#there was another room of quilts from his collection

[sleepnoises]

some quilts by Jonathan Shannon (1938–2016) photographed at the San Jose Museum of Quilts and Textiles

Canciones de Mi Padre, 1989

From My Garden of Earthly Delights, 1992

Amigos Muertos, 1994. Rejected from the American Quilter's Society show due to the inclusion of Shannon's red AIDS ribbon (left skeleton). Shannon had won Best in Show the year before. Shannon organized protest letters as a result and made some impact on the issue of censorship in quilting.

Shadows: Gay Men's Chorus, 1995

[heirofnight]

it's the shadows

pairing: azriel x reader (heavily), cassian x reader, rhysand x reader

word count: 1.2k (i intended for this to be a drabble but i can't ever shut the hell up)

summary: reader is close friends with az, cass, and rhys, but is very obviously pining for azriel. the four of you are drunk and cassian just has to know which one of them would be the best in bed. sexual tension ensues. duh.

while this entire debate was absolutely ridiculous - one may argue even downright childish - you couldn't stop the grin that was spreading across your cheeks.

you couldn't remember the last time you'd laughed this hard. your stomach was aching, cheeks sore. dried tears were collecting at the corners of your eyes. there'd be a lull in the conversation, a period of time that allowed all of you to calm down and collect yourselves, before you'd inevitably meet one of their mischievous gazes and fits of laughter would begin all over again.

"seriously, y/n?," cassian inquired, voice booming. you snorted at his dumbfounded expression, at the fact that the four of you had finally calmed down, just for cass to loop back to the topic that had you all howling in laughter in the first place.

"azriel?," he continued, pointer finger gesturing towards the male sitting opposite from you in the sitting room. cassian had a half-full wine glass in his large hand, the liquid sloshing around precariously as he motioned in the shadowsinger's direction. "the motherfucker doesn't even speak!," he finished, causing you to erupt in another alcohol-induced fit of giggles.

azriel smiled warmly at the sight, shaking his head in mock exasperation at his brother's disbelief. az took a sip from the glass of wine he'd been nursing at a much slower pace compared to the rest of you.

rhys chuckled now, sitting alongside cassian on the plush sofa. he shoved the war general on his broad shoulder playfully, gesturing towards azriel himself, "he doesn't need to speak in this particular scenario, brother," he purred, his own wine sloshing within his grip.

azriel's cheeks tinted red at the implication, shifting his gaze down to his lap to hide a dimpled smirk.

"and see, that's what i'm saying," you added, throwing your hands up in agreement. you sat on the floor, upon the cushioned carpet that spread throughout the sitting room. you glanced up at azriel, a fond smile playing across your lips as you met his bashful gaze.

"he doesn't need to use words, cassian. i stand by my original statement: azriel is absolutely the most capable male in bed out of the three of you," you couldn't even finish the sentence without giggling, awestruck at cassian's ability to always turn the conversation back to this topic in particular.

you'd been close to all three of them for so long, and cassian - with his overly-competitive nature - just had to know, from a female's perspective, which male you thought would be the best in the bedroom. even though your answer was always the same: azriel.

was it because you may have been harboring feelings for the aforementioned male? perhaps. however, you didn't need to be pining after him to come to that conclusion; it felt like the obvious choice, regardless.

azriel glanced over at you with silent pride flooding his gaze, and you winked at him playfully in response. "i've got your back, az," you slurred, alcohol heavy in your veins. you reached over to poke him in the kneecap gently, and he huffed out a laugh.

"thank you, sweet," he spoke, tone gravelly, and you felt your chest grow fuzzy at the nickname he reserved just for you.

"oh, come ON," cassian scoffed, rolling his eyes dramatically. rhys barked out a laugh, tossing his head back against the headrest of the quilted couch.

you laughed along with rhys, sitting closer to azriel's legs now. az reached down, smoothing a section of your hair that had grown disheveled during your laughing fits throughout the evening. you were hyper-aware of his touch, and currants of electricity shot down your spine as the contact mixed with the wine in your system.

"i'm going to go out on a limb here," cassian started, pausing to take a sip from his glass. you rolled your eyes, bracing yourself for the familiar statement preparing to spill from his lips. "and i'm going to say that your opinion on this particular topic is heavily biased," he finished, knowing hazel eyes glancing from you, up to azriel, and back down to you.

you groaned in mock annoyance, flipping your hand in a dismissive gesture.

"yeah, yeah, cass, i know," you huffed out a breath, narrowing your eyes, "you're so convinced that i want to be in azriel's bed," you finished, pausing for dramatic effect before speaking further. cassian scoffed, his eyes widening slightly as if to say duh.

the alcohol was making you feel bolder than normal, and honestly, it's not like you were completely shy about your attraction towards azriel. it was a commonly known fact, one that all of you tended to play into from time to time - an inside joke, a bit.

however, while the attraction was known, you'd never confessed to any of them your very real feelings for azriel. that aspect wasn't a joke to you in the slightest.

"it's the shadows," you deadpanned, shrugging your shoulders sloppily.

cassian and rhys paused for a moment, absorbing your statement. then, they both erupted into howling laughter, and you weren't far behind them. you heard azriel's low chuckle from where he sat behind you, and he sent one of those mentioned shadows from within his twining orbit to twirl through your hair playfully.

cassian collected himself, shaking his head as he wiped his eyes.

"what kind of shit are you into, y/n?," cass wheezed out, and rhys laughed harder at his follow-up question.

you sniffled, wiping your own eyes before responding, "i mean, you really cannot blame me," you mused, gesturing towards azriel once more, "have you really not stopped to consider this at all?," you widened your eyes, stunned.

as if to prove a point, you turned your head towards azriel, locking your curious eyes with his amused ones.

"azriel, have you or have you not used your shadows on someone during sex?," you asked, extremely forward.

he almost choked at the question, cheeks turning crimson. cassian and rhys resumed their howling, but you peered at him expectantly.

he couldn't deny you an answer, not when you looked at him like that - innocent-looking wide eyes, cheeks pink from the wine. and was there a large, screaming part of him that wanted to entice you with his bedroom habits?

perhaps.

he nodded once, a dimpled smirk appearing across his pink cheeks.

"i have," he spoke, deep voice cutting through the laughter.

everyone paused at his words - you'd all half-expected him to evade the question altogether. but here he was, divulging life-altering, world-ending information that had your brain short-circuiting in one fatal blow.

the silence was deafeningly loud, and your expression shifted in a way that had azriel knowing exactly what you were thinking. your eyes had widened and glossed over, your mouth was agape. his smirk grew, forming into something more playful.

and to prove his point, he sent one more shadow your way to lightly twirl through your fingers and caress up your arm, looping around your neck gently.

cass sent a low whistle into the dead silence of the room, croaking out a laugh. "well, fuck, az," he chuckled, downing the rest of his drink.

"you win," cassian added, awestruck - shaking his head in defeat.

you didn't even hear what was happening around you, too focused on azriel - his darkened gaze as he peered down at you, and the feeling of that tendril of shadow tightening around your throat in silent challenge.

a/n: i'm so sorry. i'm spamming u with all of these ideas but hear me out, i have to get them out immediately. pls don't hate me. but this one had me sweating lmfao. sucker for sexual tension as always!!!

[quillsandcravats]

Little Words | Benedict Bridgerton x fem!Reader

Summary: A cosy, loved-filled evening at My Cottage turns into playful chaos as you and Benedict try to coax your baby's first word, only for your mischievous little one to sneak into his father's art studio. Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!wife!Reader Rated: PG Warnings: none really, this is tooth rotting fluff!, domestic bliss, Benedict makes a suggestive joke, babies/parenthood, no-Sophie!AU Requested: Yes/No Author's Note: Thank you so much for this request! It was so cute and fun to write!

The evening enveloped you in a comforting warmth. You were settled into the soft cushions of the couch at My Cottage, wrapped in a cozy knit quilt, as snowflakes gracefully fell outside. The room was filled with the comforting scent of black tea mingled with the aroma of the honey scones you baked earlier. Your baby son was nestled between you and your husband, Benedict, who was reading to him, making the little one coo with contentment.

Benedict, the ever-romantic artist, was reading from a collection of Shakespearean sonnets to both of you.

"My dearest, mightn't you consider that he would find something a bit more…spirited to his liking?" you queried, observing as your little one chewed on the corners of the book.

Benedict flashed a knowing smile, gently grasping your son's tiny hands. "Ah, but it is never too soon to be introduced to the ways of love. Charlie, my boy, will be quite the catch with the ladies, you shall see."

Your baby babbled joyfully, tiny fingers wrapping around Benedict's much larger one, as if signaling a pact with his father. You could only let out a resigned sigh, recognizing the inevitable lifelong competition that lay ahead.

You and Benedict had both been eagerly anticipating the moment when your son would utter his very first word. The two of you had playfully debated whether it would be ‘Mama’ or ‘Papa’…or perhaps something entirely unexpected.

Gazing down into your son's deep blue eyes—so strikingly similar to his father's—you began to gently encourage him. "Mama, can you say…Mama?" you urged.

Benedict, not one to be outdone, joined in with a playful grin on his face, leaning over to engage in some friendly competition. "Papa! Say…papa! How could you not say papa? I carried you across the lawn just this morning when your little legs couldn't manage it!" he exclaimed, speaking in full sentences as if little Charles could grasp every word, full of affection.

Charles giggled and babbled in his adorable baby voice, yet he hadn't picked a side to settle on. He squirmed out of your laps, lifting his hands to indicate his desire to crawl. You gently placed him on the floor, understanding his strong urge to explore. He wobbled towards his beloved hiding spots, inviting one of the games you enjoyed playing with him. His pudgy legs and arms carried him behind the table and then beneath a chair.

He was giggling wildly, his laughter echoing through the living room as you and Benedict joined in the game, feigning exaggerated confusion in your search for him.

“Oh no! Husband, wherever could our son be? Perhaps we have lost him forever!” you exclaimed, widening your eyes and placing a dramatic hand over your heart. Benedict, standing beside you, stroked his chin with mock seriousness, his fingers brushing over the faint stubble as though he were contemplating with a full beard.

“Ah. Well, perhaps we need to make another one,” he mused with a sly grin. You playfully swatted his arm with the back of your hand, shaking your head and laughing, unable to maintain the pretense any longer. You marveled at how Benedict's eyes sparkled whenever he talked about fatherhood. The thought of introducing a new little sibling for Charles had been a dream you had quietly nurtured, envisioning more tiny feet pattering around the house.

You turned to him, a playful smile dancing on your lips. "Perhaps we do," you murmured, stepping a little closer to him. Your hands glided up his strong shoulders, feeling the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his shirt, and your fingers found their way to the back of his neck, gently twirling the soft strands of his hair.

He leaned down, his breath brushing against your cheek, unable to resist as he pressed a tender kiss to your lips. "You know," he whispered, his voice laced with a teasing tone, "making the baby is the fun part…"

A soft laugh escaped your lips. "Well, easy for you to say, Mr. Bridgerton," you retorted, shaking your head with amusement. "I don't recall you being the one who was miserable for nine months," you added, your eyes sparkling with mirth as you playfully nudged him.

You spun around, your heart skipping a beat as you realized Charles had completely slipped out of sight. Anxiety crept in as you and Benedict exchanged worried glances, both of you instinctively starting to search the sitting room.

“Charlie?” Benedict called out, his voice carrying a hint of concern as he crouched down to peer beneath the piano-forte. The thought struck both of you that Charlie might have toddled off down the hallway.

By the time you and your husband tracked him down, he was happily ensconced in Benedict's art studio. Blue and green paint was smeared across his pudgy little fingers, and a perfect baby-sized handprint marked his forehead. He was sitting amidst the scattered tubes and brushes, giggling with delight.

Benedict sighed in resignation, though a slight twitch at the corner of his mouth revealed his amusement. Without hesitating, you bent down and lifted Charlie into your arms, unfazed by the oil paint now staining your dress. Tenderly, you wiped a streak of green paint from Charlie's nose. At that moment, Charlie's bright eyes flickered between you and Benedict, a joyful grin lighting up his face.

"Mama," he giggled.

You gasped, your eyes lighting up as you showered his tiny face with a flurry of kisses, not caring about the smudges of paint left behind on his cheeks.

Benedict placed a hand over his heart with theatrical flair, his face twisted in mock agony. He then turned to Charles, a playful glint in his eyes. “Betrayed!” he exclaimed, his voice filled with exaggerated woe. “In my own home! By my own flesh and blood, he has forsaken me!”

You spun around, a playful laugh escaping your lips, as Benedict bent down, his lips brushing gently against your temple. His eyes sparkled with affection as he turned his gaze to his son, a proud smile stretching across his face. “You made a good choice, my boy,” he said, his voice warm and approving. "Indeed, she reigns supreme within the hierarchy of our family, does she not?"

Together, you and Benedict attended to the delightful yet mischievous little one, joining forces to bathe him in his modest silver tub. Unlike the typical gentlemen of the ton, who might never deign to assist their wives in such domestic endeavors, Benedict was different. He took great joy in being as involved as his duties permitted, cherishing these moments with his little family.

Once Charles was changed into a pair of warm, footed pajamas, you all nestled under the soft quilt on the bed, with him snugly resting between you. The room was dimly lit by the soft glow a few candles.

“I know he cannot sleep in the bed with us, but I don’t want to place him back in the bassinet,” you whispered, your voice barely more than a breath as you ran a gentle finger along Charles’s smooth, rosy cheek. It was astonishing to think that your love with Benedict had brought this tiny, perfect being into the world. You then rested your head on Benedict’s broad shoulder, feeling the rise and fall of his steady breathing.

He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss on your head before brushing your hair back with a gentle hand. "I never dared to imagine such happiness could be mine, y/n. Not in my wildest dreams, not ever.” he murmured, his voice full of sincerity.

Sleepily, you traced your fingers across his hand, feeling the warmth and reassurance it offered. “We built this happiness together, my love,” you replied softly.

Benedict’s smile widened as Charles let out a contented sigh in his sleep, his tiny fist gripping a handful of his father's soft cotton shirt. Benedict’s heart swelled with joy, and his smile only grew as he noticed you had drifted into a peaceful slumber as well.

[zepskies]

TOMORROW

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: It’s another one of those dreams he won’t remember when he wakes. For now, it has no qualms about torturing him. He’s alone…until he’s not. 

AN: Well, here we go! My first little attempt at writing Joel Miller and for TLOU. 🫣

Word Count: 650

Tags/Warnings: Jackson!Joel, established relationship, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff

He twitches in his sleep sometimes.

Twitches and mutters, broad shoulders shrugging in on himself while he lies on his side. His long legs curl a bit more under the cotton sheets. The quilt has tangled down around his waist somewhere.

It’s another one of those dreams he won’t remember when he wakes. For now, it has no qualms about torturing him. Sweat beads above his brow. His stiff fingers clench and claw fruitlessly into the mattress. 

But the point is that he does wake up.

The room is pitch black. That hasn't changed since the mid-afternoon, thanks to the wintertime shift in Wyoming. It’s also fucking cold, freezing his toes, his hands, his nose. Joel sniffs, glances over his shoulder, finding the space behind him empty.

