#moments immobiles

[chez-mimich]

Parigi, dicembre 2024. Apparentemente Alberto Giacometti e Giorgio Morandi non hanno nulla in comune. Anzi una ce l’hanno: essere entrambi legati con un cordone ombelicale al proprio atelier. Le loro opere nascono infatti nel chiuso di quelle stanze. Entrambi detestavano viaggiare ma nonostante questo o forse proprio per questo sono stati creatori di mondi. Hanno creato tra le mura domestiche eppure sono diventati due figure di primo piano dell’arte moderna. Giacometti si mise a consumare la materia della figura umana fino ad estrarne l’essenza intima, Morandi con bottiglie e pentolini fu un’oppositore tenace al trionfalismo dell’arte fascista. Due mondi simili che la bella mostra “Giacometti/Morandi, Moments Immobiles” della Fondation Giacometti, mette in bella evidenza.

[hes-sunshine-im-midnight-rain]

pink/blue core hunt lvl 10

I hated that fuckass deer wanderer so much 😭

literally 1 second left before it died 🙏

[thedreadvampy]

lmao it is undeniably true that I am Depressi Spaghetti but you know. fuck it we continue.

[zeeckz]

i am playing peace walker for the first time, never played another game with miller (except kind of mgs1 but it doesn't count). he took peace walker's nuclear missile to mother base while nobody was watching and then suggested snake to put it on a boat and send it into ocean where nobody finds it and nobody will know they have it, in case if snake doesn't want to keep it. that considered, if you still take sketch suggestions, would you like to draw kazuhira miller throwing car batteries into the ocean? >]

I know this isn't exactly what you asked, but as I was reading it my unruly brain decided they were gonna have a boat date

(Amanda probably heard him by accident and threatened to beat him up if he so even though of contaminating their beautiful waters [with car batteries], Boss & pretty much everyone else thought she had a point, and Kaz had to find an alternative)

(not that he's complaining about it)

[oceanarcaneum]

i'm throwing this out there now but i truly do not care how many times ppl claim it's been debunked i will ALWAYS believe viren did something to harrow before the moonshadow elves attacked bc there was NO reason for them to put so much emphasis on callum screaming "DAD" just to be like "harrow didn't hear him over the battle" I DONT CAREEEEEE

[doctor-laceo]

Item #: SCP-████

Object class: Euclid

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-████ must be kept in a fire-proof room and away from all sorts of metals in fear he may use it to break through the door. SCP-████ is not usually violent, but, he may have sudden mood shifts and use his abilities to try and break down the door and escape the facility under ALL COST and must be drenched in water to trap in a hard layer of rock before transporting back to their cell.

Description: SCP-████, also known as Volcan is an anomaly found in ██████ back in January 22, 1950 in the aftermath of a volcanic eruption.

When Volcan was found it was covered with a hard layer of rock ontop, previously thought to have been a one in a billion naturally occurring phenomenon and was transported all the way to the British museum where he was displayed for a total of seventeen days until Volcan had broken free of the rock layer. Although, foundation personnel had arrived before much damage could be caused.

Volcan is a 6 foot creature covered in dripping lava from head to toe with a human eye poking out, the eye being the only physical evidence of his previous humanity. No one knows how the eye keeps from being burned, but it seems Vulcan’s sight completely relies on the singular eye.

Vulcan does not speak or understand English, it is even doubted he can hear, although, he can write and read in Latin. Dr. Laceo, despite orders to not approach or get close to the anomaly, is still actively trying to teach the anomaly English. As it, itself, is fluent in the dead language. (Among many others.)

Vulcan can use the lava they are made of in different ways, most commonly molding it into items like weapons and such but it also communicates by using the lava to write (sometimes burn) words. Details about itself learned from this is as follows:

•Volcan is male.

•at one point, Volcan had been a human

blacksmith (hence his adoration for

weapons. When or how he became a

creature made of lava is unclear)

•He is somewhat in know of

SCP-████, the Bronze Owls.

Further research is required.

