#THE INCREDIBLY FLUID ACTION | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

dreamingofaizawa · 3 months ago

Text

Pretty Young Thing

Retired!Older! Kakashi Hatake x AFAB!Kunoichi! Reader

***This piece is rated M for MATURE. 18+ entry only***

Warnings: Age gap (like 20+ years dude fr it's a GAP), longing, Kakashi being smitten, Kakashi being awkward and emotionally constipated, penetrative sex (p in v), fingering, cum eating, pussy slapping, creampies (wrap it before you tap it, people), squirting, overstimulation, VERY BRIEF dd/lg dynamic (I COULDN'T RESIST I'M SORRY)

Word Count: 4.5k

Author's Note: So. This was SUPPOSED to be a short drabble about Kakashi getting older and retiring and being interested in a cute, young, you. However, I couldn't stop my brain from braining and my hands from typing. It was gonna be less than 500 words. I don't know WHAT possessed me, but here I am.

ENJOY~

He's been forced into retirement. At least, that's what he tells everyone for the first few years, unable to fight the urge to get out in the field at every opportunity and being shot down. He sticks around the academy, and they allow him to still teach and help the next generation of ninja grow into well-rounded shinobi, for two reasons: he's an incredibly skilled and talented ninja that can pass on all of his skills, and he goes absolutely stir crazy trying to find something to do with his life after finishing Icha Icha.

Truthfully, he'd finished the series within the first 48 hours of his retirement, then re-read the damn series twice over before he finally got sick of it all. He couldn't take the lack of, well, anything.

Throughout his life he's fought countless battles, lost loved ones, and even the war took its toll on his body and his mind. But he misses it. Misses the action, misses the rush and the thrill. He's restless. His fingers twitch when he's sitting for too long, his legs bouncing and tapping on the floor when he's stood still in the kitchen waiting for a meal to finish on the stove. Even cooking can't seem to keep him occupied enough.

But he manages, eventually. Runs and works out in almost all of his free time, waking up at the crack of dawn to train himself for nothing every morning. Cooks every single meal and even bakes more desserts than he could possibly eat in his lifetime, brings all of his extra cupcakes and pies to his students when he finally has a new class. Not a team, no, he's been relegated to indoor classroom settings only. Nothing that could get him out in the field. And he tries to read new books. Nothing really catches his eye though, not enough to gerner his attention like he needs it to.

But then you show up.

You, a pretty young thing that's moved from the Hidden Mist village to come teach the young about your own village's history. It's part of the new initiative Naruto put in, once he'd finally reached his dream of becoming Hokage and got the village back in order. You're part of a group of eight shinobi, two from each major village, who were assigned to Konoha to begin a sort of fusion between the villages. Eight of the leaf's shinobi were sent out to the other villages as well.

He'd only managed to notice you while he was dropping off some of those extra desserts he'd made to occupy his time. You caught his eye like sunlight through stained glass, displaying to the students a few water-style jutsu that the Mist had perfected long ago and passed down through generations. He was mesmerized. You moved like the tides, body fluid like water, graceful and powerful. Clearly you'd mastered these techniques on an entirely different level, the motions so fluent you could probably do them in your sleep.

That's all it took for him to latch onto you. He's infatuated, really. After watching the demonstration, he actually offers you and your students the lemon-raspberry cookies he'd made last night. He talked with you for what must have been hours after that, all your classes having finished for the day and you strolled through Konoha. It was your first day, you'd said, and you were still trying to figure out the layout of the village.

"It's a lot bigger than the Mist. I didn't know what to expect if I'm being honest. I got here yesterday afternoon, and got lost on the way to school this morning." You laugh then, and he finds himself laughing with you. He offers to give you an escort whenever you find yourself needing one, offers to show you all the good food and the prettiest spots to laze in the sun.

It's about three months in that he finds himself actively looking for you during his morning run through the village. Not around the village, not anymore, ever since you'd moved here. He changed his entire running route to be able to spot you if you'd gotten lost, and then detoured to get you back on the path to school. Hell, he even walks you all the way to the front door of your classroom.

It takes him far too long to admit to himself that he's developing romantic feelings for you.

And he's a little ashamed about the whole thing.

He knows he's getting older, mid-late forties, dangerously close to fifty but he won't admit that to anyone if they ask. If his hair weren't already white, it'd be noticeably graying. His body's gotten just a little softer with age, but he stays as active as he can. He won't deny he's no spring chicken.

But you're young, maybe a little over half his age, can't be older than thirty. It's...strange. You're younger than any of Team 7, who he considers his children, but somehow you've circumvented that entirely. Maybe it's because he hadn't watched you grow up, maybe it's because you seem so accomplished and put-together, maybe it's because he still feels like he's a younger man than he is. But it's strange.