He’s alone.

Until he’s not. You pad back into the bedroom on bare feet, no matter how many times he’s reminded you to wear socks at night. You make sure to stoke the dimming fireplace back to life before you slip back into bed, covering both of you more securely with the quilt you knitted in greens, soft browns, and reds. The colors that remind you of him.

You let out a breathy hum while wrapping your arms around him from behind. You shuffle in closer, your knees bending behind his, and you press a kiss between his shoulders. He closes his hand around yours against his chest and hopes you can’t feel the pat-pat-pat racing of his heart.

“Where were you?” he asks.

“Mind your business,” you quip, smiling into his shirt. You feel the warmth of his skin through the fabric.

His lips pull at a smile too. “Jesus. What’re you planning now?”

“What’d I just say?” If possible, you snuggle deeper against him and sigh. “Sleep, baby. You’ll find out tomorrow.”

A few beats of silence tick on while Joel lays there and thinks (broods, actually), and you pretend not to hear his mind cogs turning.

“I told you I don’t want anything. Don’t need anything,” he grumbles.

You’re tempted to laugh.

“Too bad. It’s fucking Christmas, Joel.”

A few more halting seconds of contemplation, and then…

“What’d you get me?”

“You’ll find out, Mr. Grinch. Now go back to sleep.”

He huffs at the nickname. You bite your lip in amusement. You know he isn’t used to celebrating holidays, or even birthdays for that matter. Here in Jackson, it’s one of the more obvious, sentimental ways to reclaim a piece of the world you and Joel used to know.

Ellie’s not that much better, but even she’s working on something for him: a collection of cassettes of his favorite music.

Of course you’ve done your best to get him something special, but practical—a new(ish) rifle you traded from Seth. You also had Tommy engrave the hilt with two sets of initials: S.M. and E.W. You just finished staging it out on the coffee table.

“I might’ve, uh…got you something too,” Joel says.

 You blink in surprise. New warmth laces down your spine.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.” His thumb brushes over the back of your hand. In fact, he brings it to his lips. You feel the familiar scratch of his salt and pepper beard against your skin.

“Hmm…�� A softer smile retakes your face, and you shimmy up the bed to rest your chin on his shoulder. You curl your warming toes against his hairy calves. “What’d you do?”

“Nuh, uh. Tomorrow, right?” His voice is nearly a rumble with the remnants of sleep, even with that hint of teasing. He does like getting you back.

And when he does, he doesn’t fucking miss.

Joel’s a man of sparing words when it comes to the heart, but he often lets his actions do the talking for him. In the morning, he’ll do it for the woman who’s accepted him, despite who and what he thinks he is. He’ll do it for the woman who wasn’t afraid to give him hell while becoming his peace.

He’ll do it with a modest ring.

AN: Let me know if you want to see more Joel! I have ideas brewing for these two...

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[psychoticallykind]

Maybe

"Early" - Jegulus Microfic - @into-the-jeggyverse - 778 words

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

Regulus knocked before he could talk himself out of it.

The door opened a few seconds later, revealing a slightly surprised James Potter. "Regulus? Hey, come on in." He stepped back, giving Regulus a warm smile.

"Hi," Regulus managed, trying not to seem awkward. "Sirius invited me. To the party for Remus?"

"Yeah, of course," James replied, grinning. "You're a little early, so no one's here - Sirius is out with Remus, because he gets anxious before parties and it's best to tell him with as little notice as possible."

"Isn't - I thought it started at eleven?" Regulus checked, suddenly aware that he was possibly very early to a party he'd thought he was late to.

"It starts at one," James informed him. "But everything is set up - do you want something to drink? I can make tea."

"You don't have to." Regulus needed to check that text - Barty was the one who'd gotten the time, but Regulus was sure it had said eleven. "I - I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to be so early."

He was going to kill Barty. Violently and slowly. The only reason Regulus was here was because Sirius had invited him - and all of his friends - and because they were actually trying to have a good relationship. But Regulus had planned to come late, say hi, and leave. That was all.

He couldn't be early. He couldn't - there were going to be people here. Lots of people he didn't know and couldn't talk to and didn't want to socialize with, and now he was not only early, but first.

He was going to be sick. Maybe he could leave now - only James had seen him, he could lie and say he felt poorly - it wasn't even completely a lie, really, because now he was anxious enough that he might throw up and surely that counted as feeling unwell, didn't it?

"Regulus?" James pulled his attention. "Hey. Can I show you something?"

Right. He was still here. In his brothers apartment. Early to a party he shouldn't have come to.

Regulus managed to nod. "Okay."

"Great." James grinned, holding out his hand. Regulus hesitated for a second before taking it and letting James lead him through the apartment.

James passed the first and second door, stopping at the end of the hall. "This is my room," he informed Regulus, opening the door. "I'd bring you to Sirius's, but it's a mess right now."

Regulus nodded, stepping inside and almost immediately feeling calmer. He couldn't help it - James's room was so calm.

Translucent gold curtains were pulled over an open window, tinting all of the natural light and giving the whole room a warm glow. There was a lamp next to the bed, but it wasn't on. The floor had a soft black rug, and there was an intricate quilt with mostly deep red and gold shades over the bed. A desk was in one corner, bookshelves in another. It was light and comfortable and organized, and Regulus felt so safe.

"I know that parties aren't usually your thing," James spoke up from behind him, still by the door. "So I wanted to let you know you could come and hide in here if you wanted. It'll be empty, and it's actually pretty well sound-proofed, so it should be a good place to relax and breathe if you need one."

Regulus couldn't look at him. He didn't know how to contend with this - what was this? Compassion? Kindness?

Whatever it was, it was making Regulus feel weird. He nodded to the large dreamcatcher above the bed. "That's pretty."

"The dreamcatcher?" James asked. "Thanks. My mom made it last year. She loves them."

Regulus nodded, staring at it. What was he supposed to say? Thank you for caring? How did you notice? Why are you letting me in here?

"It'll be a while before anyone else is here," James spoke up again. "Do you want to watch a film? Or we can just talk for a while, or you can borrow a book - if I don't have anything you like, you can raid Remus's collection, he has like a million in Sirius's room."

"A film would be okay," Regulus turns to look at James, smiling a little when James brightens.

"Great! Come on, I'll show you what we have." James leads him back to the living room, and Regulus follows, no longer tense.

He's way too early, and maybe he shouldn't be here at all.

But James is smiling at him, and Regulus feels so safe here, and maybe it was good that he got here early.

Maybe he should come here a little more often.

Maybe.

[lachesismoonmist]

JK Drabbles - One Shots #1 - Welcome Home

Here's a collection of One-Shot stories involving JK. JK as husband, JK as boyfriend, JK as lover.

Some of them are scenes I wrote which didn't make it into my eventual stories, but were such fun to write I wanted to share them.

Each story is saved as an individual chapter.

Enjoy!

----------- Summary: Your husband has been away for work for three weeks. He decides to come home one day early to surprise you. -----------

Rating: Mature Pairing: Jeon Jungkook / Reader Word Count: 1.9k

Also posted on AO3

MY MASTERLIST

Masterlist for JK Drabbles - One Shots

#1 - Welcome Home #2 - Be My Slave #3 - Wait #4 - Days Without Incident #5 - Selfish (Song Inspired)

Chapter 1: Welcome Home - JK as husband

It’s 3am.  Once leaving the hustle and bustle of the airport, everything is quiet.  The streets are deserted.  Jungkook had gone away for work. Three whole weeks.  He misses you like crazy.  It is coming up to your first wedding anniversary.  He’s planned an entire weekend away at the coast.  The beach there is beautiful.  He managed to book one of the quaint, little cottages dotting the hills just above the beach.  The views from the cottage windows are awesome, offering views of the sunset.  He isn’t sure how much time you’d spend admiring the view though. His plan is to spend a lot of time in bed. You under him. You on top of him. You pressed against a wall.  You bent over sofa.  Or whatever other surface in the house he can fuck you on.  And he plans to fuck you on Every. Single. One.

He is supposed to have flown home the next evening, but he managed to get a seat on an earlier red-eye flight.  He couldn’t bear to spend another day and night without you. The house is dark as he quietly puts his luggage and bags on the floor near the entrance to the apartment.  He shrugs off his jacket, draping it on the sofa. He doesn’t need to turn on any lights as the full moon is shining in from the full-length windows in the living room.  He steps quietly through the house to the bedroom door.

He stands there in the doorway for a while after quietly turning the doorknob and easing the door open.  You are sleeping soundly.  You’ve rolled over onto your right, facing the window. The moonlight is streaming in, bathing you in an ethereal glow. 

Your quilt is a messy lump near your feet.  You move a lot in your sleep.  He admires the long lines of your legs, then his breath hitches. Your nightie has run up.  He can see the lower half of the perfect globes of your ass.  They look so fuckable.  His blood is now rushing to his cock. 

But he restrains himself from pouncing on you and devouring you.  He takes a shower to wash off the dirt from his travels.  He wants to make sure he smells all nice and fresh for you. He doesn’t worry about you waking up when the water is running.  You sleep like the dead.

He towels dry his hair as best as he can.  He lies down on the bed behind you, his chest to your back.  He pushes his nose into your hair at your neck, inhaling deeply. He’s missed you so much.  His arms feel so empty at night without you to hold as he drifts off to sleep.  His cock missed being buried in your warm, wet pussy.

Warm, wet pussy is within reach now. His cock is rock hard.  He ghosts his hand down your arm, over your hip.  He pulls the nightie up, exposing your whole ass.

He reaches down to grab one butt cheek, slowly squeezing.  He rubs his cock against your ass.  He presses kisses to your back.  He pulls your hair to one side, exposing your shoulder and neck.  He presses his lips to your skin. Behind your ear. Down the graceful column of your neck. Along your shoulder.  He slowly pushes the strap of your nightie off your shoulder, his lips following the path of his fingers.

He's now exposed one breast.  He covers it with his big hand and squeezes.  Your breasts are the perfect size.  Full and round. Big enough to fill his big hands.  Succulent rosy pink nipples.  He rubs his palm on you, feeling your nipples start to harden.  His cock is throbbing now, the tip leaking precum. 

You start to stir. “Mmmmm…..” you mumble.  He continues squeezing your breast.  He kisses his way back up your neck and gently bites your earlobe.

“What are you doing home, Kook?  Thought you’re flying home tomorrow,” you mumble sleepily.

“I couldn’t wait to see you.  Managed to get on an earlier fight.” He continues kissing your neck, sucking and nipping the skin gently, leaving little red marks. He loves leaving his marks on your skin.

“Miss you so much, baby. Did you miss me?” he says in a low voice.  You nod.

He pinches your nipple before rolling it with his fingers.  “Aah,”  you huff out.  He reaches over and gropes your other breast through your nightie.  Thumb running over the nipple.  He scrapes that spot at the juncture of your shoulder and neck with his teeth.  “Aah!” you cry out, your body bucking.  He smiles against your skin. He knows that’s your most sensitive spot.  He knows he can make you scream by biting down on it as you come.

Hi hand moves back down your body, pulling your nightie up some more.  He exposes the smooth v between your legs.  He touches your hip, trailing over the curve of it, his fingers moving slowly to where you need him the most.

He pushes his long fingers in between your thighs, sliding up and down your slit.   His palm rubbing against your mound.  “You want me to touch you, Baby?  Does your pussy need to be touched?” he says in a low voice in your ear.

“Yes, yes, Kook. Touch me,” you gasp. You roll towards him slightly.  You lift one knee up, opening yourself up to him.

He slips and slides a few more times, then slips a finger into your core.  The sound you make can only be described as obscene.

“Hmm… so wet baby,” he says approvingly. He pumps his long finger into you.  He continues pressing wet, open kisses on your neck and shoulders.  He snakes his other arm under your body, pulling your body flush against his, your back to his front. He holds you in place, his arm pressing down on your clavicle.  His hard cock rubs against your ass.

He adds another finger to stroke your walls.  Your hips start rolling. He presses his thumb on your needy clit, rubbing in time with his strokes. 

The tattooed arm around your chest is like a band of steel. His tattooed hand moves to cup a breast. Squeezing, rubbing, kneading, pinching, rolling.  Your arch your back, moaning sweetly.  “That’s it Baby,” he eggs you on.  “Let me hear you,”

His fingers sliding  in and out of your pussy are relentless. He knows just how hard to press, how fast to stroke.  You start to tense up, your whines becoming more needy, your breath coming out in pants.   Your body arches more, but he imprisons you with his strong arm.

“Gonna cum, goonna….  Kook!”  He scrapes hit teeth against that sensitive spot on your neck again as you cry out.   The wet evidence of how good he made you feel coating his fingers and palm.  Your body is shuddering through the aftershocks of your orgasm, but your husband is not letting you go so easily.

“Come on, Baby, give me one more.  Let me hear you make those pretty sounds again.”

He doesn’t let up. Doesn’t slow down. He continues to fuck his fingers into you and rub your swollen clit. You whine, clit still throbbing from your first orgasm. He continues pinching your nipple. Tugging it. Rolling it.  He pumps his fingers faster.   He knows you are close. He bites the soft flesh at your shoulder. 

“Kooook!  Oh my god, Koook!” you cry out, your body arching.

“That’s it, Baby, soak my fingers with your juices. See how your greedy pussy is sucking in my fingers.”  He removes his fingers from your hole, sliding them up to your throbbing clit, caressing it slowly.

“Too much, too much,” you whine as you try to move away, to give your body time to recover. But his grip on you doesn’t allow you to move.   You try to twist your body, but his tattooed arm is like a vise. His fingers slow down. The pressure eases up.  You slowly come down from your high, body shuddering.

He puts his fingers into his mouth.  “Hmm, tasty.” He sucks his fingers, licking your juices off his digits.

You reach behind you to grip his hard, leaking cock. You use your thumb to spread the pre-cum on his tip. Your finger dips into the slit, rubbing.  You grip his girth and give it a few gentle pumps. 

The first time you’d seen his cock, your eyes looked like saucers, your mouth open.   “So big” you’d said admiringly.  The skin was velvety smooth.  You’d wrapped on hand around it, barely able to grip all the way around.  The first time you’d taken him in your mouth, you’d gagged as you tried to take all of him in.  But you pushed on till your lips touched the base of his cock.  He’d almost blown his load at the sight of your pink lips around his cock. You looking up at him through your lashes, your eyes big and shiny. 

“Want your cock, Kook.  Haven’t had your cock in three weeks.  Want you to fill me up,” you say breathily.  The few times you had phone sex while he was away were good, but there was nothing like the real thing.  Nothing like feeling his big, fat cock fill you up. His body pressed against yours.  Two bodies and hearts intertwined.

He rolls you over so that he’s on top.  His hips settle between yours.  “Want me stuff this pussy full of cock?  Hmm?” He rubs his shaft against your wet slit, nudging your clit with the tip. He rips your nightie off all the way.  You nod vigorously.

“Look at you, so beautiful. I missed having you under me.” He uses one had to push your legs open wider. “Not going to be able to hold back, Baby.”  He reaches down to position the tip of his cock at your entrance.

You look him in the eye.  “Don’t hold back, Kook.”