[aqqleshiqqing-archive]

steven saving ruby in the R/S arc:

and then ruby saving steven from getting his mega stone snatched from zinnia in the ORAS arc: (read from right to left)

[creativeexpressivename]

Once I get over my fear of attention and make my comeback on my art account and post transformers on there and then megop and then publicly post my megops fics it's over for you guys

[chez-mimich]

GIACOMETTI/MORANDI, MOMENTS IMMOBILES

In pieno clima di avanguardie artistiche, ovvero tra il primo decennio del Novecento e la metà degli anni Trenta, gli ateliers degli artisti sembrano diventare non strettamente necessari poiché Futurismo, Cubismo, Dadaismo e Surrealismo portano, molto spesso, l’arte a contatto con ambienti esterni, tanto che le opere vengono influenzate dal movimento, dalla velocità, dalla febbrile vita urbana, avendo poi anche rapporti diretti con la danza, con il teatro, con il cinema, con la fotografia. Del resto era già capitato, anche con l’impressionismo, che le tele fossero portate “en-plein-air”. Insomma gli ateliers, tranne alcune mirabili eccezioni come quello di Costantin Brancusi e del picassiano Bateaux-Lavoir sulla Butte di Montmartre, persero, mano mano, un po’ della loro feticistica importanza. Questo noioso preambolo era necessario per scrivere di una minuscola, ma raffinatissima, mostra alla “Fondation-Institut Giacometti” di Parigi (aperta fino al prossimo mese di marzo), dal titolo “Giacometti/Morandi, Moments Immobiles” che prende in esame due artisti che invece dell’atelier hanno continuato a fare il loro luogo di elezione (o la loro “comfort zone” come si dice oggi), per indagare il mondo: Alberto Giacometti e Giorgio Morandi. Due artisti accomunati anche dalla scarsa propensione a viaggiare, tanto che i loro mondi, quello della consunzione della materia della figura umana e quello intimo e domestico delle bottiglie, delle tazze e dei barattoli, sono mondi nati esclusivamente in atelier, principalmente quello parigino di Giacometti e quello di grizzana sull’ Appennino per Morandi. Benchè contemporanei i due artisti non si conobbero mai, eppure entrambi si trovano ad operare nella stessa temperie artistica e culturale intersecando i linguaggi di Cubismo, Futurismo, Surrealismo, Metafisica. Probabilmente Giacometti vede a Parigi i lavori di Giorgio Morandi, in occasione delle esposizioni sull’arte italiana del Petit Palais e poi al Jeu de Paume. Simile lo spirito che li muove: Giacometti a Parigi mise in opera la più febbrile attività di “consumazione” della materia concentrando il suo sguardo esclusivamente sulla figura umana, Morandi, con la sua intimità domestica, propose una pittura e un’incisione che sono specularmente opposti all’arte di regime, trionfalistica e piena di roboante retorica. Anche il lavoro sulle modelle viventi (prima fra tutte la compagna Annette) costringe Giacometti ad un lavoro principalmente legato al proprio atelier. Come Morandi fa per gli oggetti, Giacometti opera una copia analitica dell’essenza della modella e questa lettura resta lontana da un senso generale di lavoro “compiuto”, a vantaggio di una raffigurazione che scava oltre l’aspetto puramente esteriore. Anche per Morandi il discorso è molto simile: interrogato da un giornalista sull’astrazione e sulla surrealtà (argomenti estremamente attuali negli anni Trenta) Morandi risponde che “per lui niente era più surreale e niente era più astratto che la realtà”. Ed è indubbiamente questo il senso ultimo della sua pittura. Insomma, se una chiave di lettura della mostra si vuol trovare, questa non può essere che l’intima adesione dei due artisti “solitari” alle grandi tematiche della pittura delle avanguardie artistiche, tematiche che portavano ad una lettura della realtà attraverso l’analisi meticolosa e la rilettura di forma, colore, movimento attraverso un modo di fare arte non meramente mimetico. Il confronto tra i due è certamente una prospettiva stimolante per ribadire la loro appartenenza a quel periodo di grandi trasformazioni artistiche e culturali. Per chi passasse in zona Boulevard Raspail (Montparnasse)oltre a questa delizia, a pochi metri dalla Fondation Giacometti, troverebbe alla “Fondation Cartier” la grande bellezza della mostra di Olga de Amaral, alla quale dedicherò qualche commento nei prossimi giorni. Come si dice, per ora da Parigi è tutto...

