching under the pressure of your will.

The distraction buys you a precious moment. You pivot toward Silco, each step a battle against the throbbing in your shoulder and side. But the same Enforcer persists, his movements fast and relentless.

“Enough,” you growl, your voice low and venomous.

Whipping around, you grab him by the helmet, forcing his head to one side and exposing the vulnerable flesh of his neck beneath the armored collar. In one fluid motion, you plunge your blade into the exposed skin, feeling it sink deep. He lets out a wet, gurgling sound as blood bubbles from his mouth, his body stumbling before crumpling to the floor.

You don’t look back.

Silco is struggling against another Enforcer now, his arms forced behind him. The metallic click of handcuffs locking into place is like another gunshot in your ears.

Pushing your battered body forward, each step feels heavier than the last, but you refuse to stop. The pain is a distant thrum beneath the fury coursing through your veins. Silco struggles against the Enforcer pinning him to the counter, his defiance radiating even as his arms are forced behind his back. The sight sends a fresh surge of adrenaline through you, drowning out the ache in your shoulder and the burn in your side.

Your eyes lock onto a dislodged metal chair leg lying amidst the chaos. Extending your hand, you summon the scrap to you, the metal twisting and contorting as it obeys your will, coiling around your knuckles like a makeshift gauntlet.

With a growl, you drive your fist into the Enforcer’s side, targeting the vulnerable spot just above his kidneys. The force sends a sharp clang reverberating through his armor, and even through the plating, the impact is enough to make him stagger back, releasing Silco.

Not letting up, you whip your dagger through the air, the blade slicing cleanly into the Enforcer’s ankle. He lets out a strangled cry, collapsing onto one knee as the pain cements him in place. But you don’t care.

With his helmet half-loosened in the scuffle, you take the opportunity to unlatch the clasp fully, yanking it off and exposing his face. Your metal-clad fist follows, slamming into his nose with a sickening crunch. Blood sprays, and the Enforcer drops like a stone, unconscious—or worse.

You wrench your dagger free, standing over his limp form, your chest heaving. You can’t bring yourself to care whether he’s alive or dead. There’s no time.

Turning back, your stomach sinks. A good half of your group is already subdued, their hands bound in cuffs as Enforcers drag them toward the exits. Panic flickers through your rage. Your eyes sweep the floor, scanning the chaos.

Where is he?

Then your eyes lock onto Vander’s fallen figure. It takes two officers to keep him pinned, and even then, they’re struggling, their boots scraping against the blood-slicked floor as he thrashes. A third Enforcer approaches, cuffs in hand, intent on locking him down.

“No!” Your cry rips from your throat as you push yourself forward, adrenaline the only thing keeping you upright.

You make it halfway there before another gunshot cracks through the air.

This one finds its mark.

White-hot agony explodes through your side as the bullet buries itself just above your hip. The force sends you sprawling, your body crumpling against your will. A strangled shriek escapes your lips as the pain sears through you, and you clutch at the wound, warm blood spilling over your hands.

Through the haze of agony, you hear the measured thud of boots approaching. You try to lift your head, but the effort is too much. A shadow looms over you, and Grayson kneels down, her expression unreadable but her voice icy calm.

“You can’t say I didn’t warn you.” She speaks with maddening composure, her tone cutting through the chaos like a blade. “There are rules for a reason, and it’s about time you all learned how to obey them.”

She tosses something onto the ground beside you. Your blood-soaked bandana. The sight of it twists something deep in your chest, but before you can respond, the edges of your vision begin to blur, dark tendrils creeping inward.

“F…uck you,” you growl through gritted teeth, your voice shaky but defiant. “Let us go! You think we can’t—Gods, fuck—break all these people out of your little HQ?”

Grayson stands, her boots clicking against the floor as she straightens. “Oh, these people won’t be going to HQ,” she says, her voice sharper now, carrying over the din so everyone left conscious can hear. “No, you’ll find they’ll be moved to Stillwater by midnight. No more warning shots.”