So he doesn’t. Jungkook lets out an animalistic growl and drives forward, making you cry out.   He buries himself balls deep in one smooth stroke.  Pull out to the tip, slide in till his hips grinds against yours. Pull out, slide in. Pull out, slide in.  Every stroke makes you shudder in pleasure.  His hips slap against yours as he fucks into you. Hard.   He bends down to take a nipple into his mouth, making you arch your back as you keen.

He’s so close. It’s been weeks.  Nothing feels like being buried inside you.   Nothing comes close to the bliss when he feels your walls wrapped around his cock. The way your breasts bounce when he bottoms out, grinding his pelvic bone against you, stimulating your clit.

You cry out his name as you tumble over.  The way his name rolls of your lips in a fervent cry makes him peak too.  “Y/N!  Fuck!”  He continues to pump into you, slowing down as you both catch your breath. He rolls you onto your sides.

“I love you, Kook,” you whisper, looking into his eyes, pushing his soft hair off his face.

“I love you, wifey.  That is the best ‘welcome home’ a man can get,” he says, grinning.

You smile evilly.  You push on him to roll him over, with you on top.  His cock is hard again.  You get up, kneeling over him. You line yourself up with him then sink down on his cock without warning. He hisses as he feels your warm walls envelope him again. 

“Let me welcome you home again, hubby.”

Next (#2)

[fanaticsnail]

Lathered Up

Masterlist here

Word count: 1,600+

Synopsis: After spending far too long at sea in the Polar Tang, all you wanted was a shower. Your two lovers join you in ridding their bodies of grime while enjoying ridding you of your stress.

Warnings: smut, Mdni, 18+, throuple dynamic, Shachi x afab!reader x Penguin, shower sex, oral - afab!receiving, soap, water sex, Shachi is a Fishman, Penguin is a soft-dom, semi-sub!reader, established relationship, Premature ejaculations, untouched ejaculations, watersports.

Notes: taking a leaf out of @bby-deerling's book and had a few drinks, here is some throuple smut for two of the Heart-Pirates that @feral-artistry asked for in passing. I blame Aperol Prosecco spritz. Art link.

Tag list: @feral-artistry @sordidmusings @since-im-already-here @carrotsunshine @vespidphoenix @writingmysanity @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @indydonuts @mfreedomstuff

Suds of frothy soap sloshed at your chest, drops of cooling lather clashing with the scorching liquid plummeting harshly on your shoulders. Your head hung limp, hair falling and sticking to your forehead beneath the fresh, warm water.

The day had been exhausting, your body encumbered by the difficulties faced while traveling at sea in the Polar Tang. You loved your crewmates, you loved your job, you loved the sea; but sometimes, all you wanted to love was the hot ripples of pummeling beads between your shoulder blades. As you docked at port, you immediately sprung at the opportunity of taking a lengthy shower.

All of your thoughts were eclipsed by ‘shower.’ The grime sticking to your skin plagued you more so than keening at the prospect of sleeping in a cozy bed, up to your neck in weighted quilts and within the perfect cool temperature of a welcoming room. Sleep? Shower. Food? Shower. Alcohol? Shower.

The one and only thing stronger than your incessant need to rid yourself of traveling grime were the two strong arms lathering your breasts in silken suds. Fingers tweaking your peaked nipples, you lulled your head back to lay atop Penguin’s stooped shoulder within the large shower bay. His toothy grin was occupied by pressing loose kisses against your neck, tongue swirling over your damp flesh.

His dark hair stuck to his forehead beneath the rapid water, his eyes half-lidded and consumed with lust. He was just as far gone as you were, pent up with frustration at traveling without respite for so long.

Although you all traveled together, there was truly little to no time you got to spend within the arms of one another. Your work overtook your duties as a partner, the captainship of Trafalgar Law held higher than your need to give in to your carnal desires.

“Feel good?” he cooed at you, his elbows caging you in a slippery embrace, “You want some more pressure?”

You whined against the circling of his skilled digits against your peaked buds, your body fighting the urge to turn away to press your lips against his. Should you turn your body to face his smiling lips, you would inadvertently be breaking away from the kneeling figure of the redheaded Shachi, skillfully lapping at your glistening cunt. His tongue slid against your pearly clit, sliding down to your slit to collect more of your arousal to spread against your needy pussy.

Shachi moaned against your core, his mouth drooling as he eagerly nodded his face against your quivering clit. Penguin continued to tweak your nipples, only halting to gather more of the frothy bubbles and spread it over your chest.

“Lean into me,” Penguin ordered, hooking his left arm over your torso and supporting your weight, “We've got you.”

“Just relax into it,” Shachi’s muffled voice called to you, lifting your legs over his shoulders and swallowing a gulp of bathwater, “We’ll take care of the rest.”

All you could do was let out a whining hum of affirmation, allowing your two crewmen to manhandle you to gain the best advantage to please you. Shachi continued lapping greedily against your weeping cunt, whispering praises into your core each time he bobbed his face against you.

“There you go,” Penguin’s voice cooed in your ear, flicking his tongue out to tease your lobe, “Ease into us. Good job, let us do the work.”

“W-What ‘bout you?” you huffed. Shachi’s deviant tongue flicking skillfull circles against your clit, his lips hovering over the bud before diving in completely caused you to arch your back and cry out.

“We'll get to us later,” Penguin laughed against your cheek, his right hand tracing over your jaw to turn your head, “Don't worry about it right now. Let us please you.”

“You've been working harder than the both of us combined,” Shachi’s slurred voice muffled between your folds, “More than me, especially. Wanna get you off on my face before we go to bed.”

Shachi’s lips dove against your clit, circling it with his lips, and flicking with his flattened tongue. Penguin drew your face closer to him, taking your full weight against his glistening chest. Collecting your lips against his, water flooded you both over his shoulder. The showerhead continued to pummel it's beaded droplets against you, adding to the moisture and steam between the three of you.

You whined into Penguin's mouth, sucking in a heavy breath through your nose as he flicked his tongue out to meet yours. He pried open your lips, consuming your cries with a ravishing intensity.

Right hand hooking behind his neck, you pulled Penguin in deeper and nudged his jaw with your chin to deepen the kiss. Your left hand balled Shachi’s damp, red locks against the scruff of his neck and held him tightly as he continued to suck your clit.

The familiar coax of your impending unravel stampeded towards you with lightning intensity. Shachi hummed into you, his tongue flicking and lapping at your cunt in a similar motion that Penguin was conducting against your lips. Your brows peaked in the centre, feeling the prod of Shachi’s fingers against your neglected slit.

Just as Shachi intended to add his fingers into you, you were shocked when he circled the weighty girth of Penguin’s aching cock and lined it up with your core. Penguin’s breath hitched, his voice whimpering against your lips as Shachi coaxed his throbbing cock into your slickened walls.

“No, Shach,” Penguin whimpered, “It's been w-way too long,” he grit his teeth when Shachi began pumping his cock while fucking your slit onto Penguin's cock.

“You need it,” Shachi commented, tearing his face away from your core to focus on Penguin’s needy cock, “You both do. So take it.” Shachi guided Penguin's cock to sheathe itself within you, Penguin whimpering a strangled whine as your arousal eased him down to the hilt in a single thrust.

“I-I'm gonna cum quick,” Penguin cried, “I haven't had the time to touch myself in weeks,” his confession had Shachi chuckle, focussing on taking your weight into his shoulders so Penguin could focus on his needy thrusting. 

“S’okay, Pen,” you managed to cry, Shachi’s lips finding your clit once more and romancing it with open-mouth kisses, “M’not gonna last long either.”

“F-Fuck,” Penguin cried, his hips slapping with large gushes of water flicking between your bodies. Shachi licked, sucked, mouthed, and romanced your clit while Penguin railed you from behind.

Penguin's hands hastily anchored his left hand at your right hip, and his right hand needily clutched at your left breast. He rut into you like an animal in heat, greedily chasing his high within your body.

“I-I'm gonna cum?!” Penguin's confusion at the hasty climax had yours begin to unravel, your walls immediately contracting with the white-hot bliss of your eruption.

“C-Cum in me, Pen,” you whined, Shachi's tongue greedily lapping at you while he moaned against your stiffened pearl, “Use me. Take me. Fuck me, Pen-.”

“-Oh fuck, I'm cumming,” Penguin cried, immediately sinking his teeth into your right shoulder as he rammed his girthy cock into your eager cunt, “I'm cumming. I'm cumming s-so fucking hard. Fuck, I'm filling you up. F-Fuck.”

Ribbons of his translucent bliss splashed within your greedy cunt, ushering you closer to your ecstasy. His rhythmless aftershocks of his orgasm shepherded you ever closer to encountering your own.

Growing over confident, Shachi latched fully against your clit and immediately shot an intentional stream of water from his mouth against you. His natural abilities as a Fishman granted him this unusual and unique sensation. Shooting water from his mouth in a rapid-fire jet, you immediately screamed with your orgasm.

Unhooking your arm from Penguins neck, both hands shot out to firmly sink into Shachi’s head; the largest orgasm of your life erupting in gushing streams of release against his face.

“Sh-Shachi, t-too much!” you cried, grinding down against his head as he mouthed at you through your orgasm, “F-Fuck Penguin, don't stop. F-Fuck I'm cumming! Sh-Shit-... nmmghm-... So good.”

Shachi’s eyes rolled into his head, empathetically succumbing to the bliss his two partners were experiencing. His beaded precum glistened amongst the shower water, his cock twitching out an unintentional stream of sticky cum as soon as you gushed against his face. His shock flew from his lips as he cried through his untouched orgasm.

You rode his face through the unravel of your bliss, Penguin's cock sleeved to the hilt within you as he cried out both yours and Shachi’s names. Your lips were agape, wordlessly naming your two lovers as you all rode through your highs.

Shachi’s shock only unravelled the moment he released your clit with a crude ‘pop.’ He never came untouched, always the one that took the longest to reach his peak. He chalked it up to the pent up frustration at sea, and the fact that when he looked up, he saw nothing but eternal bliss depicted on his lovers’ faces.

Upon coming down through your highs, three sets of roaming hands scrubbed at each other's bodies. Ridding yourselves of your prior releases, you shared kisses and intimate touches between you that felt sacred and holy.

No further words were spoken between you, your emotions all depicted in your unconcealed and unshrouded eyes.

After drying off in fluffy towels, you all plopped into the giant mattress and immediately became an amassment of tangled limbs. Legs, arms, torsos and lips all greeted each other in blissful tranquility.

No blessings of ‘sweet dreams,’ nor peaceful promises of ‘I’ll see you in the morning,’ were uttered. All of your emotions and feelings were laid out between sweet kisses and gentle embraces, all tucked beneath the weighty duvet you shared between the three of you.

[bloodb3nders]

chapter two.

| finnick odair x fem!reader |

wc: 2.4k

warnings: same as masterlist

a/n: i'm lowkey ass at writing background so pls be merciful with this one! all likes, reblogs, and commnets are appreciated!

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶ the birds sing softly as sunlight filters through the window, golden rays touching the face of the sleeping girl. her room is simple but full of life, as trinkets litter the room, big and small. peaking out of her dresser spill out different colored garments. however, one dress is thrown across the end of her bed, a deep plum dress. it’s buttoned from a few inches below the neck and down, with some extra fabric serving as a sort of belt. 

below the dress, sitting on the floor, are a pair of beat up, brown sandals. they’ve seen many paths, stepped on too many blades of grass, and tripped over rocks, squashed bugs, and so on. 

the girl, bundled up in her gray sheets and worn-white quilt. her eyes begin to flutter open, and a grown elicits her lips as she stretches her arms. the sun illuminates her face, blinding her slightly, forcing her eyes shut, brows furrowed. turning away from the rays, she groggily opens her eyes. a sigh falls from her lips.  another sunrise on the reaping. 

shaking her mind of any poor thoughts, she brings her lips into a tight line, a tune on the tip of her tongue. a soft melody floats through the air as she goes about, changing into the dress laid out at the end of her bed. she fashions the extra fabric in a belt like manner, and slips the sandals on her feet. 

the tune continues on, as she walks to the dresser, pulling out a singular ribbon. she makes quick work of it, tying half of her hair back before rolling her shoulders back, loosening them just a bit from the tightness they’d retained from her sleep.

the familiar smell of oatmeal wafts from outside her room, and the girl follows the scent. outside her room is the kitchen, which elicits the smell of the oatmeal. her mother— adopted mother— Isabella twirled around the kitchen, chopping berries and juicing an orange as she did so. 

her adopted father was the head peacemaker of district 12, so the girl in the plum dress had lived a more comfortable life than the majority of other minors kids. y/n her situation was a gift, a new life. she could barely remember the face of her real father. all she could remember was long days at the school, and having miss Isabella watch her until her father came to collect her.

the thornes were good folk. daniel thorne was originally from 2, the son of a peacemaker. Isabella came straight from the capitol, although from a lower class family. even a lower class capitol family saw more food on the table than a majority of district 12 saw in a year. when daniel got promoted to head peacemaker of district 12, his kind heart tended to be the forefront of his leadership. there was never much trouble in 12, at least, not any as of late. 

y/n crinkles her eye at the thought of trouble, her mind drifting back to the music night she’d sang at a few months ago after her birthday. seeing all the people of 12 boot stomping and getting jiggly brought a joy she’d never seen to the district, even if it was just for a night. how she wished to be back on that stage, belting out a tune to a rhythm that would make even the oldest of bones stand up and move along.

the girl is suddenly pulled out of her thoughts by isabella’s voice, asking her if she wants any strawberries in her oatmeal. y/n nods feverishly, as she makes her way to Isabella, graciously excepting the glass of orange juice and bowl of oatmeal. 

daniel and Isabella soon join her at the table, and the three talk mindlessly over breakfast. y/n’s odds of being reaped are next to none. her parents have never showed any nerves on reaping day, and if they did, the girl never picked up on it. her stomach was doubling over and knotting itself, as it always did. even though she never had to buy any tesserae in exchange for more thin slips of her name being dropped into the bowl, her heart is beating as if her name is in there twenty times as opposed to four. her mind is distracted, the chatter of her two parents being drowned out by her own thoughts. 

y/n briefly shivers, shaking off her heebie jeebies as she tunes back into the conversation. something about the head game maker this year being Isabella’s cousin, or a guy close to the head game maker. the girl takes everything in her not to roll her eyes at her mother’s careless talk of the games. 

“y/n, dear, you have to play your new song for us tonight— your father and I are dying to hear it!” Isabella says, excitement in her tone as she looks at her adopted daughter. the girl responds in the affirmative, as she continues to down her oatmeal. 

how comfortable they must feel to say such a confident thing. guilt pains the girl, as she wonders how many parents are anxious putting on a brave face for their kids in the rest of the district. 

the family finishes their breakfast, before heading down to the town square. y/n’s accustomed to getting their early, due to daniel being the head peacemaker and all. once they reach the justice building, she bids her parents a brief goodbye before she scurries deeper into town, hoping to find some of her friends. 

in the distance, a brown cap bobbing up and down in the distance. the girl breaks into a smile, jogging slightly to meet the boy. carter deertail, no more than two years her junior stands before her, dressed in some shabby suspenders and a cream button down shirt. his dad played the banjo at the music night, after y/n and carter begged him for two weeks straight to. 