[mixology-expert]

*kopi?'s arms fall clean off!*

*you have effectively turned her into a statue! (Think about it. Her whole lower bodh and now her arms have been cut off, and her spider legs are frozen in place)*

-kopi?

...

[gloomwitchwrites]

There was this tiktok trend where kids and their mums would pull a prank on their dads by telling their mums to shut up...141 with a teenage son who tries it?

Anon, I am very aware of this prank. If mom is in on it, I consider it all in good fun, but omg, these guys would be absolutely stressed if they heard their teenage son tell mom to "shut up." Heads would absolutely roll over that!

Price is certainly old enough to have a teenage son on the older side. I would even say the same for Ghost. Gaz is old enough for a younger teenage son. With Soap's age...that's stretching it. BUT SUSPEND DISBELIEF Y'ALL. I'm aging Gaz and Soap up a bit for this one.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Presented in two double drabbles and two triple drabbles.

Task Force 141 x Female Reader (w/ children)

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, pranks, domestic, dad!141, brief suggestive themes, marriage

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“Ugh. Shut up, Mum.”

There is a brief pause between mum and when the television remote hurtles across the room. Your son doesn’t duck in time, the hard plastic hitting his shoulder before bouncing onto the kitchen island with a loud clack.

Before your son turns, Kyle’s baseball cap with the Union Jack, soars through the air like a frisbee. This one your son manages to avoid, but it’s quickly followed by a slipper. It flies past his head, and you catch it out of the air before it makes contact with the front of the microwave.

You and your eldest son turn in Kyle’s direction as he manifests in the kitchen entryway, the other slipper in hand, poised to launch it at the first sign of any movement.

“Wanna repeat yourself, mate?” Kyle appears calm and poised, but you notice the subtle tension in his jaw.

“It was a joke, Dad! Promise!”

Kyle’s arm holding the slipper starts to rise.

“Kyle,” you say. His gaze flicks to you. “Just a joke. No harm. I was in on it.”

His shoulders immediately sag. Kyle shakes his head. Rolls his eyes. Heading for the fridge, he opens it up, grabbing a can of his favorite beer.

Kyle sets the beer down on the island, pointing the slipper at you and then his son. His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. No words come out, just an exasperated huff.

Kyle snatches up the television remote and sticks it into the pocket of his grey sweatpants. Keeping hold of the shoe in one hand, and his beer in the other, he gives the two of you his back, heading into the living room.

“No one bother me until the game is over,” he says over his shoulder. “And someone bring me my bloody slipper!”

John Price

"Fucking hell, Mum. Shut it."

John is up and out of his seat so fast you hardly see him move. He strides over to his son, yanking him off the stool by the scruff of his shirt.

"John! It's a prank!" you say quickly, reaching for his arm.

The boy is dangling in the air, toes just shy of touching the ground. "A prank?" asks John skeptically.

"Mum is in on it. Promise."

John sighs heavily and slowly lowers his son to the ground. The moment his feet touch ground, he tries to step away, but John holds firm, keeping his eldest child immobile. He leans forward a bit. Lowers his voice.

"Prank or no, you never talk to your mother, your sisters, or any woman in that manner again. Got it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good boy." John releases his son. "The lawn needs trimmed."

"Yes, sir."

Your son scurries away. It isn't until the door to the garage opens and shuts that John moves toward you. His arm drapes over your waist, hand landing firmly on your ass, squeezing hard.

"You're coming with me."

"To do what?"

He presses his lips to your ear. "For a different sort of punishment."

John "Soap" MacTavish

"You’re off your head, lad.”

With Johnny’s cold tone comes a tension to your son’s shoulders. He becomes rigid, sliding down into his chair like he can escape from his father by cowering underneath the table. Johnny comes around the corner, a bit of sweat on his brow. He's been building furniture all day for the nursery.