She pauses, her gaze sweeping over the wreckage of the bar and the battered survivors still standing. “You want war?” Her voice hardens, her authority resonating in every word. “Very well. Consider this war.”

Her words hang heavy in the air, a chilling promise that makes even the most reckless of fighters hesitate. As your vision dims and the strength drains from your body, her voice is the last thing you hear.

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slutty-transformation-stories · 3 months ago

Text

Bimbocaine Part 2

Lydia's eyes narrowed as she studied the pouch of pink powder she had found in her friend's abandoned apartment. It was an unusual artifact amidst the clutter of forgotten textbooks and half-used makeup products. The material felt foreign to her, almost alive, as it shifted in her palm. She had brought it to the university's science lab, eager to understand the mystery it held.

Her curiosity piqued, Lydia carefully poured a small amount onto a slide. She had to admit, the color was quite lovely—like the inside of a seashell or a delicate shade of bubblegum. The fine, shimmering particles danced under the fluorescent lights as she carried the slide over to the microscope. The anticipation of discovery made her heart flutter, a sensation she hadn't felt in a long time.

Just as she was about to peer into the eyepiece, the lab door swung open, and a gaggle of her eager students spilled in. They surrounded her, bombarding her with questions about the upcoming exam and their latest projects. She held up a hand, the slide still in her other, and tried to explain that she was busy, but they were having none of it.

One particularly clumsy student named Jenna reached out to touch the pouch, her eyes wide with curiosity. "What's that, Professor?" she asked, her voice a high-pitched squeal that seemed to echo through the room.

Lydia sighed, but before she could respond, the pouch slipped from Jenna's grasp and hit the floor with a soft thud. The seal gave way, and a cloud of pink glittery smoke erupted, enveloping the entire room. The students shrieked, and Lydia's heart skipped a beat as she realized what had just happened. The smoke smelled faintly of strawberries and vanilla, a scent that seemed to tickle her nostrils and make her head swim.

As the cloud began to dissipate, she noticed something peculiar. Each of the girls, one by one, started to transform. Their breasts ballooned to impossible sizes, pushing against their shirts like overfilled water balloons. Their asses inflated, stretching their pants until the fabric looked ready to tear. Their hair grew longer, a cascade of platinum blonde waves that flowed down their backs like a river of spun silk.

Their nails grew at an alarming rate, turning into sharp talons that clicked against the lab benches as they moved. Their faces took on a bitchy perfection, their lips curling into a perpetual snarl that seemed to dare the world to mess with them. The transformation was as mesmerizing as it was disturbing, and Lydia could do nothing but watch in shocked silence.

As the pink haze cleared, she looked down at her own body and felt a strange sensation. Her own breasts began to swell, pushing against her lab coat, and she gasped as her hips widened and her waist cinched in. Her reflection in the gleaming microscope showed a woman she hardly recognized: her once-professional attire now clung to a figure that was the epitome of a bimbo's dream. She felt lighter, more... confident, as if the weight of the world had been lifted from her shoulders and replaced with a newfound sense of allure.

The giggles from her students grew louder, and she realized that they were all going through the same metamorphosis. They stumbled around the room, their eyes wide with excitement and disbelief as they examined their new figures in the glass panels of the lab cabinets. Each of them was now a mirror image of the other—platinum blondes with hourglass shapes that defied logic and gravity.

The room was filled with the sound of zippers being yanked down and buttons popping off as they struggled to free themselves from their suddenly-too-small clothing. The fabric tore away, revealing skin that gleamed with a glossy sheen under the harsh lights. The pink smoke had left a faint sparkle on their bodies, making them look as if they were dusted with the finest glitter.

Their laughter grew more manic, each giggle escalating into a full-throated cackle that echoed through the lab. The air was thick with a cocktail of the strawberry-vanilla scent and the heady perfume of their newfound sexuality. It was intoxicating, and even Lydia found herself smiling as she watched the young women prance around, their movements now more seductive than she had ever seen.