“feel like the odds are in your favor this year?”

Carter says with a toothy grin, causing y/n to chuckle. 

“how much you wanna bet on what color Effie wears this year? I’m guessing she’ll pair a hot pink and forest green,” y/n jests, causing Carter to laugh. the two continue to make wild guesses,  before more children start to file past them, beelining for the justice building. 

the pair decide to follow suit, as they follow the mob of kids walking through the streets.

“see you on the other side, y/n!” Carter calls out, giving the girl a wave goodbye as he files into his respective pen. y/n waves back, before filing over to pen with the other sixteen-year-old girls. on one side of her is Delilah figgy, whose mom sells eggs in the hob. on her other side is maggie donaghy, whose father works in the mines. before y/n can get a word out, the feedback of a microphone can be distinctly heard, silencing the crowd of kids. 

out of the gray and dull justice building appears a flurry of blue and pink feathers, followed by a mirrorball personified in five inch heels. Effie trinket, in all her glory, stood, covered in feathers of all shapes and sizes. her face ghostly pale, with ice blue and baby pink on her eyelids and cheeks. she looked like she had frostbite, ans it didn’t help that her clear shoes looked like they had snow inside them. 

the district 12 escort made her way to the microphone, tapping on it before clearing her throat, getting on with her usual pleasantries. something about 68 years of games, something about the youngest victor ever happening in recent years, remembering the fallen, but y/n’s mind zoned out as her gaze flickered across the stage. 

daniel thorne stood on the side of the stage, clad in white armor, weapon in hand. although, he rarely ever used it, most peacekeeper violence was for the lower ranks anyways. his helmet was tucked under his arm, he usually never wore it in town anyways. to his right side stood the mayor— dressed in brown and a silly top hat. an out of place smile stood on his face as his eyes watched Effie go on. 

on the left side of the stage stood haymitch, hair disheveled and boots muddy. he wore gray slacks, a tattered brown jacket laying atop his olive shirt. his head tilted down towards his feet, eyes burning holes into his muddied boots as the the usual video began to play. 

the girl looked up towards the guy as the noise of the video droned in the background. the sky was a dark gray, and a storm was bound to set in in a few hours time. 

another clearing of Effie’s throat brought y/n’s attention back to the district 12 escort. two glass bowls stood on either side of her, filled with hundreds of tiny paper slips on the inside. effie’s voice drifted in and out of y/n’s ears as she reached into the bowl, filled nearly to the top with the names of all the girls ages 12-18 in district 12. Effie’s arm kept sinking into the bowl, and for a moment, y/n wondered if the bowl was pulling Effie in. 

with a satisfied “there we go!” Effie pulled out a single piece of paper. as Effie turned back to the microphone, she unraveled the piece of paper, and smacked her lips once before the name was read out. 

the whole of district 12, birds and all, went dead silent for a moment. 

that was until, the violent sobbing of a single woman broke out. y/n’s brow furrowed, as she looked to wear the source of the crying was coming from. she could feel a hand on her shoulder from Delilah. her eyes locked into a woman dressed in a lovely green dress. it was Isabella. 

“y/n are you here?” Effie’s voice boomed from the stage. the girls eyes widened in realization as she suddenly lost her footing, almost falling into Delilah, as she tried to scramble to her feet. she stumbled out into the aisle separating the boys and the girls, hundreds of eyes burning into her from every direction and she walked, mouth slightly agape as she tried her best to not stumble to the stage. with shaky steps, she walked up the few stairs, eyes not seeing to leave the escort dressed in feathers. 

once her feet found her place next to Effie, y/n’s brain went silent. her eyes drifted to the forest in the distant, silent and haunting, the greenery offering her solace from the stage she stood on. her mind stayed silent, even as a ripple went through the crowd when the boy’s name was called out. her eyes remained fixated on beyond the town, beyond the district that was about to send her to her death. 

a hand on her shoulder brings y/n back to her senses, as she is seemingly led into the justice building for the customary goodbyes. a call of her name makes her head whip around, as young Carter makes a frantic wave at her. his lips are moving, but y/n can’t seem to decipher anything he’s saying, and suddenly he’s lost from view. 

inside the justice building, Isabella and daniel await her, pain written over their faces, as y/n accepts an embrace from the two of them. both of them are speaking, words of comfort and encouragement, despite the tears streaking down Isabella’s face. y/n still cannot understand a word they say, instead offering a small, yet unhopeful smile as they try to reassure her. they pull her into a tight hug, and y/n’s heart feels as if it’s about to burst. 

the only thing she can utter is a small “thank you, I love you,” as she is ushered by other peacemakers out of the justice building and to the train platform. she hears Isabella’s cries mixed with that of another woman as she is led to the platform. the train is already awaiting her, ready to take her to the Capitol, where she will almost certainly live out her final days. a pat on her back causes her head to snap to her side, where haymitch stands, flask in hand. 

“head up, gotta start brainstorming,” he says, voice rough, and liquor on his breath. y/n gives him a puzzled look, and he just shrugs. the train doors open, and before haymitch or y/n can step on, the clacking of heels and a shrill voice stops them. 

“wait! I should go first, as your escort,” a lacy voice speaks. y/n was silently hoping Effie had fallen into a ditch and was gonna miss the train. 

y/n turns to the escort, the click and clack of her heels followed by a boy, head down as he follows the feathering lady. 

sawyer murke stands at roughly six foot one, towering over the escort in her tall heels. he was the son of a mining family, and y/n was almost certain he’d started working in the mines about a year ago due to the muscle he’d put on. he was two years her senior, and as y/n looked at his hands, which were shoved in his pockets, she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d end up choking her to death with those hands. 

with a shudder, y/n allows Effie to walk past her, and into the train. as sawyer follows, he looks up at her for a moment, sorrow in his eyes as he looks into hers. she offers him a small smile, which he does not return. 

the train ride to the Capitol is uneventful, filled with mindless chatter from Effie and a display of food which y/n had helped herself to a plate of. 

when in rome, do as the roman’s do. 

besides, the country side was far more interesting to look at if she could nibble on a pastry as she did so. 

“you’re a really pretty singer” sawyer said, interrupting Effie’s chatter, and y/n’s eyes darted to the boy. 

“that’s real kind of you, thanks,” she replied softly, and the boy gave her a hair of a smile. 

“oh you like to sing! well that’s lovely, you’ll have to incorporate that into your interview with Caesar somehow, maybe he’d even let you—“

“blah blah blah blah,” haymitch interrupts, and y/n has to stifle a giggle as the tousled blonde holds up his hand, as if to silence the escort. 

“let the kids breathe for a minute, Effie,” he groans, before downing a glass of whiskey. he was already down more drinks than he should be at this hour, and he wasn’t planning on stopping. 

he didn’t have the reputation for being the most helpful mentor. 

Effie resumed her usual chatter after the interruption, as the droned on about a new artist being assigned to district 12 this year. something about the stylist being into high fashion for citizens before. y/n scoffed under her breath when Effie praised the stylist for having a little charity on the districts and stopping down to style 12 of all of them. this earned an eye roll from haymitch as well. 

soon, it was time to turn in, as they’d be arriving in the Capitol early the next morning. 

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶

taglist: @anyaslittlepeanut @youraggedybitch @belledawnidk

[practicalsolarpunk]

Hi, I've only just got into solarpunk and find it really cool.

I was wondering, what sort of simple lifestyle changes would you suggest to start with when trying to live in a more solarpunk/sustainable way?

Hi! So glad you're getting into solarpunk! We think it's pretty cool, too, and we're happy you're looking for ways to integrate it into your life. Since you haven't included anything specific about your situation or what you're interested in, this list is pretty general - if you want more specific ideas, feel free to send in another ask!

In the meantime, here are a few recommendations for getting started:

Grow something. Depending on your situation, you may not be able to put in a huge outdoor garden. But there are many plants that will be perfectly happy in a pot on a windowsill, and still others that are happy to grow in low-light situations. Find something that works for your space and get some hands-on experience with growing things. (If you have a window, I highly recommend herbs - many of them are happy in pots and there's something incredibly satisfying about eating things you've grown.)

Compost. Unless your space is extremely tiny, you probably have room for a small composting system. Some can even go under a sink or in a closet. See this post for a general discussion, this post for vermicomposting ideas, and this one for info on bokashi composting. Also check out our #compost tag.

Mending. Mending is a great skill to have. The life of most clothing (and a lot of non-clothing fabric items) can be extended dramatically with some basic sewing skills. I've made entire dresses and quilts and I still find most of my sewing is repairing and mending other stuff. We have a mending tag, but I also love YouTube for this. Searching "how to mend X" (e.g. "how to mend hole in crotch of jeans") gives you a bunch of awesome tutorials. You can get even more use out of things if you're willing to embrace visible mending.

Reduce energy use. Try to use natural light where you can. Set your thermostat high in summer and low in winter and use the principle "heat/cool the person, not the space." Flush the toliet with graywater by removing the p-trap from your sink and dumping the collected wash water into your toilet tank (or directly into the bowl if you have an American-style greedy cup siphon toilet). Experiment with solar energy. What you can do depends on your situation, but see what kind of options you have.

Integrate the 7 R's: There are more R's to sustainable living than just "Reduce Reuse Recycle". See this post for a primer.

Build community: One of the foundations of solarpunk is that it's about community. Even if you start out doing it by yourself, eventually you need a community to do bigger things. My favorite way to start is by meeting the neighbors. Taking over some food (cookies are great) and introducing yourself is a great way to open a relationship. We also have a community building tag for more ideas.

You can find even more ideas in these tags, depending on what you specifically want to do:

#apartment solarpunk

#dorms and small spaces

#community building

#activism

#fiber crafts

#diy

There's also some additional tips in this post and this post, which are earlier responses to similar asks.

I hope this helps! Followers, feel free to chime in with your best tips!

- Mod J

[theshipsong]

suit of cups | iv

basil hawkins x f!reader. childhood friends/crewmates canon au. selfship; reader is an astrologer and explicitly racialized while he isn't. wc 1.6k | est. 6 min read

{ last card } { next card }

Of course you'd grow apart. You spent more time on your family's fishing rigs, sailing without him, and Hawkins found a friend in a tan cat Mink. Faust was sixteen, like him, and Hawkins took the role of newcomers' guide that you once did. When you joined them, you and Faust pored over books the cat's parents collected while living in one of the North Blue's larger, more developed cities. Faust called them grimoires and good-naturedly defended against your questions about their origins and methods. Hawkins couldn't tell if you liked each other at all, but together you made an odd trio of teenagers with no choice for company but each other.

Or so he thought.

You stayed ashore more often as salmon season turned to halibut. As soon as Faust came over one especially foggy morning, the pair of boys started uphill to fetch you for a day of spellcasting and divination only to hear the familiar shriek of your laughter float up behind them—something they knew not to expect if you were only with your family. Hawkins followed Faust's gaze to the sight of you joined at the elbow with a girl.

That didn't make any sense. You didn't get along with girls just like Hawkins didn't get along with boys. Except for Faust. You were too rough and smelled too much like fish and no one had the patience for your stargazing and lectures that he did. Yet here you were.

He recognized the girl and the particular dirty blond of her hair from around the docks, so she must also come from seafaring stock. She noticed Hawkins and Faust before you did, and stopped in her tracks. You looked up, surprised. "Oh! I didn't know you were coming."

"I didn't know you needed warning," Hawkins said stiffly.

"Um." You seemed to hesitate, then unlinked your arm. "I can go from here. Thank you for inviting me."

The girl looked between him and Faust. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

To your credit, or in Hawkins' hopes, you said it coolly, with a knife's edge. You were fourteen and vibrant and tolerated offense no less than he did. As soon as the girl disappeared over the horizon, you smacked Hawkins in the funny bone. "Ow!"

"Sorry. I thought that was lower." You didn't sound sorry at all. "Can't you be a little friendly?"

"I barely said anything."

"Exactly. People think that's rude."

"Since when do you care what people think?"

"This is why my family doesn't like you."

"But you don't like your family."

You huffed, arms crossed. "Hi, Faust."

"Hi…" the Mink returned awkwardly. That's when Hawkins noticed, in your hand opposite the one you'd hooked into that girl's, the handles of a large straw basket out of which peeked the edge of the quilt he recognized from your room.

"Did you spend the night?"

"Yes, it's called a sleepover."

"What's so special about that?"

"I've never been before."

"Yes, you have."

"That's not a sleepover. That's… we're too tired to move."

"So you slept over." Why call it something? You used to do so all the time, but something changed in the last year or two. Your parents went to church in town now while your grandparents refrained. They'd always been warmer toward him, anyway, and even as their memory and vision went Hawkins remembered their fantastical tales from the Grand Line of crocodilian sea kings and Devil Fruit users with great fondness.

"This is a planned thing, for girls. I've never braided another girl's hair before."

"What's wrong with braiding mine? That's how you learned, anyway." It was past his shoulders now. He liked that it kept his neck warm and how you played with it, or used to.

"You don't notice anything different about me?" you said dangerously.

Hawkins blinked, and inspected your face, tilted up toward his. He was almost a head taller than you now. Apparently, his father stood over two meters in height and towered far above his mother. All he saw when he looked at you was the familiar flush of anger in your cheeks and neck, your brows drawn downward and your teeth biting into your lower lip the way they did when you tested him, usually over planetary rulerships.

"You look tired," he offered. "Not much of a sleepover."

You tossed your hair over your shoulder with such force it whipped him in the face. "Girls want to hear their hair is pretty, Hawkins. It's in Dutch braids, you moron."

So that's why it landed like a two-inch rope, and flew behind your head like two hissing snakes as you ran uphill away from him.

Faust amused himself with the knitting basket in Hawkins' living room while Hawkins stared, annoyed, at the spread in front of him. It was full of court cards, but most glaringly what he'd come to think of as one of your cards, The Star.

Hawkins didn't think he needed to say your hair was the prettiest thing in the world to him. Black like a crow's wing, he thought when he saw it lately, and the scarecrows he made seemed more of an omen than any card. Black like the night sky, and on and near the full moon he could see the stars reflected in your eyes when you told him about constellations and named stars and their legends, Algorab in Corvus representing a sun god. Your hair curled like ocean currents with humidity and stayed straight in the winter, and as much as he liked Faust, he missed being younger and alone with you.

He thought saying so would embarrass you like you blushed after telling him his hair was pretty, like you always had. But the Ace of Swords at the top of the Celtic cross's tree told him what was missing between you two was words.

That, and Faust saying, "Instead of the cards, you could talk to her."

So Hawkins leaned against the stone fence surrounding your family's yard, keeping one eye on your bedroom window for light and another on refining his current iteration of straw dolls. He read in one of Faust's books about figural proxies for enemies made out of clay, and the dolls he'd idly made his whole life took on new purpose. They needed to be simple but still recognizably humanoid, and small enough to hide in his arm, though he could make any part of his body into straw. He knew his powers unsettled your mother and father, but there was precious little else he could do since they hated tarot more.