"Want to repeat that for me?" asks Johnny.

Your son’s voice cracks. "It was just a prank, Dad."

"It was what?" Johnny strides forward.

"It's a prank. I'm in on it. Promise," you say, attempting to soothe Johnny’s anger.

Johnny crosses his arms over your chest. "Is it?" He glances between the two of you and sighs, muttering, “Am pure done in.”

He disappears down the hall, returning with a stack of instructional manuals, dropping them into his son’s lap. "You're building furniture."

"But I—"

“You right scunner. C’mon.” Johnny yanks his son out of the chair, the stack of instructional manuals goes flying. Your son reaches for them all, desperately clasping them against his chest.

“Johnny," you call out, walking around the counter to intervene.

He glances over his shoulder, frown gown, sly smirk on his face. “Deal with you later."

Simon "Ghost" Riley

“Oi, Mum. Shut it.”

Your son is a wonderful actor. You’ll give him that. Even you almost believe him. Not that he would—he’d never—but his delivery reminds you of a completely pissed football fan ready to throw a punch at a member of the rival team.

He should consider theater.

Simon, your husband, is watching a rugby match in the living room. The television is on but at a low volume.

Within seconds of the words leaving your son’s mouth, Simon appears like a phantom guardian in the entryway. In one he holds the remote like a weapon. The other arm cradles his infant daughter. She looks like a small bean. Slightly curved as she snuggles closer against Simon’s chest as she sleeps.

He's not looking at you. He's staring at his son, gaze intense and full of fire.

You’ve seen that look before.

Mission abort.

"He's joking, Simon. It's just a prank,” you soothe, knowing you need to get ahead of this.

Not that Simon would hurt you or his son, but he rarely takes any shit. This prank was a gamble, and you’re completely regretting it.

"Don't mean it, Dad."

Simon just stares for a long minute. His daughter squirms and that is when he glances down, severing the connection. Observing her must change something in him, because his gaze returns to the two of you, and there is a calmness now.

Sighing heavily, Simon shakes his head, completely exasperated. The eye roll is so apparent it’s like a shout.

In the moment he was pissed—livid. But now he’s over it, more annoyed and unamused than actually mad.

Turning on his heel, daughter still cradled in one arm, Simon returns to his recliner, settling back into the soft cushions to finish watching his rugby match.

taglist:

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[monstersholygrail]

There were moments you could be paranoid. Who isn't sometimes? But when you swear there's a monster under your bed, everyone simply laughs and brushes off your concerns.

If only they knew, if only they understood. The way strange things kept happening in your bedroom. Your underwear you flicked off that was suddenly nowhere to be seen when you went to pick it up. The way your towel always seemed to fall off your body as soon as you pranced back into your room after a shower.

But every time you looked under your bed, you got no real proof. You narrow your eyes into the particularly dark corner of your bed, even swearing you see a few eyes peeking out. That wouldn't be enough. You needed undeniable proof and you wouldn't stop until you got it.

Your retaliation is swift and brutal. Teasing them mercilessly as you refuse to wear panties in your bedroom. Adorning new skimpy outfits, that way the monster can easily look up and see your glistening pussy. Can smell your arousal and know there’s nothing for your essence to catch onto. Yet they’re immobilized, not being able to steal your panties or reveal themselves to get to you.

You no longer bother putting on a towel after your showers. Leaving your wet body on full display. Taunting the monster under your bed and putting on a show for them as you slowly get dressed.

Making sure to find any excuse you can to bend over, letting the monster watch from afar as you present your body to them.

You can always feel its gaze on you. The way it’s many eyes lock onto your form, their focus unyielding as soon as you open the door to your room. The longer this goes on, the thicker the air in the bedroom grows. Tensions rising and sexual need growing. The frustration and restraint pushing and pulling to create an alluring atmosphere that slowly becomes irresistible.

Affecting not only the monster under your bed but you as well. Sensing such a strong desire from the monster has arousal coursing through you, your pussy getting wetter with each passing day. If their attentions rile you up this much, you start to wonder just how fucked you’ll be when they finally snap and take you like you’ve been waiting for them to.