With a collective decision that seemed to resonate through the air, the group of busty bimbos made their way out of the lab and towards the university's exit. The hallways were a blur of pink smoke and glittery footsteps as they sashayed down the corridor, leaving a trail of bewildered onlookers in their wake. The transformation was complete, and the need to show off their new selves was palpable. They were drawn to the mall like moths to a flame, each step carrying them closer to a place where they could truly embrace their newfound bitchiness.

Once at the mall, they descended upon the first cosmetic counter they saw. The poor salesgirls didn't stand a chance against the onslaught of glammed-up scientists. They demanded the works: smoky eyes, lush lashes, and lips painted a shade of pink that matched the powder's explosive origin. The once-studious young women now moved with the grace of seasoned models, their hips swaying as they discussed the merits of different foundations and eyeliners.

Each bimbo picked out an outfit that screamed "look at me" from the racks of a high-end boutique. The clothes were tight and revealing, leaving little to the imagination. They paraded around in their new attire, their every move calculated to attract the maximum amount of male attention. And it worked. Heads turned, jaws dropped, and whispers followed them as they strutted down the mall's gleaming corridors.

Their transformations were complete, and they reveled in the power of their newfound sexuality. They were like a pack of lionesses on the prowl, each one more stunning than the last. Lydia felt a strange kinship with these young women she had once taught, now her sisters in glamour.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, they turned their sights to the club, a place that had once been a bastion of their youthful innocence. Now, it beckoned to them like a siren's call, promising a night of indulgence and debauchery. The bouncer's eyes widened as he took in the spectacle of six busty blondes dressed to kill, and with a nod of his head, they were granted entry without a second glance.

Inside, the bass thumped like a heartbeat, and strobe lights painted the walls in a chaotic dance of color. The air was thick with the scent of cologne and cheap perfume, a stark contrast to the delicate fragrance of strawberries and vanilla that lingered on their skin. The crowd parted for them like the Red Sea, all eyes drawn to their voluptuous figures and the aura of confidence that surrounded them like an invisible force field.

The club was a candy-coated wonderland of temptation, and they were the sweetest treat on display. The bartender, a young man with spiked hair and a smug smile, couldn't resist the allure of their new forms. He slipped them drinks, each one a little stronger than the last, and they giggled and flirted in return. Their laughter was like a siren song, drawing in a flock of eager men, all eager to taste the sweetness they exuded.

The first to approach was a businessman in a tailored suit, his eyes glazed over with a mix of lust and bewilderment. He stumbled over his words as he tried to charm them, his hand lingering a bit too long on Lydia's newly rounded hip. She felt a thrill at the touch, the fabric of her dress sticking to her skin as his hand slid away. The other girls were similarly accosted, each man's grip a little more daring than the last.

A beautiful blonde bimbo at the back of the club caught their attention, her outfit even more outrageous than their own. She beckoned them over with a wave of her hand, her nails glinting like diamonds in the disco lights. As they approached, Lydia noticed the name tag on her glittery top—it read "Barbie." The woman's smile was wide and welcoming, a knowing twinkle in her eyes that sent a shiver down Lydia's spine.

It was Anna, her friend from university who had once been a brooding goth with a penchant for dark poetry and a love for the macabre. The transformation was unmistakable yet unsettling. Anna's raven locks had been replaced with the same platinum waves as the rest of them, and her once solemn demeanor was now a caricature of cheerfulness.

"Welcome, my fellow bimbos," Anna purred, her voice now a breathy whisper that seemed to float on the air. "You're just in time for the main event."

Her words sent a ripple of excitement through the group. They huddled closer, eager to hear what she had to say. Anna leaned in, her massive breasts threatening to spill out of her tight dress as she whispered the details of their new lives. It seemed that the pink powder was not just a one-time transformation but a gateway to a world where beauty and brains were a potent cocktail of power.

Lydia felt a twinge of doubt, but it was quickly drowned out by the pulsing music and the electric energy of the club. The pink smoke had not only changed their appearances but also their personalities. They were no longer the shy, studious girls they once were. They had become creatures of the night, hungry for attention and validation from the men around them.