It's strange, and he feels a little guilty, especially when he's all alone late at night and his mind wanders a little too far back to Icha Icha. Especially when he's tenting his boxers and rubbing one out to ease the tension and suddenly all he can see in his mind is you. Especially when the post-nut clarity hits him like a truck, because he knows what people say and think about an age gap that large.

"When have you ever cared about what other people think, Kakashi?" Yamato tilts his head, pulling the emptying bottle of sake from his white-haired friend's hands.

"Yeah, yeah, I know."

"Besides, if it helps at all, here's what I think. I think you're both fully grown adults, and as long as she actually wants to be in a relationship and you don't force her hand, there's absolutely nothing wrong with it." Kakashi's head hits the back of the cracked leather seat of the booth, a short sigh escaping him. Yamato is right.

And then he's yearning for you. Looking for your face everywhere, seeking you out whenever he finds another class to teach, visiting you after you finish your classes to drop off another tray of sweets. He's walked you home more times than he can count now, and he's watched your eyes light up as the sun sets behind the treeline and paints the sky in brilliant orange and pink hues. You'd never seen such beautiful sunsets. You say the Hidden Mist is always cloudy or shrouded in a thick fog, so the sky is always gray unless the sun is at its peak and can shine down enough to break through the mist.

He loves watching you watch the sun set. He loves watching you teach the kids. He loves watching you perform jutsu he's never seen before. He loves walking you to class every morning even though you already know your way around the village by now. He loves being in your presence, and hearing your voice, and seeing you smile and hearing you laugh at all his stupid jokes.

He's so far gone. The worst part is that he won't do anything about it. Because there's no way a pretty, young thing like you could be any kind of interested in someone like him. Aged, retired, his lease on life far from new. Not a chance you'd even consider him a suitor in any fashion.

Right?

"Hey, Kakashi?" He hums in response, walking alongside you as you two take a stroll after school. It's a route you two take often, after he'd shown you the best spots to watch the sky at sunset.

"You go running every morning, don't you? To keep in shape?" Another hum, but this time he's looking at you and your strangely mischievous expression. To your credit, you're trying your absolute hardest to keep your face neutral as you plan out your next moves.

"Why do you ask?" You shrug, but it's far from nonchalant. It's forced, as if you needed to pretend to be indifferent. You're scheming.

"Oh, no reason."

"Right." He doesn't believe you. Even as you lapse into silence for a few minutes, he can see the way your entire body is coiled, ready to take off like a spooked rabbit. But you're not afraid, no, you're excited about something. Then, you stop in your tracks, and face him head-on. His head tilts, and you reach out with one hand, your entire palm laying flat on his chest where his heart beats entirely too fast for the pace you'd been walking at. And your smile. It's so sweet, so innocent, and the little giggle that slips out makes his head light.

"Tag, you're it!" Then you're gone. He blinks, and you've vanished, having initiated a game he hasn't played in years. He can see you, still, where you're watching from a tree branch nearby. You wait to see if he'll chase, see if he's actually feeling up to this little game. His head snaps over to you and you wave over at him, wiggling your fingers. His heart races in his chest, his fingers trembling, his feet stepping toward the treeline.

He's excited. His body moves before his mind can really make the executive decision, and he's standing beside you on your branch. But only briefly, and you're gone again before he can reach out and tag you. His vision narrows, watching you as you slip away from him once he gives chase. It's exhilarating, stimulating his years of trained reflexes and triggering his muscle memory like nothing in the classroom or proctoring chunin exams could ever do. He doesn't even realize where the two of you end up when you finally stop and let his hand come down on your shoulder.

You giggle again, and it makes him freeze, his chest heaving and nerves buzzing. But he doesn't move to run after tagging you.

"You've still got it, old man." It's...are you...teasing him? Yes, he realizes, you are. Because you turn around and face him and lay your palm over his heart again with the sweetest little grin.

"Care to come inside?" He swallows around the lump in his throat, blinking down at you as you chew at your bottom lip. Cute. He can't speak, so he nods, and then his heart leaps into his throat when you laugh and slip your hand into his, lacing your fingers together to pull him into your apartment which he's only just now realized you'd stopped in front of.

"Don't be so nervous, Kakashi. I promise I'll be good and give your poor heart a break." That is an extremely dangerous thing for you to say at the moment, his restraint suddenly wearing thinner than rice paper. It makes him stop once you've dragged him inside, his head spinning suddenly with all the depraved thoughts running through his mind. And you, sweet thing you are, look confused and almost concerned as you look back at him, look up at him, where he's stuck in your entryway.

"Are you alright?" You reach up to place the back of your hand on his forehead, but he flinches away and grabs your wrist in his own large hand.