It’s that same night when the monster under your bed can’t take it anymore. Your bare body squirming on the bed, blanket pushed aside. Their form rages with need, cock already dripping with pre-cum. Their tentacles snap out, not holding back as they spread your body for them and pin you down into the bed.

Tiny groans leave you as you wake up. Eyelashes fluttering open before a gasp rips from your throat at the sight of the monster at the end of the bed. Finally showing themself. Their slick yet soft tentacles tighten their grip in fear of an attempted escape and you moan softly.

“Finally…” you say breathlessly. The monster doesn’t wait a moment longer.

Their cock slides in with ease, which wasn’t surprising given has you had tortured the poor thing by touching yourself right before you slept. Hearing your moans but not being able to see was agony. But now that was all over. The monster growls and instantly starts pounding into your wet hole.

You remain practically still, no matter how much you try to writhe and twitch. So firmly enveloped in their tentacles that all you can do is take it and fall deeper into sensation as their cock savagely snaps into you, wrecking you and molding your body to fit their mindblowing girth.

They fuck into you like a beast, eyes roaming over your jolting form, ears picking up on the way your bodies clap together. All of this being so much better than either of you imagined. They can’t get enough of you, tentacles slipping into your mouth to which you immediately start sucking on them. Only heightening the pleasure for you both.

When your orgasm suddenly crashes into you without warning, you scream around their tentacles, pussy clenching down on their thick cock to milk it for all it’s worth. The monster from under your bed lets out a chilling roar that sends goosebumps down your spine before it shoots his seed deep inside your cunt.

You continue to soothingly suck on their tentacles, giggling as you feel it twitch in your mouth. Wondering how sensitive they are…Thinking you may need more forms of proof to really convince people they’re real.

The monster from under your bed growls once more at the sultry look in your eye. Their tentacles possessively clinging to every inch of you before they start rolling their hips back inside your needy cunt. Ready to fuck you all throughout the long night until they have to return back under your bed when the morning comes.

[jinxvex]

that sevika free use fic literally made me smoke a cigarette on my front porch. i like the idea of being fucked to tears but it’s an even more appealing idea of being so brainless that all u can do is laugh and moan about it. i think sevika would like seeing u that way honestly

this is so hot: "i like the idea of being fucked to tears but it’s an even more appealing idea of being so brainless that all u can do is laugh and moan about it."

i'm SO convinced sevika's favorite way to get you all brainless 'n dumb is bending you over and fucking you rough in doggy… you’d be so obedient for her.

cw: free use, degradation, breeding, roughness, pure filth...

your back is arched, face pressing into the mattress and arms limp beside you. i’ve written this before but it never gets old. it’s just so easy to get your eyes rolling to the back of your skull, eyebrows furrowing with your mouth, and cunt gaping wide open for her.

sevika, of course, is drilling so deep inside you to get you like this, cock pressing painfully yet deliciously against the spongey spot of your cervix—with the disgusting sloshing and skin-slapping noises to prove it. her wide hips are grinding against your ass, fast and rough, but precise and purposeful. she’s fucking you practically to death to get you stupid and pliant. you’re so easy. so easy to pin down, fuck, and breed.

you, of course, are practically brain-dead at how overwhelmingly full your pussy is; we all know her strap is huge. again, it’s purposeful, she loves seeing you so slutty and dumb for her, so willing to take anything she gives you including cruel treatment. the only thing you can do at this moment is moan into the pillows and fuck your ass back on her so her dick can go as far inside you as possible. you’re completely cockdrunk. all you can do is moan and giggle—like you’ve taken some sort of drug.

“mmph!! mm-da- hah!! f-fu-,” you let out a series of incoherent babbles as she continues her assault on your greedy pussy. at this point, your hole has created a nasty white ring around her cock—maybe as a means to thank her for giving you want you so desperately crave. dick. you’re truly just a cock hungry whore, starving for whatever she gives you.