The night passed in a blur of flashing lights and groping hands. Each bimbo took turns disappearing into the crowded bathroom, returning with flushed cheeks and swollen lips. The scent of cheap cologne and sex hung heavy in the air, mingling with the sugary sweetness of the pink dust that still clung to them.

Lydia found herself in a dimly lit corner with a man who couldn't keep his hands off her new, voluptuous body. His touch was rough, but she didn't mind. It was as if she had been waiting for this moment her entire life. The feel of his calloused fingers on her skin sent shockwaves of pleasure through her. She leaned into his touch, her body moving instinctively to the rhythm of the music.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Jenna, who had found a partner of her own. The young man looked like he had just won the lottery as he struggled to contain his excitement, his eyes ogling her newfound assets. Jenna giggled, her voice now a sultry purr that seemed to ooze confidence and sexuality. She leaned in close to Lydia, whispering into her ear, "Let's go, I know just the place."

The group of bimbos followed Jenna, their hips swaying in unison like a line of synchronized swimmers. The music grew louder, the lights brighter, and the men more brazen. Each girl was claimed by a different suitor, and they disappeared into the throbbing mass of bodies like droplets of water in a storm. Lydia felt a strange mix of excitement and trepidation as she was led away by her chosen man.

In the cramped backseat of a sports car, Lydia's mind raced. This wasn't her usual scene—far from it. But as the man's hand found her thigh, she couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement. His touch was firm, possessive, and she found herself leaning into it. The pink dust had transformed her into someone new, someone who didn't need to think about the consequences of her actions.

The car pulled up to a sleek, modern mansion that looked like it had been plucked from the pages of a high-fashion magazine. The party inside was already in full swing, a cacophony of laughter and bass that vibrated through the walls. The air was thick with the scent of wealth and desire, and as they stepped out of the car, the other bimbos were immediately drawn to it.

They strutted up the driveway, their heels clicking like a chorus line of dominatrixes. The door swung open, revealing a grand foyer with a sweeping staircase that beckoned them to ascend into the heart of the debauchery. They were greeted by a sea of men in suits, their eyes devouring the bimbos like hungry wolves spotting fresh prey.

The mansion was a playground of opulence, each room more decadent than the last. Red velvet couches, gleaming chandeliers, and walls lined with gold-framed mirrors reflected the pink glow of their skin. It was a place where inhibitions were left at the door, and the only currency was beauty and desire.

Lydia and her bimbo entourage were led upstairs to a suite that looked like a set from a music video. A king-sized bed, big enough to accommodate their inflated forms, sat in the center, surrounded by plush pillows and silk sheets. A bottle of champagne chilled in an ice bucket, and the air was heavy with the scent of more pink dust, hinting at the night's true intentions.

The man who had claimed her wasted no time, his hands roaming her new body with a sense of entitlement that sent a shiver of excitement down her spine. His touch was rough, his intentions clear, but she found herself craving the validation it brought. The other couples paired off around the room, the sounds of passion and pleasure rising like a symphony of lust.

The bimbos were in their element, their every move calculated to ensnare the men around them. The mansion was a fortress of sin, each room a testament to the power of their newfound sexuality. They were the queens of this domain, and the men were their willing subjects.

As the night progressed, the transformations grew more pronounced. The pink dust had not only altered their physical forms but had also imbued them with an irresistible allure that seemed to corrupt everyone they touched. The men who had brought them here were now under their spell, eager to do their bidding, to give them anything they desired.

The next morning, the bimbos woke up feeling more alive than ever. They looked at themselves in the mirrors that adorned the walls of the suite, admiring their new figures and the glint of power in their eyes. The town was their oyster, and they were the pearls inside, ready to be discovered.

#corruption #dumb thicc #phat ass white girl #dumbification #bimboification #brainwashed #mind conditioning #bimbo doll #cheating sex #cheating woman #bimbo dreams #cnc drugging

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marigold-hills · 2 months ago

Text

The Black Wizard (Part1)

When Remus leaves his hometown, it’s not to seek his fortune, or adventure, or – gods forbid – love. He leaves because he’s a monster, and monsters do not belong in society. They belong in the Waste.