"Kakashi?" His breathing is shallow, his heart still going a mile a minute, his fingers tightening around your wrist. He can feel your own pulse, and he swears it's nearly as fast as his.

"Just give me a second, sweetheart. I'm trying to be a gentleman." The worry drops off your face like a dead weight. He can just barely see the corner of your mouth tug into a wicked smile.

"Maybe I don't want you to be a gentleman." Those eyes snap to yours in an instant, and...is that lust decorating your features? There's no way...

You're stepping toward him, and he steps back, releasing your wrist as you back him against the door.

"Maybe I want you to get naked in my bed." The words have him sweating. He chuckles, a nervous sound really.

"I thought you were going to give my heart a break." You hum, lean into his space and rest both palms on his chest, fingers spreading just to feel him. You sigh dramatically, turning back into your home and striding away with an extra sway to your hips. Pure temptation is what you are.

"I guess, being as old as you are you need a break huh? That poor ticker of yours is gonna give out if you're not careful." The way you eye him as you walk away has a tent forming in his pants. Fuck. You're right, his heart's gonna explode but it's not going to be from old age. He steps toward you, following you like a damn puppy, all the way to your bedroom where you turn and face him once again, a devious smile on your pretty lips.

"If I haven't made myself clear enough, Kakashi, here's another hint." He can't shut his eyes when you begin to undress in front of him. He wants so badly to give you privacy, to be a damn gentleman like he said. You're making that impossible. You're naked, completely bared to him and his gaze, dressed in nothing but pure sin. He doesn't back away when you approach him this time.

"You're a smart man, Kakashi. You've got all the information you need in that handsome head of yours. The question is: will you use that information to your advantage tonight?" He swallows, heat crawling over his skin the closer you get. Your naked breasts are pressing into his shirt and his fingers are itching to touch you.

"I don't want to take advantage of anything. Especially you." The admission makes you smile as you reach over and grasp his hands, tugging them and laying them on your very naked hips.

"Honestly, it feels like I'm the one taking advantage of you, with how little you're reacting to all of this." Thick fingers twitch, digging into your skin, and you loop your arms around his neck. He's going to die, and he won't even be mad about it.

Then he feels it, the slight tremor in your fingertips where they graze the hairs at his nape. There's the tiniest shake to your legs, the slightest pinch in your brows. Your bottom lip is being chewed once again, your jaw trembling. You're nervous. You're nervous like he is, waiting for him to reciprocate any of what you're giving him. Fuck. He's done for.

The little gasp you let out when he grasps your hips and twists, pinning you to the wall, fuels all of his movements. He's gained a new confidence.

"You're so pretty. Fuck, I can't believe this is real." You gasp again as he yanks his mask down and buries his face in your neck, licking up your pulsepoint and sucking a bruise into your skin.

"Fucking finally. You don't even know how long I've been dying to get you in here, Kakashi." He groans into you as you claw at his clothes, disrobing him as much as you can from where you're stuck beneath his palms.

"Oh yeah? You been thinking about me, pretty girl?" You nod, whine, unbutton his shirt and tug it down his shoulders. When he pulls back to look at you, you practically drool. He's still fit, sure, but there's a softness to him that you find irresistable. The layer of fat makes his gut pudge just a bit, and his arms are still bulging muscle but they're softened by time. He's bigger than you'd expected, wider and stronger and beefier.

"I want you to fuck me until I can't remember my own name." He almost cums in his pants, like a goddamn teenage virgin. All reservations are thrown promptly out the nearest window, his lips on yours in an instant. His hands are all over you, toying with your nipples and squeezing the flesh of your ass. Yours are in his hair, and he lifts you with ease only to drop you onto the bed. You whine when your bodies part, but then you watch him yank his belt off in record time and drop both his trousers and boxers to the floor.

He watches as your pupils dilate and black swallows up your irises.

What a fucking ego boost, huh?

You're about to crawl toward him, you desperately want to feel him in your throat, want to claw at his thighs and feel his fingers tug roughly at your hair as you suck him dry. Instead he crawls over you and pins you to the bed with one hand at your throat.

"Oh no, not tonight baby. I won't last." He kisses your pout away, then sucks more marks into your throat as he reaches down between your legs with thick fingers. The moan you let out has his hips jerking forward, one finger slipping effortlessly into your slick heat. You're absolutely drenched. You whine again, rocking your hips into his hand.

"Don't tease, 'Kashi. Please." Well when you beg so nicely, how could he refuse? A second finger is added, then a third, and when he curls them up and uses his thumb to rub circles into your swollen clit, your whole body arches off the sheets as your breath is nearly punched from your lungs. It doesn't take long at all before you're cumming all over his fingers, soaking his hand and your bed.