"Natulog siya," one of the many elders milling in and out said to him, and he understood despite not being able to respond.

Eventually, the shutters on your window opened and you called down to him, "Stay there." It was almost twilight then, and he was getting hungry. You emerged with your hair damp and loose from a bath, a steamer basket, and two spoons. "Well?"

"I'm sorry," Hawkins said quickly.

"For?"

Damn it. "I don't know, but your feelings are hurt, and I don't want to be the reason." The Queen and King of Cups were both in the spread, more sage and articulate in this realm than either of you.

You set the bamboo basket down on the fence, and the smell of sticky rice and sweet sausage wafted into his face as you took off the lid and stabbed a spoon into it like a knife for him to grab. "You're so full of yourself," you chided. He stuck a spoonful of rice in his mouth and waited for you to elaborate. You met his eye and relented. "It's not only you."

He swallowed. "Did she do something?"

You shook your head. "It's the others. And you didn't help."

Others. Come to think of it, he didn't ask you any more about the night you had or whether you had any fun at all, who was there besides the girl who accompanied you home, why you didn't tell him beforehand, why you even went.

"Tell me."

Ultimately, the townspeople treated you and Faust the same, nevermind your family's not insignificant history on the island. Your mother had a new obsession with correcting this, likely prompted by your friendship with the Mink, and pushed for you to befriend churchgoing children even as you stayed home or avoided the ordeal at sea or at his house. It only made sense for you to attach to the only other girl from a fishing family.

"They suck, Hawkins, and they kept asking about you and—" Your face went red, and he couldn't imagine why. He knew he had a reputation as a heretic and something of a brawler, how he fared in fights now since his growth spurt. "I didn't like them braiding my hair."

Now he was really confused. You were so prissy and proud of those braids, but even with the fragrant spices of the meal you shared, he smelled your shampoo, stronger than usual, like you'd scrubbed your scalp raw.

Despite his uncertainty, he braced his hands on the stone fence and swung himself over.

"What—"

Hawkins pulled you into his arms, awkwardly, still unused to the size of the hand that nearly dwarfed the back of your head, and your spoon fell onto the gravel.

"Is this okay?" he asked quietly.

After a moment, you nodded against his collar.

"No one's going to touch you without you wanting it ever again," he said firmly.

"…You don't know that." It was a mumble, but he understood.

"Let me try."

You uncurled your arms from against his shirt and slid them under his elbows, holding him in turn. "Okay."

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (XV)

Chapter 15: ‘He’s bored- I see it. Don’t I lick his bribes, set his bouquets in water?’

Hi! Here is new chapter! New Year’s Eve is upon us… let’s see what happens!! ;)

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 3646

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

The Edge

Time and again, time and again I tie My heart to that headboard While my quilted cries Harden against his hand. He’s bored- I see it. Don’t I lick his bribes, set his bouquets In water? Over Mother’s lace I watch his drive into the gored Roasts, deal slivers in his mercy… I can feel his thighs Against me for the children’s sakes. Reward? Mornings, crippled with this house, I see him toast his toast and test His coffee, hedgingly. The waste’s my breakfast.

Louise Glück, The First Five Books of Poems

The plan was simple.

Or rather… it wasn’t simple, per say, but it was feasible. Which, considering that you were attempting to make your ex fall in love with you again after he dumped you to get engaged to another woman… was already quite an achievement.

You looked at Andrew as he stood next to you. He had arrived late, had apologised profusely. You were annoyed, but you reckoned that you would have to grow used to this detail about him. He simply was always late to everything, it seemed.

He was wearing contacts today, instead of his glasses. You had noticed that he did whenever he would see Sam, probably because she preferred him without his dark brown spectacles. And he did look handsome tonight, dressed in all black, from suit to shirt and leathered shoes, with his hair tied in a bun, but still… you missed the softness that came with seeing him in glasses. You didn’t know why you felt like that. Perhaps it was because you were so used by now to see him almost every day wearing them, may it be at work or when you planned actions related to your exes, or when you simply spent time together. Maybe it was the familiarity that had grown with this sight that you missed now. Perhaps you just found him even more handsome with glasses…

You pushed the thought away, looked for Frank through the crowd. Frank and Sam were hosting, in the flat they had moved into about a month before. And it ached to see pictures of the two of them sprayed on the fridge in the kitchen. Your collection of books was gone, leaving shelves empty in the living room but for pieces of decoration and more pictures of the happy couple that tore your heart apart. There was music playing, some playlist found on Spotify, without a doubt, music you would find in a club, a music meant to party. You saw Andrew staring at the empty shelves as well, at the absence of records too; you saw his small frown as he spotted the laptop that was the source of the music. You guessed he thought the quality was terrible, but then again, you guessed he didn’t like the music in itself very much either. You imagined Frank sitting in a room to listen to old jazz records, the way you knew Andrew did sometimes, he had told you so much himself. You couldn’t picture it…

But then you looked at the pictures more carefully, and couldn’t imagine yourself in them either. They seemed to have been everywhere together. Rafting, climbing, swimming, jumping, sky-diving even… there was no museum, no cityscape, no quiet woods, no sunset over a beach. There was adventure, and thrill, more so than you could ever handle.

Was that what Frank wanted? What you couldn’t offer? Did you need to become adventurous to keep him?

Would you ever be happy if you became an explorer instead of an academic?

Were you not an explorer already anyway? You had travelled to other cities, to other countries, had moved to places where you knew no one to settle and work. You learned every day, you grew, you tried to keep your head above the water. And you went on walks in nature, you swam into the sea, you made friends and lost some along the way. Was it not enough? Did it not take enough courage already to simply live your life?

“Are you ready?”

You turned to Andrew, your partner in crime for the night. You had to move the bottles of champagne around so Andrew could find them and save the day. And then he would shine by remembering Sam didn’t like champagne…

You nodded, moving towards the kitchen.

“How do we get everybody out?”

“I can handle that,” you assured him with a mischievous wink and smile.

Indeed, there were only men in the kitchen at that moment, gathering ammunition in the form of drinks and shots for the night.

Easy peasy…

“I mean… I do believe the dress is a little much,” you told Andrew loudly enough for all four men present in the kitchen to discreetly eavesdrop on the conversation.

Andrew blinked, but played along the best he could, although you noticed the way he was shying away as a couple of men turned to the two of you without trying to be discreet. He blushed, bent his shoulders to seem smaller than he truly was.

“Really?”

“I mean… Andy… you can see her full tits at this point…”

You saw the four men exchanging glances, and hurrying outside the kitchen.

Andrew raised a surprised eyebrow.

“Was that really that easy?” he asked out loud.

“Men…” was your only response, along with a roll of your eyes.

Andrew chuckled, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Are we truly that shallow?”

“Most of the time!”

You hurried to close the door, and you and Andrew hid the bottles in a cupboard, getting them out of the fridge. You were so scared of being caught that you were going too fast, almost dropping a bottle, but catching it right before it would hit the ground.

“Calm down, we’re good,” Andrew spoke in a whisper, although he kept on glancing towards the door.

“There’s no lock on that door! Anyone can come in at any moment!”

“We won’t get caught.”

“And if we are?”

“Then we’ll say it was a joke.”

“It will be so bad…”

“We won’t get caught.”

But then there were footsteps in the hallway. Two bottles left in the fridge. Andrew and you exchanged a terrified glance.

“Shit!” you both cursed at the same time, grabbing the bottles in a hurry, pushing them in the cupboard and slamming the door.

The handle moved…

Your reflex was to get closer to Andrew, to grab his hand and hold tight. He didn’t push you away, merely gasped, although you weren’t sure whether it was because of the door now beginning to open or because you were now so close to him you were basically pressed to his chest…

“Why the fuck is this door clos…”

Some people you didn’t know opened the door then, stared at you and Andrew first in surprise, and then they refrained a laugh…

You looked up at Andrew, who was staring with wide eyes at the door. You seemed only then to notice your proximity, the way you literally held onto him.

You gasped, took a couple of steps back, until your back bumped into the fridge. A hand appeared out of nowhere to slip between your head and the piece of furniture.

“You’re alright?” Andrew asked in a weak voice, clearly embarrassed by the whole thing and still high on adrenaline from your stupid plan. You nodded, moved away from him, from his palm that still cradled the back of your head…

“Fine, fine… we should…”

You hurried out of the room, away from Andrew and the brown that stained the green of his eyes, and the specks of red in his beard, and the angle of his jaw, and the softness of his touch against your hair and…

You were interrupted in your busy thoughts by Frank’s voice coming from behind you.

“Y/N! Andrew! I’m so glad you could both come!”

You spun around, noticing only then that you were back in the living room, Andrew following suit.

“Thanks for inviting us! Great party!” you complimented.

It was hard at first to regulate your breathing, to hide that your heart was beating at a thousand miles a minute. After all, you had almost been caught, and then… these people would think that you and Andrew had locked yourselves in the kitchen to… Oh, God… if Sam and Frank learned about this, all your efforts would go to waste…

“Argh! Thanks! Trying my best as a host!”

“Well, you’re doing a great job so far. I think it’s better to have this party here, rather than in a club.”

You regretted your words as soon as they passed your lips, knew you had made a mistake.

“We couldn’t book the place we wanted, had to settle on doing this at home instead,” Frank answered with disappointment apparent in his eyes and tone.

“It’s still very nice,” Andrew politely smiled.

“Well, I should get the champagne ready, it’ll soon be midnight!”

You and Andrew exchanged a look as your ex moved away from the crowd again, aiming his steps towards the kitchen.

“Phase one…” Andrew gave you a wink; you chose to ignore your heart’s response to his gesture.

“Time to save this party, Andy,” you teased, and he gave you a thumbs up that was so adorable, you had to blink.

Perfect plan.

Indeed, the look on Frank’s face when he discovered that the bottles had been misplaced was priceless. He called Sam for help, they looked for the bottles, didn’t find even a trace of them.

Andrew opened the right cupboard, the one where you had placed the bottles earlier, and called for Sam to show that the champagne was there.

“Oh! God! Thank you, Andy!”

He was granted a warm hug, one that made him close his eyes for a second, you noticed the relief that was written all over his features at the physical contact. He blushed as she kissed his cheek, and he was beaming when she pulled away. He gave her his bottle of prosecco, instead of waiting for midnight as it was planned, he simply couldn’t wait. She blinked up at him, gave him a warm, grateful smile.

“You always remember that,” she whispered under her breath, but you heard her words still. Frank heard them too, and you saw him glaring at Andrew.

It was working. Your crazy plan was working. Sam was still gravitating around Andrew, they were smiling. There was a pinching feeling tugging at your heart, and you ignored it. Jealousy was such an ugly feeling. And anyway, you couldn’t be jealous over Andrew effectively getting closer to Sam again, his success would be shared soon, as you hoped your plan would work for Frank and you as well. It would. You would have success, just like Andrew… that was why you were a little jealous, surely, after all…

Only, it didn’t work. It didn’t work, because instead of you pouring your glass over Sam, Sam accidentally poured her glass onto you.

You weren’t sure how it all happened. You were looking away from Andrew and Sam, staring at Frank who was laughing and joking with a friend nearby, being a perfect host. And all of a sudden, you felt something cool sipping under the fabric of your dress, turned to see Sam apologising.

“I’m so sorry! I’m so clumsy, I… I didn’t you see you there…”

You looked down at the damage, she offered to lend you some clothes immediately. You noticed how Frank’s gaze softened at her words. And you hated it. You hated her. You hated him. You hated this party and the coming of a new year and the beginnings it announced. You didn’t need a new beginning, you needed the continuation of what you used to have. And this party, this awful party where you barely knew anyone, and you weren’t having fun at all, and…

“No, don’t worry. I’m fine. I… Actually, I don’t feel very well, I think I’m gonna go home.”

You saw Andrew’s frown, the one that formed at your words.

“Already? I’m sure we can fix this!” Frank argued, and you almost yielded.

“I’m not sure we’re the same size…” Sam mumbled.

When you looked into her eyes, you knew she had done it on purpose. You knew she had poured her drink over you deliberately, perhaps because of the way you looked at Frank, or perhaps because you had come with Andrew. You didn’t know why. What was for certain was that she had ruined your dress to make you go home, and you weren’t stupid, you knew what it meant, and you weren’t up for a fight, not when Frank looked at her like that, with love…

“You could still try some of Sam’s clothes on! I’m sure we can find something,” Frank argued, trying to hold you back.

You slowly shook your head.

“I have some clothes in my car, you could change,” Andrew offered, his gaze pleading now.

You noticed how he flinched when your eyes met his.

“It’s okay. I feel a little sick anyway. I think I’ll go home.”

Frank grabbed your arm as you took a step towards the door.

“Stay at least till midnight! There’s less than an hour left! You can leave after we’ve opened the champagne, yeah?”

You wished you could have said no. But Frank’s eyes in that moment…

“Okay, I’ll stay,” you yielded, making him grin.

“Thank you, Y/N. Thank you.”

There was such gratefulness in his gaze, something tender, almost pleading, and you fell for it, you couldn’t help it. You had fallen a thousand times over for it.

You heard Andrew heaving a sigh behind you.

You opened your mouth to speak again, but Frank was swiped away by a guest, one of your former ‘friends’, and you were left staring at the blank space he had left behind.

He was moving away, leaving you behind…

Andrew and Sam were talking, you stared as she clung onto him for a rather long time. Andrew kept on nodding, let her do most of the talking. You didn’t notice the glances he threw your way, you were too busy looking for Frank again.

You checked the time after a long while spent doing meaningless chit-chat with strangers and people you had met a couple of times before. Ten minutes to midnight.

You looked around at the loud room. Conversations, exclamations, laughter, loud music that banged in your head, hitting your skull with the heavy kick of drums. Light, glitter, colours, beautiful dresses. Frank talking with some of his colleagues he had invited, paying no attention to you. Andrew talking with Sam and smiling sweetly at her.

You looked down at your glass, a drink half-empty already, studied the stain that spread across the fabric of your dress. You had felt beautiful while getting ready. You didn’t anymore…

You could have been with your real friends, with your family… what were you doing here, during those last minutes of a dying year?

You didn’t say a word to anyone as you put your glass down on the nearest table, made your way through the crowd, grabbed your coat in the closet by the door. No one noticed you leaving anyway. Frank didn’t spare you a glance. You were leaving, and no one noticed, because no one fucking cared…

“Y/N?”

You froze, a few steps away from the elevator, your hand already rising towards the button to call for an escape.

Slowly, you turned around.

Andrew was standing in front of the door to Frank’s and Sam’s apartment. On the threshold, standing still, he was staring at you with a questioning stare.

“Where are you going? You’re alright?”

You were too stunned to answer, remained frozen, like a deer caught in headlights, your finger still erect towards the elevator…

No one had noticed you leaving, no one…

Someone did…

“Y/N? You’re okay? Are you really sick?”

“No,” you shook your head. “No, I’m just… I just want to go home. I just… I need some fresh air.”

“What’s wrong?”

You shrugged, did a terrible job at hiding your tears.

He held a finger up.

“Give me a minute. Just one minute. Don’t leave without me!”

“Andy…”

“One minute!”