This is how it happens:

It’s May Day. The village of Hogsmead is abuzz with excitement. Revellers and drunks, lovely dressed up ladies and dapper gentlemen circling one another, for propriety's sake staying respectable distances away. The gentlemen whistling at the ladies, the ladies pretending to be aghast by the behaviour, covertly blushing and giggling.

It’s a perfect day. Sunny, warm, bright.

For Remus, it’s perfect for a different reason.

Everyone is too busy to notice their pockets getting lighter. Too buzzed to pay attention to the man dressed in ill-fitting clothes waking too close to others. A casual jostle is just this - casual. Nothing to worry about. Nothing to raise concern.

Remus has a few pilfered wallets in a hidden pocket he sewed onto a stolen vest, along with his favourite book of poetry he never parts from. Some small valuables nobody would notice missing until it would be too late to track it to him. It’s easy, this. He’s done it for years.

“My apologies,” he smiles at a man in a soldier’s garb, whose money pouch he just appropriated. This one feels good for more than one reason - the soldier was in the process of accosting a lady who did not seem pleased to be accosted. She takes the moment he gets distracted by Remus and ducks away. Remus would like to say that he makes sure to only steal from those who deserve it, but it wouldn’t be true.

Food is food, and money is money, and both are something he needs to live. Remus can’t get a job, on account of being a monster, on account of how many days he has to take out to recuperate and travel somewhere far enough to make sure he wouldn’t let himself lose on Hogsmeade. He’s tried: he worked in a bakery right after his parents’ passing, then in a post office, a fishmonger and a greengrocer. He tried his hand at hunting game and selling it at a market, but his aim was poor and he couldn’t stomach the job. Each time he had to take sick days talk begun: simple at first, concerned. That poor Lupin boy, they would say, all alone now and so sickly. But soon the compassion ran out in favour of annoyance (“you need time off again? It’s barely been three weeks”). Followed, unfailingly, by questions.

Questions he has to steer people from if he wants to keep himself safe.

He’s tall but can make himself look unassuming, his hair once golden-auburn now streaked with grey from the effect of too many full moons. It’s perfect for this job, being easy to look over and hard to describe. He’s young but looks old. Feels old, too, but that’s not something for people to see.

Remus makes mistakes in this work so rarely that he doesn’t notice he’s made one until it’s too late.

He’s following a well-dressed man, waiting for an opportunity to strike. The man is exceptionally pretty, with short black curls barely skimming the tops of his ears and a gait like royalty. Remus follows behind him at a stretch, slow and careful, until they round the back of a seedy pub and the man turns around like he is the one who set the trap.

Green eyes like poison.

“Trailing the Wizard of the Waste, that’s brave of you,” the man says with a voice that freezes Remus midstep.

Because he knows better than that. He knows not to go for the people who are dressed overly expensive, with rich black fabrics and shining peacock plumes in their hats. He knows chances are somebody is watching over the really rich. That the possibility of a greater payoff doesn’t compare to the risk of being caught.

And yet here he is: caught.

“Or maybe simply foolish,” the Wizard says. “You don’t look a fool, but such things can be so deceiving, don’t you agree?”

The way his eyes pierce through Remus: all he can think is he knows. Somebody knows. Remus has been found out.

“You would know all about deceiving looks, wouldn’t you,” the man finishes like a purr of a cat poised to kill.

Remus turns and runs, tripping over his own feet in his haste to get away. Remus remembers what the townspeople did the last time someone was found out. Remembers the stench of burning flesh.

He doesn’t look back once before he flees, not even when the Wizard shouts “my regards to Sirius!”, to his retreating back.

***

The road to the Waste is long and winding. The moon was not long full, and Remus still feels the effects it had on his body. He walks slow, using a stick he found in some bushes as a makeshift cane. Takes breaks. Bundles himself up tighter against the bracing winds. Admires the views. His hometown grows smaller and smaller, falls silent at the foot of the hill, lovely little toy buildings with their twinkly lights of windows.