"Fuck, do that again, pretty thing." Legs shaking, chest heaving as you gasp for air, skin dewy with sweat from the quickest orgasm of your life. He's already moving, yanking you to the edge of the bed, ignoring your yelp completely as he kneels before you. You whine when you realize the position he's in.

"No fair." He chuckles, and you jolt, his breath hot over your still sensitive pussy.

"Sorry, sweetness. I can't help myself. Be a good girl and cum on my tongue." Then he's eating you out like you're his last meal. His nose nudges your clit with every movement, his deep moans vibrate through your body, and when his fingers find your clit again to give it some much-needed attention, you're falling apart again. Just like he asked. He can see everything from this angle, the way your thighs twitch as they clamp around his head, the way your stomach clenches so tight as you cum, the way your neck is completely exposed as your back arches beautifully off the bed. Sweat glistens over your skin, your hands clawing at his hair and the sheets beside your head.

He's too close to cumming.

Satisfied that you're wiped out, he crawls back over you and swipes a few stray strands of hair from your sweaty forehead. You're still trembling, two quick orgasms in a row making you feel like an exposed nerve ending.

"You okay, baby?" It takes you a second to refocus, but when you do you're beaming.

"Yeah, I'm great. Still want you to fuck me, though." He groans.

"You can't say things like that, love. I'll burst before I get near you." You chuckle, lay your head to the side.

"That's hot. Let me guess, you'll have to use a little blue pill to recover after that?" You damn minx. There's a little shriek that escapes you when he flips you over and yanks your hips up, pinning your face to the bed with one hand in your hair as he hunches over you.

"Careful, little girl, teasing me is dangerous. Wouldn't want to break you so soon." Desperate is how he'd describe your responding moan. With his dick pressed up against your cunt, he feels the way it clenches.

"Break me." Fuck. Fuck. In one hard thrust he's buried deep in your heat, your cunt gripping tight around him for dear life as you moan. He's not small, and the stretch has your eyes rolling back in your head, has your toes curling and your spine coiling tight.

He refuses to cum before you do. He's got an iron will, he refuses to cum early.

You're gasping as his hips slam into the fat of your ass, all the strength he possesses powering every thrust, hands bruising your hips as they claw into your skin like anything less would rip you away from him. He can see your face reddening. You've been fucked so dumb you forgot to breathe, and somehow that makes his cock throb inside you. He stills, curling over your back and burying himself so deep you swear you can feel him in your throat. Your eyes roll back into your skull almost painfully as he brushes your hair from your face, leaves a sweet little kiss on your cheek.

"Breathe, sweetheart. Can't have you passing out on me yet." Your gasp is shuddering, lungs barely inflating with the hiccupping breaths you take.

"There you go. Such a good girl for me, aren't you?" Then you're gone. He can feel you clench around his cock, feel your entire body go stiff and tremble as you cum. It's not a full orgasm, but it's intense, and you've been tipped right over the edge by the praise he'd whispered into your ear.

You're gone, and then he's gone.

He thrusts twice before letting go, filling you up with so much cum it leaks from between your legs and trails down the insides of your thighs in thick rivulets. You're still shaking as he pulls out of you and flips you over, petting your body as you come back down. Tears had fallen at some point, streaking your skin.

"How are you feeling, baby?" Your legs are trembling as you let them fall apart, exposing yourself to him again. The sight of you, absolutely ruined, his cum leaking from your cunt, has his cock painfully jumping to life again, just barely.

"Feel good. So good." Then, being the little temptress you are, you reach down between your legs and finger his cum back into you, moaning and jolting at the sensitivity. Then you bring your fingers to your lips and suck both your juices off the digits, not breaking eye contact with him.

"It's incredible how you can still want more after that." You whine, but smile.

"Of course I want more. I always want more of you. But you don't have to give me any more if you're not feeling up to it." He hums, low and throaty. It sends a very visible shiver up your spine.

"I didn't say that, baby." Effortlessly, he scoops you up and sits up against the headboard, tucking you into his lap with your legs spread over his. One of his massive arms bars over yours, pinning you against his chest while the other hand reaches down and begins toying with your clit. You jolt, still sensitive, squirming to try to get away from his deft fingers.

"What happened to always wanting more?" It's a tease to finally get back at you. It's his turn now, to fluster you and pull you apart. When you don't stop squirming and whining, his palm pulls away and comes back down, a swift smack catching your clit and you squeal.

"Stay still, baby girl. I'm only giving you what you wanted. Greedy little thing you are, don't back out on me now." You sob, your breathing hiccupped and quick while he rubs slow, deliberate circles over the sensitive bud, and you shake your head.