“what? huh?! can’t even fuckin’ talk, can you?” she emphasizes her words by thrusting harder into you, faux balls grazing against your neglected clit. your cunt squelches even louder, doing all the talking for you. she leans back slightly, her newly chopped blunt haircut falling over her eyes. sevika places her large hands (yes she has her mech hand) on each ass cheek and spreads—just to see how good your cunt looks clutching her cock, so desperate to cling on to her. “i’ve got my dick so deep in your slutty little pussy it has you all fucked up, hmm?”

her crude words have you shrinking further into your already brainless state. still, all you can do is giggle. your laughs are mixed with clipped moans because of how harsh her thrusts are, cutting off the sounds escaping your throat before they’re fully formed.

“y-ye- hmfph!! haa- he,” your laughs are comparable to the sounds porn stars make in their movies. loud and full of need—like you’re putting on a show just for her. just to get her feral enough to ruin you.

“shhh, ‘s okay. you don’t have to talk, doll.” she poses faux sympathy for you before gripping your ass to fuck you back on her. “yeah, shut the fuck up. shut it. want you to sit there and take this dick. take it.”

she quickens her pace, slamming into you and removing her hand on your ass to press your back into an even more painful arch. the action causes you to let out a sharp gasp, surprise evident in your voice at her truly animalistic ways. the slick spilling from your pussy squirts out from between your bodies and drenches your inner thighs.

you, laying immobile and motionless on your mattress still speak no identifiable words. your head in sevika-shaped clouds and obsessed with her ruthlessness. sevika could pin you down, grip onto you like she hated your guts, and hurt you immensely, but it'd still be love.

"da- f-fu, s-se, hmm!" you chuckle, smiling lazily into the covers.

she lets out a throaty laugh, "s-shit. you'd just let me do anything to this pretty body, wouldn't you? maybe you'll even let me breed this little pussy... you'd take it, yeah? you'd take my load in this tight little cunt 'n let me put a baby into you? make you a mommy?"

"mhm! puh-please!"

and finally, after forever, you utter an expression that is coherent.

"then cum on this dick. cum on this shit so you're easier to breed."

...

ok! so this was way longer than i intended it to be...

[meganegatari]

is this vore? /hj. hi. im gonna squeet. and dunk my head into ice water digital footprint pls forgive me. may have wrote this with one hand IM JOKING. this is just somethin quick because i need to get it out of my system ok.

nsfw drabble—biting sev all over ♡ sub!sevika, edging, fingering (all s! receiving), idk what else girl i can't see straight cuz of her...

and there she lay before you, bare and twitching, in a state she's kept very well hidden from everyone—except you.

her lip tucked under her teeth, head thrown back and half-lidded, blown out eyes lazily following your movements; she was laying sprawled on the mattess. she had tried and failed to hold herself up, both arms trembling under her weight until they eventually gave out.

this was the result of you—oh, how evil you were—edging the poor woman for an eternity. in actuality, you had tortured her to such a point she didn't even have the energy to bark orders at you like she usually does.

all she could do, was whine. whines of your name, wordless huffs and quiet pleas were all she could sound out. and every so often she'd squirm under you and break eye contact when you did something so obscene, even she couldn't handle it.

you wore the most wicked of sneers on your face excitedly, using all your strength to push her thick muscular thighs outward, until you gazed upon a sight worth winning wars for.

the torture you faced her with had her pussy throbbing. no, that was an understatement. you could see every individual muscle controlling her shiny lips jump at the cool air, you could see the way her clit was nearly whispering for you to touch it, and not to mention the pooling of pearlescent slick dribbling out of her pulsating hole, making a literal puddle under her ass.

now this? this was a never going to get old. you'd plaster the image of her fucked-out self on every surface, take a polaroid and carry it around with you. you were salivating. drool was almost running down your chin at the sight.

but alas, your blissful trance was cut short, by none other than her gruff voice.