He wonders if he’ll miss it. Can’t make up his mind, one way or the other. He should – right? It’s all he’s ever known.

“What do you think?” He asks his cane, because there is no one else to talk to, “will anyone notice we’re gone?”

The cane, of course, doesn’t answer. Only the wind blowing past him hears his question.

At the top, the hill becomes a plateau. Flat, green, peppered with clearwater lakes. Stretches for miles, in all directions. Remus remembers, from long-ago lessons, that the Capital is due North, and that to the East is the border with a neighbouring kingdom. It’s hard to believe when as far as the eye can see the Waste stretches, neverending and full of things ready to strike.

The sun is starting to set when he spots the Castle.

It moves towards him at considerable speed, rattling along the grass and shaking like it could come apart. By some miracle, or some magic, all of its various sticky-outy parts stay precariously attached where they seem to belong.

Remus thinks well, this is just my luck because the Black Wizard lives in the Castle, and the Black Wizard eats hearts. The heart of a monster is rumoured to give great strength, indulge the power, strengthen the spirit. Remus expected dying in the Waste – he just didn’t think it would be before nightfall on the very first day.

From Remus’ hometown the Castle could sometimes be seen far off in the mountains. It looked grand and stately, mysterious in how sometimes it was low in the hills and sometimes almost completely out of sight and far away, plumes of coloured smoke raising from its chimneys colouring the sky in reds and golds.

Up close, the Castle is ugly. Makeshift. Materials that don’t fit together, made to be imposing rather than reasonable. The embodiment of style over function. There are turrets where no turrets make sense, windows with no light behind them, and the whole front of it looks like a giant open maw. A lion’s jaw.

Remus stands still. “Now we’ve done it,” he says to the cane. Casts a final look back at the town. At the setting sun. At the lake some distance away, great and shimmering as it reflects the last rays of sunlight.

The Castle stops, the entrance at his feet. The door opens.

Remus walks towards it.

***

The Black Wizard isn’t inside. There’s only an abundance of spiders and one very chatty fire.

Remus is cold. His joints ache where they were broken apart and stitched back together not five days earlier. If the Wizard set a trap for monsters, then this monster walked right into it, with no fight.

“That’s a nasty curse you’ve got on you,” the fire’s voice is like crackling kindling.

Remus sits in a chair at the hearth. Lets the heat unlock his body. “Mmm,” he says, half in response and half in bliss.

“I could help you with that, you know. There are potions. Maybe spells.”

“Could you now,” Remus isn’t convinced. The fire sounds like he would expect – fickle, volatile, unreliable.

“Sure I could,” the fire answers. “But you’d have to help me out first. We’d call it an exchange.”

“Mmm,” he’s falling asleep now. The walk was long, and the warmth is so very pleasant.

“My name is James, not that you’ve bothered to ask.”

Remus doesn’t respond. He’s already asleep.

PART 2

******

NOTES:

Hi! I’m back with another part-per-day fic. As it’s December I’ve gone with my ultimate comfort movie to make an AU from because who doesn’t like cosy ghibli vibes?

IM SO EXCITED to say this has a companion artwork by the ridiculously talented @jaioes go check it out and give them lots of love.

See you tomorrow and happy December!

@tealeavesandtrash

@hoje--aqui

@cocoabutterandbooks

@onion-sliced-apples

@prancingpony42

@digital-kam

@remoonysiriusly

@sweetstarryskies

@a-sunset-outside-my-window

@procrastinatingstuff

@annaliza999

@wannabelilybriscoe

@quiethauntings

@veganbutterchicken

@euripidestrousers

(let me know if you do/don’t want to be tagged!)

#wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #marauders #dead gay wizards #fanfic #remus x sirius #marauders era #Fic: the black wizard #howls moving castle #howl’s moving castle #howls moving castle au #James potter #regulus black #remus lupin x sirius black

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