He looked at you with something expectant in his eyes, almost begging…

“Okay, I’ll stay.”

He grinned, the brightest smile you had seen on his features throughout the entire night.

He disappeared into the flat again, you waited for him for a minute, and then another, hoping he would come back, hoping he wouldn’t leave you behind, hoping Andy wouldn’t leave…

But then the door was opening again, he was stepping outside while putting on his coat. He had a couple of plastic cups in his hand along with a half-full bottle of champagne.

“You should stay,” you told him, speaking in a jolt, making Andrew freeze before he would reach you.

He blinked, an unreadable expression on his face.

“You… you don’t want to talk to me?” he asked, looking down at his feet before you could answer. “I can just listen… I can be quiet if I’m boring…”

You frowned at him, taken aback by his answer.

“What are you talking about? You’re never boring, what…?”

He looked up at you again, blinking, trying to gauge your reaction.

You heaved a tired sigh.

“I just meant… that Sam was spending quality time with you, you… it was working for you tonight. You should stay, use that chance to talk to her and make her see the truth. Besides, it’s…” you looked down at your watch. “Two minutes to midnight. Don’t you want to be with the people you love most for the final countdown? Don’t you want to enter the new year with Sam?”

You saw Andrew blinking, but couldn’t read through his expression. It wasn’t blank, nor emotionless, but it remained unreadable.

Slowly, he walked over to you. He raised his hand, called for the lift without saying a word.

You stared at him with tears in your eyes.

The doors opened with a ding, you didn’t move, didn’t even flinch at the sound. Andrew stepped inside, caught your soul as he looked into your eyes when he turned to you.

“Aren’t you coming?”

You followed him.

Not a word was spoken as the doors closed, as the cabin went down the shaft, as it stopped with a gentle shaking of its cables. You stepped onto the freezing street in silence, looked at Dublin empty in this quiet neighbourhood. There were lights at every window though, some of them were open on laughter and joy and loud shouts and music that flooded into the quiet night. Far away, you could hear the whisper of traffic and honking cars, making noise while awaiting a beginning.

Andrew poured you a drink while the seconds ticked away, fluttering and fainting into the past. A past that lingered in your present still. Would it always be there, haunting the seconds to come, and the minutes they would build, and the hours, and the days, and the years?

Andrew handed you a glass, put down the bottle by his feet. You were standing under a tall oak tree, planted there in the middle of the city, a square of fertile soil in the void of manmade roads. Andrew stared at a flower that grew there, at the foot of a lamppost, just a weed growing despite the concrete.

He looked up with a tender smile on his face, raised his glass.

“Sláinte,” his voice rose above the first number of the countdown.

“Sláinte,” you answered with a smile of your own, a gesture that started shy but that grew stronger the longer you looked up at him, at the brown that stained the green of his eyes, and the specks of red in his beard, and the angle of his jaw, and the softness of his touch as his palm rose to cradle your face.

Five!

The shouts echoed from everywhere around you, deafening even if they were quietened by windowpanes. You heard the quiet gasp Andrew took before downing his whole glass, and you did the same. Your gaze met the stars that hung up there, on the firmament, for a moment, while your head was tilted back to drink the last bit of the cold buzz in your cup, to gather the tingling of bubbles on your tongue. They looked distant and cold, reassuring somehow. They were always there, always shining, even after they had died. The image you saw was millions, maybe billions of years old. The past was even up there, in the sky. And yet the moon shone for a new night.

Four!

You giggled as you swallowed, looking at Andrew again. And he did too, his cheeks flushed by alcohol, by the cold too. The tip of his nose had reddened as well. The lamplight was golden on his eyelashes.

Three!

“Why aren’t you wearing your glasses?” you asked out of the blue, blaming the liquor you had been steadily drinking throughout the evening for the incoherence of your words. “I thought you liked them better than contacts.”

Two!

“Sam prefers when I wear contacts.”

You reached up to touch his cheekbones, to let your fingertips graze over the soft skin, along the sharpness left by the bone under it. He closed his eyes, gasped when you brushed his eyelids and lashes.

One!

“I think you should wear whatever you like. Although… I love your eyes. And you look soft with your glasses on. It makes me feel safe.”

He opened his eyes again, stared at you as your hands moved down to rest on the edge of his jaw, pinkie fingers barely skimming over his neck.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

Andrew leaned down to press his lips to your forehead. You closed your eyes under the warmth of his skin, the softness of his lips, the roughness of his beard…

You felt dizzy as he kissed you, staying against your skin for too long, pulling away too slowly. You wished he hadn’t stopped…

He gave you a tender smile as he looked into your eyes again.

“Happy New Year, Y/N.”

You smiled, grinned even. You reached up, going on your tiptoes to drop a long, tender kiss on his cheek. It landed by the corner of his mouth.

“Happy New Year, Andy.”

[hellinistical]

☕Fem. reader x Xavier. College! au. angst. fake dating. awkward. comfort. addiction. harassment. sa. slow burn. masturbation. miscommunication.

synopsis: After swearing you wouldn’t let winter break drag you into a slump, you decide to treat yourself to some coffee—a little pick-me-up to break the monotony. But the new barista clearly isn’t great at his job; your order always comes out bitter, no matter how simple it is. Frustrated, you finally ask why he’s even working at a coffee shop when he so obviously has no passion for it. He shrugs, his expression unreadable: “My friend’s too busy.” And before you know it, you’re proposing an absolutely ridiculous idea: fake dating. He hesitates at first, but when you outline the benefits—his nosy family finally gets off his back, and you get someone to stave off the holiday loneliness—it starts to make a strange kind of sense. What could go wrong? Besides everything, of course.

chocolate divider by @kodaswrld

masterlist | playlist | taglist |next.

wc: 1510.

one: pity party

The air smells faintly of cinnamon and wood smoke, courtesy of a flickering candle set in an ornate holder on the dresser. A plush area rug sprawls across the wooden floor, its intricate patterns partially hidden beneath the legs of a bed that looks almost too inviting. The bed itself is a fortress of comfort, layered with mismatched quilts, oversized pillows, and a soft faux-fur throw casually draped at the foot.

Fairy lights strung haphazardly along the headboard add a whimsical touch, their soft twinkle mimicking distant stars. On the windowsill, a small collection of succulents and winter flowers struggle to soak up what little light remains, while frost edges the glass, muffling the noise of honking cars and hurried footsteps.

The room wasn’t quite the haven it aspired to be. Sure, it tried—a valiant effort, really—but the cracks in its attempt at cozy perfection were painfully obvious. The throw blanket on the bed was more threadbare than plush, its corners fraying where they had snagged too many times on the unforgiving springs of the mattress beneath. The fairy lights dangling along the headboard were half burnt out, leaving odd pockets of shadow in their wake.

Your vanity was a cluttered mess, its surface drowning under half-empty mugs, dried-out makeup wipes, and an alarming number of hair ties that seemed to multiply overnight. The candles scattered around the room were decorative at best; you hadn’t lit one in months, and a faint layer of dust dulled their once-vivid colors.

The heater in the corner made its presence known with a relentless clank every fifteen minutes, as though it were a poorly rehearsed percussionist trying to join in with the muffled sounds of honking and distant sirens from the street below. The burgundy curtains, a noble attempt at warmth, were slightly too short, exposing the cold, scuffed baseboards below the windowsill.

You scoffed, tugging off your scarf and tossing it onto the back of your vanity chair, where it joined your jacket in a heap. The chair wobbled slightly under the weight, its legs uneven from years of service. The dim bulb in the lamp cast a yellowish tint over everything, exaggerating the flaws, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

You flopped onto the bed, ignoring the sharp creak of protest it gave.

Your eyes drift to the flowers on the windowsill, their once-vibrant petals now muted and drooping. Half-dead and pitiful, they leaned haphazardly in their ceramic pot, their stems buckling under the weight of bulbs that seemed too stubborn to wither completely.

You’d meant to dry them weeks ago—an ambitious little project, another “someday” task added to the pile of half-finished intentions. But life got in the way, as it always did, and the flowers had been left to fend for themselves. Now, they existed in a strange limbo: too lifeless to revive but not quite brittle enough to crumble into dust.

The soil was cracked and dry, pulling away from the edges of the pot in jagged lines, a quiet testament to neglect. A stray petal clung to the rim like it was trying to escape, while the others that had managed to fall lay in a faint trail leading toward the radiator.

You sighed, tilting your head. At least they hadn’t completely keeled over, sprawling on the floor like forgotten confetti. That was something, wasn’t it? You reached out absently, brushing a droopy leaf with your finger. It shuddered at your touch, as if even that was too much effort.

“I’ll deal with you tomorrow,” you muttered under your breath, fully aware you’d said the same thing yesterday—and probably the day before that.

God. Being single sucked.

Not that you had a boyfriend or anything—let's be real, the only thing worse than this boredom was the idea of trying to maintain something like that. But damn, was this exhausting.

You let out a dramatic sigh, grabbing your phone for the 20th time in the last hour. The whole “you-text-your-friend-they-don’t-answer-for-weeks” game was a special kind of aggravating. Like, what was the point? She’d swear up and down that she didn’t mean to ignore you, promised she’d “do better,” but deep down, you knew she wouldn’t.

Not that you were any better. When she had unadded you on 360 and Insta, you didn’t even notice. Not for a solid two weeks. And when you did, the weird part wasn’t the unadding itself—it was the fact that it didn’t even bother you. Shouldn’t that have been the moment? The glaring neon sign telling you to let it die, to let the whole friendship fizzle out gracefully?

But you didn’t.

No, you’d doubled down like an idiot, liking her posts, leaving comments, checking her stories just to remind her you existed. And for what? A halfhearted “sorry, I’ve been so busy” when she finally texted back two weeks later? You scoffed, tossing your phone onto the bed next to you.

“God, I need better hobbies,” you muttered to the empty room. Because clearly, this wasn’t cutting it.

Well… that, and the fact that you’d let her borrow your shirt for her date night. Lord, what an idiot you were.

It wasn’t even a casual, “sure, take whatever” situation. No, you’d gone out of your way to dig through your closet, pull out the shirt—your favorite one, the one that made you feel like you actually had your life together—and handed it over like some kind of saint.

“For good luck,” you’d joked, masking the pang of reluctance with a smile that probably looked more like a grimace.

And what did you get for your troubles? Weeks of radio silence. No texts. No calls. Not even a blurry mirror selfie with your shirt captioned “thanks, bestie <3.” Nope, just a whole lot of nothing. The shirt hadn’t made its way back to you either, which honestly stung more than it should have.

You sighed, staring at your phone again. The temptation to send a passive-aggressive “hey, hope your date was worth my shirt” text was real, but you knew it wouldn’t get you anywhere.

“Next time, I’m lending out something ugly,” you muttered, as if that would make any difference.

You clicked your tongue, shaking off the sour thoughts. This was no time to be bitter. It was far too easy to slide into a depressive slump, especially with winter break stretching out ahead of you like an endless gray horizon. Nothing to do, no classes until the next semester, and plenty of time to overthink.

Broke, jobless, car-less. What a loser.

Okay, maybe not on the car part. That wasn’t entirely fair. You’d gotten into a wreck back in September, and, well, life had a funny way of spiraling out of control after that. Between dealing with insurance, trying to juggle your classes, and just existing as a college student, replacing the car had fallen lower and lower on your list of priorities.

And it wasn’t like you could magically pull money out of thin air. College students didn’t just have the money lying around for major expenses like that. Not when rent, tuition, and overpriced textbooks already felt like a slow, constant bleed on your wallet.

You flopped back onto your bed with a groan, staring at the ceiling. It wasn’t even that you wanted to go anywhere right now. But there was something maddening about the idea of being stuck, of knowing that even if you did want to escape for a bit, you couldn’t.

“Whatever,” you muttered to the ceiling. Tomorrow you’d figure something out. Maybe apply for a few jobs. Maybe clean your room. Maybe… anything that didn’t involve wallowing.

But for now? Wallowing it was.

You paused mid-sigh, the melancholic hum of Laufey filtering through your headphones like a bittersweet soundtrack to your wallowing.

Well, no wonder you felt like shit.

Her voice, all soft and aching, wrapped around your already fragile mood and dragged it deeper into the pit of self-pity. It was like pouring salt into a wound—but, you had to admit, it was a beautiful kind of salt. Still, it wasn’t helping.

You yanked the headphones off with a huff, tossing them to the side. The quiet rush of the outside world filtered in through the thick walls of your building: the distant wail of a siren, the faint hum of a neighbor's television, and somewhere far below, the unmistakable honking of rush-hour traffic.

“Okay,” you said to no one in particular, “we’re not doing this.”

No more sad-girl anthems. No more moody staring contests with the ceiling. You had two choices: keep spiraling or force yourself into some kind of productivity. Maybe not major productivity, but something small. A start.

With a deep breath, you sat up and looked around the room. It was a disaster zone, sure, but even tidying up a single corner might help. Or maybe you’d brew a cup of tea and pretend for five minutes that you were the kind of person who had it all together.

Anything to not fall into that kind of slump.

[bloodmoonmuses]

stereo 127 | johnny suh

(for @lovesuhng !!! I hope you like it!!!)

genre: johnny suh x reader, college au, teacher's assistant! johnny, friends to lovers

warnings: none!

summary: johnny is your campus crush. he also happens to be the teaching assistant in your music history class. when you (innocently) ask for help on a project, you end up learning about more than just music.

You’re a bit obsessed with this guy who skates around campus- or the concept of him, more accurately. You don’t even know his name. All you know is that last semester, you (accidentally) memorized his schedule, resulting in you walking to certain classes a few minutes earlier than necessary to catch a glimpse of him. These glimpses were merely a blur, whipping past you like an apparition. He was a ghost to you, and you enjoyed being haunted by him. 

Your friends made fun of you for having a campus crush, arguing that it’s not real since you don’t actually know him. However, you honestly preferred the distance. Then, you could fill in the gaps in your knowledge with your own imagination. Admiring him from afar worked for a while- that is, until the start of Spring semester. 

When you saunter into your music history class, a random elective you took for fun, you’re met with the elusive Skater Boy. You knew he was tall, but he’s even taller than you’d imagined in your daydreams. You glance at him briefly, before going to take a seat at a desk near the back. 

Skater Boy chats with a few of his friends at the front of the classroom, then sits next to the teacher’s desk when the professor enters. You infer that he must be the teacher’s assistant. 

This was a big problem. Surely, you’ll fail this class now. There’s simply no way you’ll be able to focus. The breathy laughs that escape him are already distracting you to the point of being almost unbearable. His smile is so breezy, like a wave catching the wind. He looks just as cool here in the classroom as he does on his skateboard.

The underlying crush that lay dormant in you begins to boil, and you know it will soon bubble over, scalding everything in its wake. You couldn’t wait for the burn. In fact, you aimed to spur it on sooner. 

You make a concerted effort to pay attention to the professor’s spiel, pulling out your notebook to take notes. It's syllabus day, sure, but you want to look studious. The first assignment of the semester is to research the history of your favorite music genre. 