"hey. you gonna stare or am i gonna have to finish this myself?" her voice shook, then her eyes darkened and she spat, "you'd like watching that though, wouldn't you. fuckin'—holy-!!"

you didn't give her the time of day to listen to her bitching about, and you cut her off by lunging forward and sinking your teeth into the soft flesh of her right inner thigh.

her shocked intake of air quickly turned into a pornographic moan, her back arching, her breathing quickening, and her thighs fighting to close around your head.

you knew that was her weakness. your teeth in her skin? pff she was a goner. you used that to your advantage as much as you could, she deserved earth shattering orgasms just as much as the next gal.

her noises were bordering on a shriek as soon as you circled her hole with a digit, grinning into her skin at the way she was sucking you in, legitimately trapping your finger inside her.

you felt the flutters of an impending orgasm tickle your immobilized finger, and with great effort you removed your mouth from her thigh and pulled your finger out.

the look on her face when you did that felt sharper than if she had stabbed a spear right through your heart. when sevika gives one of her famed death glares, the word stops spinning. but you being you, it just spurs you on more.

before she can protest you migrate up and place gentle kisses on the side of her neck, right on her pulse point, as a soothing motion before you did what you really wanted.

you sank your teeth in her flesh as hard as your jaw allowed you to, the tangy taste of her blood invading your mouth.

simultaneously, you brought your hand back down to her neglected pussy, pushed your thumb up against her thumping clit, and slid your two middle digits inside her—within moments finding her spongy sweet spot.

the cries of pleasure were stuck in her throat, and you couldn't see from what you were doing, but you'd bet your entire life's savings that her eyes were rolled so far back in her skull only the whites would be visible.

your fingers were working hard, all in harmony to bring her to that peak she so craved, and luckily it hit her after no time at all.

her whole being tensed, a low groan reverberated through the room as one of her hands flew to grab a chunk of your hair, further pushing your body flush against hers. you didn't move your mouth, it was suctioned against her in such a way that was guaranteed to leave a nasty bruise on her skin the next day, but she loved it. you did as well.

you felt a gush of warm fluid on your palm, and chuckled into her skin while she shook all over, needy, animalistic noises being all she could produce.

you put in the work and made sure she was utterly spent, then lifted yourself off of her to enjoy the look on her face. she looked so at peace, so satisfied and ethereal, you adored her more than words could ever say.

and likewise, she did you. she cracked open one eye and smiled widely, opening her arms and beckoning for you to lay back on top of her in an embrace.

naturally, you did just that. eagerly burying your face in the crook of your neck, you kissed over the bite mark you left, ran your tongue over the indents in her skin and reveled in the little whimpers she made.

she always had more flesh you could lovingly bite, why stop at just one square inch?

sev taglist (not tagging everyone still cuz YALL SIGNED UP FOR TLOU AND IM A PEOPLE PLEASERRRR SORRY): @fizyypopp @luvssliyahh @wizard-pdf @dearangxl @melsmunch

[lil-ms-dipst]

Me chattin up storms and rambling about shit I do is super funny because like. Apparently its not normal and I have a panic disorder and I also have an eating disorder. Like ah. Damn.

[wanderingwinds333]

My Sweetheart, Your Nightmare.

Pairing: Azriel X Reader

Summary: Having noticed that Elain clings to Azriel, Feyre mentions she thinks Azriel and Elain would be good together. Questions why the mother didn’t make them mates. Rhysand quickly lets her in on an important piece of information.

“‘Why not make them mates?” Feyre states as she witnesses her sister and Azriel down in the garden.

Rhysands eyes widen at his mates brazen comment and goes to interject but before he can she continues on.

“They look perfectly matched do they not? Two beautiful and caring people. Three sisters for three brothers just make sense?” Feyre says sounding upset.

“Feyre darling. It appears I’ve left out some pretty important information about this family. It’s my fault really, she’s been out doing my messy work for the night court this whole time. Keeping all the other threats at bay and …immobilizing them so Azriel has less work on his plate.” Rhysand rambles.

“What? I’m not following Rhys?” Feyre questions.

Rhysand sighs but goes to explain further.

“Azriel is only doing as I have asked in looking after Elain. He already has a mate Feyre. One he is very committed to. A female that you most certainly never want to hear the words you just spoke about your sister and him. She- “ a throat clears from behind them.