"Not backing out. Feels good, daddy." His hips buck, his moan is loud in your ear, guttural and wrecked. He didn't even think he'd like that kind of thing, but you. Damn it all. He smacks your pussy again, just a little harder, and your moans are matching his as your body recoils and arches as far off of his as you can manage beneath his brute strength. Another smack, another moan, you're shaking again. He's hard again. Harder than he's been in a long time, the throb in his dick constant and needy. He lifts your hips and lines up with you, then sinks you down on his length. You're crying, his dick curving up into your g-spot so well and his fingers toying with your clit making you dizzy.

"Come on, babygirl. Come on daddy's cock again, be good for me." He smacks your clit again, and he can feel every clench and flutter of your cunt around him. You're so close. He brings his hand down again, targeting your poor, swollen clit, his other hand dropping to press into the pouch of your stomach where he can feel his own dick through your belly, and that's all it takes for you to fall apart all over again. But this time, you're screaming, your body thrashing so hard he's having a hard time keeping you against his chest, and warm liquid sprays over his thighs and pools down over his balls. It all has him coming undone as well, a single low grunt before he's shoving his dick deep inside you and emptying whatever he's got left.

Then you're both boneless, panting, sweaty messes on your bed. It takes a long time for either of you to move, the sweat cooling over your bodies and making you both sticky. He thinks maybe you've fallen asleep, but is proven wrong when you whimper as you shift, his soft cock slipping from your cunt and making him hiss from the sensitivity. You roll over, off of him, and lay your head on his chest. Your laugh is light, but riddles with exhaustion.

"I think I almost died there, Kakashi." He snorts out a laugh, tugging you close.

"Glad I can make you feel good. You don't regret any of this?" It's adorable, how you tilt your head in confusion, lift yourself to hover above him.

"Why would I?" He shuts his eyes for the admission.

"I'm not exactly young, sweetheart. A lot of people would say I'm too old for you." You scoff, press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"Like I give a damn what they think. I'm old enough to know what I want, and I'm also old enough to make my own decisions." One eye peeks open, staring up at you with more than a little hesitation. You only roll your eyes.

"If I didn't want this, I wouldn't have stripped naked in front of you in my own bedroom. Come on, I thought you were smarter than this Kakashi. Isn't old age supposed to come with wisdom?" He groans, dragging a hand down his face.

"Enough with the damn old jokes. It makes me feel..."

"Old?" He deadpans, you laugh.

"Okay, okay. I'll stop. For now." His sigh is heavy, but you know he loves the teasing. You lean down once again to give him a peck on the lips, then pry yourself from his grasp and yank him to stand with you.

"Come on, we gotta shower and I gotta change the sheets." His hum is amused as he looks back at the mess you made, then back at you as you drag him toward what he assumes is the bathroom.

#this was supposed to be a SFW DRABBLE #WTF HAPPPENED? I DON'T KNOW #WHERE DID THE SMUT COME FROM? I ALSO DON'T KNOW #hatake kakashi #kakashi smut #kakashi x reader #kakashi hatake #kakashi naruto #naruto smut

556 notes · View notes

flying-fangirls · 10 months ago

Text

Not to be an English major, but my genuine favorite part of Malevolent is how it handles its themes. Overall Malevolent tackles such profound and interesting ideas to chew on, but it's specifically the approach it takes to those ideas that really gets me going.

For example, one of the major themes across several seasons and characters is identity. The podcast asks pretty standard questions like "How do you define yourself?" and "How do others define you?" But it doesn't choose to stop there! It constantly expands on that idea, and it also asks things like "Which of those definitions is the 'real' you?" and "Are any of them right, are any of them wrong?" and "Is there even a singular definitive version of you?"

Malevolent works out from one idea and poses all these rich lines of discussion and questioning, and then just. Doesn't provide an answer! Or, at least, not a single, one-size-fits-all answer. Instead, it gives us multiple possibilities:

John's arc tells us that your identity is what you make— what you say, what you decide— and no one else's definition of you matters. Arthur's arc tells us that you can get stuck in a rigid, self-deprecating personal identity, so you need others' perspectives to help you see and love the real "you." Larson's story tells us that you do not have the right to selectively accept/deny parts of your identity and actions, and that others can see the whole of "you" whether or not you take accountability for it. Noel's story tells us that you can choose what parts of your past define you, and that leaving behind all the other versions of yourself can be beautiful and empowering. Kayne's story tells us that leaving behind other versions of yourself is akin to murder, killing off the pieces that you don't like and pretending like you've evolved past your own self. Yellow's arc tells us that your identity is fluid and can easily be influenced or manipulated by what others tell you, and by that point you've changed your own self-definition to something entirely new that can be just as true or untrue as the old you.

With all of these characters and with every other character throughout the show, we get a unique answer to the question "What is identity?" And if you look further at all the characters, you can break down their different arcs over the seasons and find even more answers just within that one character's development and story. And some of the answers we get correspond, and some of them contradict, and none of them are the right answer, and all of them are the right answer.