Despite your efforts to focus, your eyes drift to the stickers that adorn Skater Boy’s laptop: Patrick Bateman from American Psycho, an Arctic Monkeys logo and a cartoon surfboard. You want to know everything he likes and commit the list to memory. You want to sew his idiosyncrasies into a quilt and blanket him with your loving knowledge of them.

The professor introduces him as Johnny Suh- a third year music composition major. Now the ghost has a name.

—

You look at the office hours on the bottom of your syllabus. Johnny would be in office in lieu of your professor for the majority of the semester. Would it be so bad to pop in and ask him for help on the first assignment? 

While you admittedly feel silly, walking to the Arts and Humanities building looking a bit too gussied up, you swallow the nervousness. You stand in front of the room, reading the placard:

Professor: Dr. Moon

TA: Johnny Suh 

You knock on the office door. On the third knock Johnny says, “Come on in!”

Meekly, you enter. He’s too real, too tangible, in this small space. You’ve never been within touching distance of him. The prospect makes your fingers tingle. Professor Moon has an insane book collection, two bookcases spanning the walls opposite one another. The rest of the office is cluttered with a slew of instruments.

Johnny is wearing a backwards hat and quarter sleeve sweater. Your eyes graze the expanse of his forearms, then drift upwards. There’s a pen clipped to his collar and another in between his lips. It’s the most tantalizing pen you’ve ever seen. Finally, you make eye contact. 

Introducing yourself, you say, “Hi, my name is _____. I’m in the music history course.”

“Nice to meet you.!” He takes the pen out of his mouth, and your eyes follow it forlornly. That could’ve stayed. “How can I help?” 

Johnny gathers some papers, places them in a neat stack at the center of the desk, then sits on the edge of it.

“Um, I’m a non-major. So, I’m struggling a bit with the first assignment.”

Johnny nods understandingly. “Ah, the dreaded favorite genre assignment. What’d you pick?”

“Pop punk,” you say.

“Fascinating. You don’t strike me as a punk person.”

You shrug. “Grew up on it.”

“Have you been to the record store near campus?”  

You shake your head.

“It’s called Stereo 127. I think it would be cool to listen to some records and base your research on specific albums. Then you’ll have a clearer framework for when it’s time to write the paper.”

“Thanks. Um,” you clear your throat, “Would you mind… showing me?”

“The record store? Yeah, sure. No problem. Does this weekend work for you?” Johnny asks.

“Sounds good!”

—

Stereo 127 is densely packed with all sorts of records, mimicking the state of Dr. Moon’s office. There’s a classmate of yours named Jaehyun who’s keeping watch of the store. He walks around the shop, reorganizing things as he sees fit. As you peruse the albums, you’re peeking at Johnny over the records, trying to catch his eye. Unlike you, Johnny is actually scanning the selection, genuinely trying to help you.

“Let’s get the obvious ones out the way,” he says, holding a Blink-182 record. He’s somehow managed to track down a copy of their debut album, Cheshire Cat.  

“If Cheshire Cat is an ‘obvious’ pick to you, then I’m way out of my depth,” you confess.

“A little pretentiousness never hurt anyone,” Johnny replies. 

So far, you have a copy of Green Day’s Nimrod (which you’re quite excited about) and Paramore’s newest album. As the minutes pass, you get gradually more enraptured by the thicket of albums. Before you know it, you’ve accumulated quite a few records. After a bit, you sidle up to Johnny, peering over his shoulder to check out his picks. You spot a Yellowcard compilation record.

“This is more fun than I thought it’d be,” you pipe, turning to face Johnny. His face floods with fondness when he sees the stack of albums in your arms, caramel eyes warming you from the inside out. 

“Yeah, you have a good eye,” he retorts. “I’ve been meaning to check out a few other shops around town. Y’know. To compare selections.” He’s sputtering now, having fallen into a cough fit.

“You okay buddy?” you say, chuckling. You gingerly pat his back, holding back a full blown laugh as Johnny continues to cough.

He waves you off, but you pat his back once more for good measure.

“I’m good, I’m good,” Johnny says. When he regains his composure, he continues. “I was just wondering… Are you busy on the 27th?”

—

You’re sprinting across campus, eager to meet Johnny outside of the boys’ dorm. It’s been two weeks since you’ve last seen him. He’s leaning against the building as he waits for you, clad in a page boy cap (which he’s wearing backwards again) and tank top. You allow yourself a quick glance at his arms, immediately regretting it as your face heats up. When he spots you, Johnny waves excitedly, the width of his smile making your own double in size.

After your first excursion, Johnny had asked for your number (“in case you have questions on the assignment!” he had said). Since then, the two of you have texted occasionally, mostly about school.

The record store he takes you to this time is called The Boot. It’s less trendy than Stereo 127 and less organized as well. Most of the vinyls are in bins, withering at the edges and clearly sundamaged. Johnny says he comes here to find obscure records to spin during his DJ sets, not to necessarily hunt for additions to his collection. 

“So, you’re a music composition major?” you ask as you crouch down to sift through a box.

Johnny nods. “With a minor in photography.”

“Favorite camera brand?”

“Nikon for sure, but I mostly shoot 33mm film.”

“How pretentious,” you say.

“Oh, you love it.” This is true, you do love it. 

Johnny continues. “I found another record store for us to try out after this one.”

“Yeah, just text me whenever.”

—

You had finished your paper days ago, so the subsequent record store outing was completely unnecessary to a certain extent. Johnny had no choice but to admit that he simply wanted to hang out with you- though, he’s not complaining. 

The final record store you visit with Johnny is called WAYVE. This time, he picks you up in his car to take you there- a dinky pick up truck with a shitty paint job.

“Before we head out- “ Johnny reaches over, opening the glove department in front of you. His hand brushes your leg briefly.. He pulls out a CD case and places it in your lap.

“I made a playlist for you.” He can’t look you in the eyes properly. You’ve never seen him look this sheepish.

Johnny continues. “Not vinyl, I know, but I wanted to decorate the cover.” Taped to the front of the jewel case is a polaroid of you perusing records. In the photo, your brows are furrowed in concentration.

“When did you even take this, you weirdo?”

“A few weeks ago at The Boot. The lighting was nice.”

You’re practically buzzing with excitement when you get home, racing to put the CD in your busted boombox. The first song on the playlist is Going Away to College by Blink-182.

“I haven't been this scared in a long time

And I'm so unprepared, so here's your valentine

Bouquet of clumsy words, a simple melody

This world's an ugly place, but you're so beautiful to me.”

—

You got a B minus on the paper, which is better than you would've done without Johnny’s help. However, the project is the furthest thing from your mind. 

All you can think about is the lyrics of Going Away to College. You’re trying not to read into things, but Johnny wasn’t the most subtle. 

Maybe you should make a playlist for him. Or buy him a record. According to him, Johnny’s not a true collector- that was reserved for cameras. Maybe he’d appreciate it.

Johnny spots you walking to class (though he’s sure your next one isn’t for another half hour). He skates over to you, stopping right at your feet. You shriek, almost stumbling backwards.

“What the hell, Johnny?”

He dismounts his skateboard, holding it under his arm nonchalantly.  “Do you wanna hang out somewhere other than a record store?”

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

—

The skatepark is overstimulating in the best way. After trying (and failing) to teach you how to do an ollie for an hour, the two of you set up a picnic off to the side of the halfpipe. You eat kimbap off Johnny’s skateboard, using it as a little table.

“Sorry you got a B on your paper, by the way. If it’s any consolation, I didn’t grade it.” 

“It’s okay. I’d rather earn a B from Professor Moon than have your biased ass give me a higher grade than I deserve.”

Johnny places a hand on his chest, gasping dramatically.

“Um, what about academic integrity? I would do nothing of the sort!” he insists.

“Oh come on, you’re obsessed with me,” you say, half-joking. To your surprise, Johnny nods to himself, agreeing with you.

“Only a healthy amount though.”

When you and Johnny finish the kimbap, he scooches next to you. The sun is setting, oranges slowly darkening into a wash of deep indigo. You shiver as the sun dips beneath the horizon. Johnny places his jacket across your shoulders.

“Thanks,” you say.

“No problem.”

You place your head on Johnny’s shoulder.

“Um, and thanks for the playlist too. It’s really good.”

“Yeah?”

“It sorta had… a theme to it.”

Johnny suddenly pulls out from under you, leaving you to stumble around for a bit as you catch yourself. When he turns to you, he stares, caramel eyes pouring into your own. You feel warm in spite of the chilly breeze.

“I’ve never really been good with words,” Johnny confesses. “I figured I’d let the music do the talking.”

With that, he takes your face into his hands. He traces your features with the pads of his fingers- running them over your eyebrows, the lids of your closed eyes, your nose and, finally, your mouth. When he’s satisfied, he places a faint kiss upon your lips. 

He pulls back, caressing your cheeks with his thumbs. “I’m so glad my pretentious bullshit doesn’t give you the ick,” Johnny says.

“Only a healthy amount,” you say through a smile. 

Suddenly, you initiate another kiss, your lips crashing into his fervently. When Johnny recovers from the initial shock, you deepen the kiss further. He’s a patient kisser, never demanding too much or taking more than he’s given. This only heightens your hunger for him, throwing your arms around his neck to pull him impossibly closer. When the two of you come up for air, you linger with Johnny still in your embrace, his eyes crinkling at the edges with pure joy.

a/n: currently unedited + feedback is always appreciated! thanks for reading!

[yuesgirlfriend]

of birds and honey

part 1

(simon "ghost" riley x reader) medieval AU

summary: the year is 1312, and your fathers knight follows you to the wood.

The great hills surrounding the castle are a patchwork of green and yellows, as they always are during the summer months. Gray skies up ahead do nothing to dampen the mood of the castle; everyone is bustling about, preparing for the feast marking the new battalions arrival, as if their presence signifies something happier than impending war. 

She can see them, now, where she is perched atop the highest wall-practiced, without fear- in a way her old governesses would have certainly called unbecoming of a lady. But did not the bible speak of the virtues of a young lady- justice, fortitude, among them?

(It takes great fortitude to learn the secrets she has learned, to climb over steep walls like they were bales of hay, to listen to words she would have heard anyway, had she been born a man. Listening from the eaves and skulking about is an act of justice, not a sin.) 

The men, traversing down the trail, look like ants, she thinks- where she sits high above them, balancing on the stone, they look like children's toys. Tiny wooden figures, a small boy's idea of heroes, lined up on the yellow-green patchwork quilt. 

When they finally ride over the moat and into the stronghold, they look like any other collection knights she has seen- some cloaked, some helmetless, all shining in the half clouded, setting sun. 

That night is boisterous and rowdy, like any other feast. The courtyard is crowded with people- servants, villagers, everyone coming together to eat and drink and be merry. The tables are laden with the finest of foods. The smell of roast goose and heron, wine, and vomit hangs in the night air with the shouts and bawdy songs. The new knights drink and eat and throw things, singing their songs with everyone else.  The castle hums with life, every voice and every soul another cell in one great organism. 

(The whole time, she sits quietly as a lady should, but listens as a lady shouldn’t. No one notices, and why would they notice the Lord’s waif of a girl, silently eating at his right hand? The servants, the townspeople, even her father speak of her when they think she isn’t listening- she is, to them, as unnaturally quiet as a changeling and as likely to smile as a mourner. Such a shame, my lord, that  her birth took your wife, god rest her soul. And for the child to not even be a boy…)

The stories that feast are rambling and, wine drunk, but the message is clear- they are hired soldiers with no Christian names, under orders from the king to protect the stronghold that is her home.

But one stands out. The only one still wearing his painted  helmet, and as such doesn’t eat or drink with his companions. Instead, he sits on her fathers left side, speaking in low and gruff tones only when spoken to. 

She picks at her food as her ears pick up words like more men and allies and a thousand dead, all spoken in an accent she thinks more suited to a farmer than a soldier.

As the feast begins to die down, dancers lying about drunk, he walks with her Lord father, presumably to show him a weak point in the castle walls.

She follows along, unseen, silent footsteps trailing behind them in the shadows. The knight with the painted helmet is tall and broad when he waves a hand at a wall that, upon closer inspection, does seem weaker than the rest. A chink in the castle’s armor, he says. 

The fire dies out, people lay around in drunken heaps, and rats are scurrying for food in corners of the room by the time she retires for the night. Her maid is nowhere to be found- based on the way the Scotsman and her were wrapped around eachother earlier, it is likely best not to go looking for her- so she wanders alone to her quarters, a candle in one hand and a half eaten honey cake in the other. 

The halls are dimly lit labrynths, and every footstep she takes makes a wet scuff along the perpetually damp straw covering the chilled stone floors. She does not believe in sneaking about when not needed, and enjoys a reprieve from constant surveillance as she licks honey carelessly from her fingers, focusing more on the sweetness of the honey cake than her surroundings.

And just as she turns the corner to the starcase, a hand shoots out from a shadow  and grabs her arm. 

Her gasp is muffled by a large hand, gloved. His other hand plucks the candle from her grasp, rests it on the narrow windowsill behind him. She scrapes and thrashes at the silver of his forearm, scrambling to reach for the knife at his side before he speaks. 

“Pray, be silent, Lady- I know you are able.”

In response, she bites down on the gloved hand, hard. The man hisses but doesn’t let go, only roughly spins her to face him; and this is when she realizes it is the helmeted knight, eyes and armor shiny in the candlelight. 

She shoves at his arms, and he concedes, letting her retreat three steps up the stairs before he takes her by the hand again. 

“Release me, sir, or you will not enjoy the consequences,” She hisses. Something furious inside her is growing like a wildfire. 

“I meant no offense, but only to warn you, fair lady,” he says, seemingly contrite, but with mirth in his voice. Is he smiling, behind that hideous helmet? 

“Warn me?” She rips her hand from his. “Of what? Churlish knights, skulking behind corners?” She turns to go. 

“You are one to scold on skulking behind corners, Lady. ” Her feet freeze where they are on the steps. 

 “Yes.” His voice is rough. “You are not as invisible as you may think- not to those trained to see, Lady.  You should exercise more caution, when listenin’ from rafters and castle walls like a little bird.” He tilts his head, eyes trained on her, like a cat looking at a tree it’d like to climb. Or a bird it’d like to claw.

“I have been told you have a lovely mind. It would be a waste to see it dashed on a tower’s stony base.” 

For the first time in ages, she forces her eyes to meet anothers. His are dark, redless, with what looks like coal smudged on his eyelids and undereyes. His eyes never falter from her stare, as would be proper. His pale lashes don’t so much as flutter. 

She turns and continues walking upstairs- but before she rounds the corner, she looks behind and down to where he stands, at the base of the stairs, licking remnants of honey off his glove. 

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

No ghostface. Mindy invites reader and the whole group to spend the weekend at their family’s cabin in the woods. No mansion cabin, something small. That means your ex, Chad, is also going to be there. Him and Tara spend a lot of time together so you assume they’re a thing and Chad knows that you have a new boyfriend, but you broke up with him a few days before the trip (said another girl’s name in bed or something equally shitty) and Mindy insisted you come so you wouldn’t be sad in your dorm

Request: all weekend. You can’t sleep on the first night so you get up and end up alone with Chad in the kitchen and…things happen

Two longer requests in the same week? Am I back? (I'm trying to get through the requests I got in January first, be patient with me!)