“SHE, is right here Rhysand.” A sultry voice states.

Rhysands eyes widen in what Feyre can only see as fear.

“Y/N! You are home! Oh Azriel is going to be thrilled, let me just go get him for you.” Rhysand quickly goes to grab Feyre and tries to leave but y/n has other plans.

Magic surges across the room and Feyres feet feel stuck to the floor. She turns her head to look at Rhysand and notices he is in the same predicament.

“Dammit” Rhysand whispers more to himself.

“Ah ah ah, Rhysie. That’s no way to greet your favorite sister in law. You haven’t even introduced me to your mate yet.”

Feyre turns to actually get a good look at the female that has somehow over powered the High Lord and Lady of the Night Court.

Ashen white hair, icy eyes, taller than most fae females, and she has a beautiful silhouette that filled out a pair of black leathers quite nicely, Feyre thought. Cauldron boil her, this female was gorgeous.

Before Feyre could find anymore of your perfections Rhysand interrupted her train of thoughts.

“Think less loudly Feyre Darling, I’m starting to become jealous.” Rhysand deadpans.

Feyre blushes and immediately looks down to her feet.

“You know I have that affect on most fae Rhysie. Don’t be a sour puss.” Y/n smugly states.

Y/n descends upon them and actually goes to bow before Feyre.

“It is an honor to officially meet you my High Lady. My name is y/n, assassin of the Night Court. Mate and wife of Azriel.” Y/N proudly states.

“I-it’s lovely to finally meet you y/n.” Feyre stutters out.

This female infront of Feyre is terrifying and ethereal. Feyre already knows she is lethal and all thoughts she had prior of how Elain and Azriel were perfectly matched go straight out the window. She can see it now…why the cauldron makes the pairings it does.

Y/N stands to her full height but all playfulness she exuded before is gone.

“I know you did not know of my existence until just now…so for that reason alone I’ll let your comments slide. But Azriel is MY mate and the saying ‘if I can’t have them, then no one can’ is very much the saying I live by when it comes to him.”

Feyre can only nod her head dumbfounded.

A second later shadows envelope the room. More lively than Feyre has ever seen them.

Azriel soon enters with a confused Elain in tow.

When Azriel lays his eyes on y/n, Feyre can quite literally see the tension leave his body.

“Sweetheart.” Azriel speaks so softly. He rushes to y/n and envelopes her in a hug that looks like it would hurt.

“Hi love.” Y/n whispers back just as soft and leans her forehead against his.

It’s an intimate moment that everyone else in the room feel like they are intruding on.

But one moment the feared shadowsinger and his mate were there…and the next gone.

Rhysand releases a breath that he had been holding.

“Well that was y/n. She’s half high fae and half witch. The people of Prythian call her Nightmare because fae parents tell their children if you don’t behave she’ll come in the night while you are sleeping and take you to her dungeon. Which isn’t totally untrue…it’s just criminals and murderers that she takes to her dungeon. You won’t see her or Azriel again until maybe two or three months from now .” Rhysand states.

“What? Where will they be?” Elain finally speaks.

After witnessing all she just had she can’t say she’s not a bit disappointed. It was obvious what you were to Azriel.

“Oh they are going to pick up their children from Azriels mom’s cottage and spend the rest of their time at their home.” Rhysand throws out casually.

“THEY HAVE CHILDREN? Rhysand what else have you conveniently left out?!” Feyre berates.

“….well I think that’s it honestly. OH they have a pet wolf who is very protective of the children. Also my niece and nephews, they enjoy tormenting people in different ways than their parents…mental manipulation. Just lock your mind up real tight around them. God I love them and proud they are all daemati like me but they once convinced me I had a thing for Beron for over a week until y/n realized what they were doing and made them release my mind.” Rhysand annoyedly admits.

Elain and Feyre can only stare at him in shock. He simply shrugs his shoulders like it was normal and walks off.

Elain breaks the silence and turns to Feyre. “I think y/n is going to end up being best friends with Nesta.” the two break out in giggles and they honestly can’t wait to see that unfold.