Malevolent takes one idea, and then it crafts an incredibly nuanced and humanistic exploration of said idea that adapts with respect to whatever situation or character it is applied to. And it uses this approach with all of its themes: identity, morality, guilt, grief, love, hope, etc.

Malevolent knows that life is messy, that people are complicated and contradictory and diverse and ever-changing, that no part of the universe or humanity can ever be explained or defined in a simple manner. Malevolent knows all that, and it wants to help us understand that too.

Malevolent shows us that nothing can ever be easily understood or answered, and it shows us that that fact is beautiful.

#anyways #sorry for more overly-sappy rambling #i am incapable of ever being normal about this podcast #malevolent #malevolent podcast #malevolent analysis #cherrys rambles

789 notes · View notes

illyrianbitch · 11 months ago

Text

An Education in Malice — Part Seven

Pairing: Vanserra!Reader x Azriel

Summary: With the sharp tongue of your notorious family, you are Azriel's most tantalizing challenge yet. It only takes one small meeting before you both realize that the line between hate and desire is dangerously thin.

Warnings: brief mentions of abuse, beron being a pos, deep self-reflection for both az & reader, a conversation, a confession, and a turning point

Word Count: 5.6k

a/n: this is not properly proofread yet, i couldnt bring myself to read it fully since i was getting self-critical and wouldve never posted

Part Six | Series Masterlist

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

The early morning mist still clung to the open fields as you crossed them. Eris stood alone in the expanse, throwing a ball for his hounds. The movement was fluid and practiced, and you found your mind wandering to memories of decades prior —- memories where Eris stood in the same spot, throwing the same ball at younger pup versions of the dogs. Laney trotted beside you as you approached, her pace quickening as she saw the others.

A brisk chill made you pull your coat tighter, but the fabric did little to ward off the cold. It was always peaceful out here, away from the burdens and bustle of the court itself, and Autumn mornings had a cool air that made you feel real, made your skin feel alive.

Eris’s eyes were already on you as you approached him, eyebrows raising momentarily as you took a stand next to him. You mirrored the action back to him, crossing your arms and pulling them tight against your body.

“What’s that look for?”

He gave a casual shrug. "Surprised you've spared some time for me in your incredibly busy schedule.”

You scowled. “You’re so dramatic.”

He chuckled, a low sound that seemed to vibrate through the crisp air, and his lips twitched upwards in amusement at your annoyance. “You’ve been gone a lot.”

Your gaze bounced around his face. He seemed tired— more so than usual, and the freckles on his nose seemed to be less prominent with the lack of color in his skin. You casted an absentminded glance towards the overcast sky before meeting your brother's eyes again.

“Have I?”

Eris hummed. “You have.”

He pulled at the cuffs of his sleeves.

“I’m surprised you noticed,” you said, “You’ve been really busy too.”

Your answer pulled another raise of his brows.

“Of course I noticed,” he said, a teasing glint in his eyes that matched the amusement in his tone. “It was so quiet here without you terrorizing everyone.”

You rolled your eyes and Eris grinned at his own words, a look of satisfaction rolling through his features as you scowled deeper.

“You’re not funny,” you said.

He let out a wistful sigh. “On the contrary, little sister,” he mused, “I’m hilarious.”

You threw him a withering glare and his grin widened. He nudged his shoulder against yours. A few hounds scampered back to him, Flint proudly carrying a small red ball in his slobbering jaws. Laney bounded alongside, followed closely by four hounds.

Eris moved gracefully, bringing his body down into a squat to offer a flat palm to Flint. The ball landed in his hand with a small thud.

"The male you’re sleeping with, do you care for him?"

Eris’s voice was so calm, so casual, that you almost didn’t catch what he’d asked you. He didn’t bother to look at you.

You took a sharp intake of breath, looking down at him with widened eyes. “What?”

Eris stood up straight as he tossed the ball back into the distance effortlessly. You watched the hounds race after it, Laney's determined strides putting her ahead of the pack as they joined the others in the field. When you looked back at Eris, he was studying you— waiting for your response.

“Well?”

Your heartbeat quickened and you frowned, pulling your arms tighter against your chest. "What are you talking about?"

He raised an eyebrow, casually pulling a small handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his hands. "Did you think I wouldn't find out?"

You stared at him, feeling a knot of tension tighten in your chest. Your nails dug into your skin through the fabric of your coat. Eris continued, his voice steady. "You've done a great job at covering the scent. But you can't fool me. Don't forget who taught you those tricks."

His eyes were simmering as they met yours again, the amber in them flickering with something guarded— something concerned. You took a steadying breath as you weighed your options. The easiest one was to deny that there was any male at all, to attempt to outplay your brother at the one game he knew best. But it would be foolish to believe that could truly work. Your mind raced again.