Warnings: 18+, mention of cheating, p + v, public sex (kinda but not really)

—

‘’Out of the way! I really need to pee!’’ Mindy shouted, keys in hands and making a run for the door. 

You chuckled at her antics. A part of you was questioning if she actually had to pee or if it was a trick to get away from unloading the car.

Chad unlocked the trunk and you ducked under his arm to grab your bags. 

The cabin was nothing fancy like you see in movies. Just a regular family cabin — small and cozy. Mindy said their grandpa built it in the 70s, which explained the retro ambiance. Everything was mismatched, yet went perfectly together. 

To avoid any bickering, the sleeping arrangements had been settled before arriving. The cabin had two bedrooms — one of them had two single beds — and a pull-out couch. Mindy and Anika were taking the master bedroom, you and Tara the twins' old bedroom, and Chad got the short stick and had to share the pull-out with Ethan. They were roommates, so it wasn’t weird. 

It was already late afternoon when you got to the cabin, so you didn’t have much time for anything other than unpacking before getting started on dinner. 

‘’Where’s Chad?’’ Ethan asked, not seeing him in the kitchen. 

Mindy, who was chopping potatoes, rolled her eyes. ‘’Probably hiding to get away from helping make dinner. He always does it at home. He mysteriously disappears, then ‘surprise’ he’s back when all the chores are finished.’’ 

‘’You’re wrong, babe,’’ Anika chimed in, correcting her girlfriend. ‘’He left to get some wood with Tara.’’ 

Of course he went with Tara. 

After dinner, you went to your room to change into pajamas. While looking through your bags, you realized that Jason’s bracelet broke and had fallen from your wrist, mirroring the state of your relationship. In a few weeks, you would have found it funny, but for now it only brought tears to your eyes. 

Fuck. You promised yourself you wouldn’t cry on this trip.

As if she knew, Mindy popped in the doorway. ‘’What’s taking you so long, we’re— Are you crying?’’

You wiped your face, erasing all traces of incriminating tears. ‘’No.’’ 

‘’Liar.’’ She sat beside you on the bed and pulled you in a hug, knowing all about Jason. ‘’Stop thinking about him and come watch a movie with us. Uncle Randy had the best collection of VHS tapes,’’ Mindy said, trying to get your mind off him. ‘’I’m sure we can find one where the cheating asshole gets his head chopped.’’ 

A small smile drew on your lips. You couldn’t ask for a better best friend. 

*

You turned over and tried to fall asleep for the fifth time, but it was pointless. All you could think about was Jason and that girl from Phi Iota Mu. Pushing the quilt to the end of the bed, you got up and walked as quietly as you could into the kitchen, trying to not wake anyone.

‘’Can’t sleep either?’’ someone whispered. 

Startled, you cursed under your breath. ‘’Are you trying to kill me?’’

Chad laughed. ‘’Can’t handle a little jumpscare?’’ He was leaning against the counter and snacking on the home-made cookies Anika had brought. ‘’Want one?’’ 

You accepted the cookie, breaking off a piece but not eating it yet. ‘’Why are you awake?’’ 

‘’Ethan moves a lot when he sleeps,’’ Chad explained, scrunching his face in annoyance. ‘’He kicked my back three times with his knee and elbowed me in the face. I don’t know how I’m gonna put up with him all weekend.’’

You glanced at the couch where Ethan shifted underneath the blanket like a sleeping restless child. ‘’Why didn’t you ask to share with Tara?’’

A frown creased your midnight partner’s face. ‘’Why would I want to share a bed with Tara?’’ 

You shrugged, avoiding eye contact as you continued to eat your cookie. ‘’I don’t know. You’ve been spending a lot of time with her. I assumed that—’’ 

Chad sighed, interrupting and correcting. ‘’There’s nothing between me and Tara,’’ he said, his eyes on you like he was making a promise. ‘’It’s not like that. We’ve been friends since we were kids — she’s like family.’’ 

You nodded, continuing eating your cookie in silence in the dim light of the overhead stove light. 

Minutes passed, neither you or Chad talking. Surprisingly, your mind didn’t drift where it shouldn’t. It was peaceful. 

Until the silence was broken.

‘’I didn’t want to ask while the others were there, but I know something is clouding your mind. We’ve dated long enough for me to know your body language. I’m probably not the person you’d choose to confide in, but if you want to talk, I’m here.’’ Chad’s gaze softened as he looked at you, making sure you knew that he meant it. 

When you think of a person to pour your heart to, your ex boyfriend is not the first one in line, but the ache within pushed the words past your lips. ‘’You were right about Jason.’’ 

Then, tears started flowing.

It didn't take long for Chad to understand. 

Without saying a word, he stepped in and pulled you into a hug. It’s been months since he held you like that, yet your bodies still molded perfectly together. You rested your head on his chest, letting the tears flow freely as they wetted his shirt. 

‘’I should have listened to you,’’ you cried into his chest, guilt and regret filling you although you weren’t the one who cheated.

You thought Chad’s warning about his teammate’s antics was him being jealous, that he had said this so you wouldn't get with someone else. Maybe a part was, but Jason had a reputation for cheating on his girlfriends. He bragged about his hookups in the locker rooms and at practice all the time.  

Chad loosened his hold and lifted your chin, using his thumb to wipe your tears. ‘’Next time I see him, I’ll—’’

‘’Please don’t,’’ you said, teary eyes looking up at him. ‘’It’s gonna draw attention to the situation and I don’t want to become a campus gossip. I just…want to forget him.’’ 

Although he really wanted to punch right now, he respected your wish. Nothing was said about not giving him a nasty glare at practice on Monday, though. 

‘’I can help you with that.’’ Seconds after the words were out, Chad’s eyes widened when he realized how it sounded. ‘’Shit, not— I mean watching movies or going for a walk, not…sex.’’ 

You could see the embarrassment on his face, truly not meaning to say that. 

What if you were interested in this method? What is it that they say again? The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. 

You wouldn’t get with a stranger — Tinder hookups were always disastrous. But Chad didn't sound like a bad idea. He was caring and generous in bed, you always loved how tall he was and how he would manhandle you. He also had a very nice body. 

‘’What if that’s what I want?’’ You moved your hand up his chest, your eyes catching Chad’s. 

‘’A-are you sure?’’ he asked. He would never take advantage of your vulnerability to satisfy his dick. 

You nodded, reached the back of his neck to pull him down to your level. ‘’I’ve never been more sure of something.’’ You ended your sentence with his kiss, bringing his lips over yours.

The next minutes were a mess of kissing and fumbling with clothes while trying to be as quiet as possible. It wasn’t easy when Chad’s thick fingers were pushing in and out of you at a toe-curling pace, but the walls of the cabin were thin and Ethan was still sleeping on the pull-out couch…literally a few feet away. 

He bit back a groan when you squeezed his fingers, your arousal covering them as you gripped and mouthed at his shoulder, trying to muffle any sounds. Being quiet during sex was never something you mastered. 

‘’I almost forgot how tight you feel,’’ Chad hissed, replacing his fingers with his cock and slowly filling you up.

You crushed your lips together again, your hands exploring his arms, his neck, his back, his shoulders as he began to move his hips, drawing gradually out of you and inching smoothly back in over and again. It was a frustrating pace — and felt more like making love than casual sex —, but fuck it felt good. 

Chad truly was a good lay. 

Soon enough your legs began to ache from the height difference, but he gripped your thighs to hoist you up. You wrapped them around his waist and the slight change caused Chad’s cock to hit deeper, eliciting a moan from you which you prayed no one heard. 

Once Chad came with a choked noise of pleasure, he set you down on the counter and you stood there for a moment, catching your breaths. 

‘’What’s the asshole’s name again?’’ 

You giggled against Chad’s chest, feeling your mixed cum leak from your pussy and onto the counter. ‘’I don’t know… Felix?’’ you said, mistaking Jason’s name on purpose. 

—

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[justiceforanders]

Jewel of Rivain

Part of the "Wings and Blades" Lucanis x Rook Stories

Pairing: Lucanis x Rook (she/her)

Rating: M

Words: 1.3k

Available on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61149457

Summary: Lucanis and Rook go visit Rook's mother in Rivain. They get distracted when she shows him her childhood bedroom.

Jewel of Rivain is a story written for @nerdee-blondee, as part of my "Wings and Blades" series exploring the romance between Lucanis and different Rooks.

The sea breeze carried the scent of salt and citrus, mingling with the perfume of wildflowers as Valeria Laidir led Lucanis Dellamorte up the cobbled path to her childhood home. Nestled between lush Rivaini palms and perched on the docks, the little shop was an unassuming gem. Its faded blue shutters and curved terracotta roof tiles hinted at age, but the carefully swept porch and sparkling window displays told the story of its owner’s pride.

“This is it,” Valeria said, turning to Lucanis with a grin. She spread her arms as though unveiling a treasure. “The House of Laidir Jewels, purveyor of all things shiny and expensive. Try not to faint from awe.”

Lucanis tilted his head, a teasing smirk tugging at his lips. “Impressive. And you’re telling me you chose piracy over this illustrious career?”

Valeria laughed, the sound bright and unapologetic. “What can I say? I’ve got a taste for adventure. Besides…” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You wouldn’t believe how boring jewelry-making can be after a while. You spend all day hunched over, picking at tiny stones with tinier tools.”

“Ah, so piracy was the practical choice,” Lucanis deadpanned, but his dark eyes were glinting with amusement.

“Obviously.” Valeria winked before gesturing toward the shop’s wide window. The glass caught the afternoon sun, reflecting flashes of silver and gold from the display of intricate necklaces, earrings, and rings within. “My mother’s handiwork. She’s the best jeweler in Rivain – though I may be slightly biased.”

Lucanis peered through the window, his gaze lingering on a necklace with a deep purple amethyst at its center. “Beautiful work,” he murmured, his tone turning thoughtful. Then, with a sly grin, he glanced back at Valeria. “Tell me, pirata, are any of these stones... Let’s say… Liberated from less fortunate individuals?”

Valeria raised an eyebrow, a smirk dancing on her lips. “What kind of question is that?”

“A legitimate one.” He crossed his arms, clearly enjoying himself. “Surely a pirate couldn’t resist slipping her best finds into her mother’s collection.”

“I’ll have you know,” Valeria replied, hands on her hips, “that I am an honest – well, mostly honest – pirate. But…” She trailed off, her smirk growing wicked. “I’m not saying none of the jewels in this shop have... Interesting backstories.”

Lucanis chuckled, the low sound sending a pleasant shiver down her spine. “Mierda, you’re incorrigible.”

“Thank you!” she said in a sing-song voice, pushing the door open and stepping inside.

-----

The shop’s interior smelled of lavender and beeswax, the scent of polished wood mingling with that of the ocean outside. Sunlight filtered through the shutters, casting dappled patterns on the rows of jewelry cases. Valeria led Lucanis past the main display, her fingers lightly brushing against the edge of a glass case as she moved.

“Come on,” she said over her shoulder, a playful lilt in her voice. “I’ll show you the upstairs. That’s where the real treasure is.”

When they reached the second floor, Valeria pushed open a door to reveal a small but cozy room. The walls were painted a soft yellow, adorned with faded posters of Rivaini ships and maps of distant lands. A sturdy wooden bed with a simple quilt sat in one corner, and a desk covered in old books and trinkets occupied another.

“Well,” Lucanis said, stepping inside and surveying the room, “this explains so much. Look at all these maps! You’ve been planning your piracy career since you were, what, ten?”

“Eight, actually,” Valeria corrected, closing the door behind them. “I’ve always been ambitious.”

Lucanis chuckled and wandered over to the desk, picking up a small, intricately carved wooden ship. “Did you make this?”

“I did,” Valeria admitted, leaning against the doorframe. “My mother taught me how to carve when I was little. Said it was important to know how to make something with my hands. Wanted me to know some trades, find a way to free myself if she couldn’t buy our freedom.”

He turned the ship over in his hands, his expression softening. “She seems like a good woman.”

“The best,” Valeria said quietly, her usual bravado dimming for a moment.

Lucanis placed the ship back on the desk and turned to her, his teasing smirk returning. “Still, it’s hard to believe someone as loud and feisty as you came from such a quaint little shop.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Valeria said, pushing off the doorframe and stepping closer. “I may be loud and fiesty, but I can be quiet when I want to be.”

“Is that so?” His voice was low now, the teasing edge giving way to something warmer, deeper.

“Mhmm.” She stepped even closer, the space between them shrinking to nothing. “But only in private.”

Lucanis’ gaze flicked to her lips, his expression softening in a way that made her heart skip a beat. “Good to know.”

The tension between them was thick, the air heavy. Valeria reached up, brushing her fingers along the edge of his jaw, up to the scars on his lips, and Lucanis’ breath hitched.

“Valeria,” he murmured, his voice a mixture of warning and longing.

“Lucanis,” she replied, her tone light.

She smiled, tilting her head slightly as she reached down and ran her fingers along the collar of his shirt, smoothing the fabric. “You know, you seem awfully quiet all of a sudden.”

“Do I?” he murmured, his voice even lower now, huskier.

“You do,” she teased, leaning in just enough for him to feel the warmth of her breath. “Don’t tell me a pirate is making you nervous.”

Lucanis let out a breath of laughter, but it hitched when Valeria slipped a hand behind his neck, her fingers tangling in his long hair. “I don’t get nervous,” he said, though his voice betrayed him.

“No?” Valeria’s smile turned wicked as she gently tugged him closer, her other hand resting lightly on his jaw. “Good. Then you won’t mind if I do this.”

She kissed him, slow and deliberate, savouring the way his tension melted away and the way he leaned into her. His hands found her waist, and she pressed closer, the heat of him intoxicating. Her hands found their way to his shoulders, his warmth seeping into her as their kiss deepened.

Her lips trailed along his jaw, tingling pleasantly with the brush of his beard. “Still not nervous?” she whispered.

“Not even a little,��� Lucanis replied, his hands tightening on her waist.

“Good.” She grinned as she pressed her lips against his neck, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw before pulling him back into another kiss. This one was fiercer, hungrier, and she felt him respond in kind, his hands sliding up her back and pulling her flush against him.

The room felt smaller, the air thicker, and Valeria was keenly aware of every point where their bodies touched. She guided him backward until the edge of the bed hit the back of his knees, and…

“Valeria?”

They sprang apart, breathless and flushed, the sound of her mother’s voice echoing through the shop.

“Andraste’s tits,” Valeria swore.

Lucanis, to his credit, looked unbothered, winking as he adjusted the collar of his shirt.

“Shut up,” Valeria hissed, though the corners of her mouth twitched upward.

“I didn’t say anything,” he replied with a chuckle.

Valeria rolled her eyes, annoyed – but amused. She glanced into a small looking glass to smooth her hair as the voice called again, closer this time.

“Valeria, are you here?”

“Yes, Mama!” Valeria called back, her voice steady despite the blush still heating her cheeks. She shot Lucanis a warning look, but he only grinned wider.

“Not a word,” she mouthed before heading for the door.

Lucanis followed after her, his smirk unapologetic. “As you wish, pirata.”