The best lies are the ones with truth, Eris always said, you can get away with anything if you approach it right, if you take control of the conversation.

You let out a breath. “I was hoping you wouldn’t find out.”

Truth.

He maintained his heavy gaze. "Is it one of my soldiers?"

You grimaced at his words, letting your face fall into one of slight disgust. "You'd really want to know if I was sleeping with one of your men?"

Take control of the conversation.

The words seem to hit their target as Eris’s lips formed a deep frown. His nose scrunched as he processed the words. He gave you a dismissive hand wave. “Nevermind.”

You gave him a tight-lipped smile. “That’s what I thought.”

A moment of silence passed but Eris’s gaze didn’t leave your face. You forced yourself to look into the distance, to watch the hounds as they chased each other in the grass.

"You didn't answer me.”

You took a breath. "About what?"

"Do you care for him?"

The words ran through you in a wave, one entirely too heavy for your liking.

Months ago, the answer would have been obvious— so obvious that the question itself would’ve seemed like a sick joke. Months ago, it would've been instant. No. You did not care for Azriel. He could've died and you would've celebrated; would’ve laughed at the idea of karma finally finding its way to the family you disliked so heavily.

But something in you had changed recently, changed in a way that made you hesitate at your answer.

You and Azriel hadn't slept together in weeks. And even those times had been a physical release, something meaningless yet sickly sweet. Yet, the moments since had become even more intimate—the times you caught yourself joking with him, caught your own lingering gaze on his form.

You’d gone back for him— and you’d repeated that moment in your head multiple times since, thinking back to that tug you felt in your chest, the strange guilt you felt the minute you’d winnowed away. You’d gone back and fought alongside him, had managed to heal him in a way you'd never been able to do for Eris, never been able to do even for yourself.

You looked at your brother and let out a sharp breath of air.

"No. I don’t."

The words felt forced, strained, and you worried that Eris would see through it entirely— would force you to admit a truth you weren’t sure existed. But he only narrowed his eyes, tilted his head, and then nodded.

“Good,” he said, “That would only make matters worse.”

There was something in his tone that made you run cold and you turned your body to face him, watching as his eyes shifted impatiently, the action almost nervous.

“Eris,” you said cautiously, “What is it?”

A flicker of something ran through his face, something that looked awfully like guilt, like sadness.

“Y/n” he began, but you lifted a hand up, shaking your head at his attempts to soften the conversation, to gently lead into whatever topic had him so bothered.

”Don’t,” you said firmly. “Don’t do that. Don’t use that voice. I’m not a child to be soothed. Tell me.”

Eris sighed. “He’s entertaining the idea of marrying you off to garner more support.”

A name wasn’t needed as your stomach dropped and your hands fell slack at your sides. “No,” you said, shaking your head. “That’s not true.”

Eris’s shoulders slumped. “It’s why I’ve been so busy. I looked into it. It’s true.”

A strange buzzing sensation began to fill your ears. You shook your head as if to clear it, as if the words Eris would say next could change the ones he had already said.

“No,” you repeated firmer. “Brides are taken at their prime, when they become of age. I’ve been of age for centuries. I- No.”

Eris stepped closer. “He’s seeing it as a way to strengthen inner-court allies, to consolidate power in a more immediate way. Access to our bloodline is an incredible link to influence, any of his men will take the chance.”

Your chest constricted as the words sank in and you felt your hands begin to tremble, felt an unsteady flicker at your fingertips. You met Eris’s gaze, eyes wide, breathing heavy.

“He’s punishing me.”

Eris swallowed hard and his eyes filled with a deep, unspoken sorrow. He nodded, unable to find the right words.

”Just give me some time,” Eris finally said, pulling you in by your shoulder. He lowered his head to meet your gaze, his voice falling to a softer, lower tone. “I’ll figure something out, okay? I-I just need some time.”

It seemed as if he was trying to convince himself of his own words too. So you only nodded, looking into the distance once more, eyes tracing the circles the hounds ran around each other.

Even in the open air, in this freedom, they were still pets— still animals that were owned, bred throughout history for a singular purpose.

You’d never realized how much you had in common until now.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

He stepped out of the bath, feeling as the water trailed down his form and the tension in his muscles eased. The steam swirled around him, briefly shrouding him in a comforting fog, and his shadows followed his movements slowly— leisurely.

Azriel’s wing was healed now and he thought of you whenever he moved it. He remembered how he had slipped into unconsciousness at your touch, how your focused, almost tender face was the last thing he saw before succumbing to the darkness. He thought of you in the moonlight, thought of how your voice softened as you talked about Lucien. Most of all, he thought about the words he’s said himself, words intended to be an apology—- a compliment, even. And how you’d recoiled at them as if he had injured you gravely.

He dressed slowly, his mind being lured in every direction but ultimately falling back to you. Azriel glanced down at his hands, at the scars that marred his skin. Amongst his burns were scars from battles, from missions, and if he squinted hard enough, he could envision the blood that stained them still, even after the liquid had been washed off.

Every act he committed was etched into his skin, acts done out of loyalty, out of a need to protect those he loved; a need to be important, to be anything but weak.

Azriel had felt at sea recently, lost even in his own court. He felt like a failure as he watched Rhysand’s worry about Koschei grow throughout the days. He was a spymaster— a warrior. Yet nothing he did seemed to help. His family was restless, on edge, and he felt a bitter pang as his shadows updated him on their every move. Feyre and Rhys had learned to soothe Nyx at night and Cassian and Nesta had begun planning their mating ceremony—something large, grand, and worth her time. He didn’t even want to think of Elain, to think of her alongside the brother that even Azriel’s shadows had grown to like.

He was happy for them. At least, he told himself so. But he couldn’t shake his feeling of unease, as if he was on unsettled ground. Beneath it all was a sickening sense of jealousy. Everyone— even Amren— had found a purpose, had even found a love that softened them. Azriel hadn’t.

Maybe that was why he liked the way he felt when he met with you, liked how it had given him a sense of purpose— even if he disliked what that purpose was for. He felt a clarity now, a focus he hadn’t felt in a long time.

It seemed like a sick joke from the Mother, to give him a sense of purpose when he was alongside you, to find satisfaction in helping you support Eris, the very male Azriel despised with every fiber of his being. If he had grown to respect you in some form, did that mean he respected Eris, too?

The thought made him want to vomit.

It was becoming far too easy for you to cloud his thoughts, to overshadow any duties or obligations he had. Normally he would fight against it, burying himself in work, training, anything to keep his mind occupied. But today, he welcomed it, indulged in the sweet sin of your face in his mind. His shadows drifted around him, whispering in his ears the very things he knew himself. He was beginning to feel seen in a way he hadn’t felt before, by eyes that had seen the same life as him.

And it terrified him as much as it comforted him.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

You didn’t have time, as it turned out.

Beron had moved into preparations swiftly—faster than you or Eris anticipated. One night he found you, his eyes gleaming with a cruel satisfaction that had Laney preparing to bear her teeth at him in a snarl— you were grateful he didn’t notice, grateful that she listened to your commands.

”You finally have a purpose to fulfill,” he declared. “I never understood why the Mother cursed me with a daughter as my final kin, but now I understand.”

You’d felt your identity slipping away as soon as he growled those words. In the days since, he forced your mother to tightly pull back your hair each night, to help dress you as a prized calf and parade you at his events for Autumn’s most influential— most cunning—figures. They eyed you with calculating, hungry interest, deciding whether you were suitable for themselves or their sons.

You sat at a table now, the only female among a sea of men. Your mother was never allowed at events like this, never really seen unless she was forced to cling to your fathers arm like a piece of fine jewelry. The plate of food in front of you was half the size of the portions heaped on the plates of the males surrounding you. If you had the energy, you would’ve found it funny. But you didn’t.

You felt like a prey in a pack of savage beasts, their eyes raking over you with a hunger that made you feel sick; made you feel dirty, as if you were covered in a grime you could never fully wash off.

Beron leaned over and placed his hand over yours. Instantly, you clenched and straightened, a wave of revulsion washing over you in a tide. His grip tightened and he leaned in further, lips curling into a sickening, warning smile.

”Smile,” he commanded tightly. “No one wants a scowling bride.”

As a warning, a flame flickered on his palm and a searing pain spread across your exposed skin. You felt the burn, sharp and cruel, but you didn��t dare flinch. You met his eyes and held them— held that cold, hardened gaze, the same one you saw when you’d look in the mirror, in your eyes that looked exactly like his.

This was your defiance of tonight. If anything, you could do this. You could match him.

But your father’s smile widened, seemingly satisfied enough with your compliance, and he leaned back, releasing your hand. The burn throbbed on your skin but you remained still.

You could feel another gaze on you, distinct from the predatory stares of the other males. This gaze was warm, comforting, like the gentle heat of a fire on a cold night or the familiar embrace of a childhood blanket.

You didn’t dare look over. You couldn’t bear the thought of seeing the concern in Eris’s eyes from across the table. It would break you in some way you couldn’t control. With the familiar sense of heat underneath your skin, you sat up straighter, tightened your strained grip around the fork you held, and imagined how it would look in the eyes of every male around you— all but your brother.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Azriel wasn’t sure why he hurried as much as he did— why his wings seemed to go faster, why his winnowing was almost instant. But here he was, standing in front of the cabin he’d become so familiar with, listening as his shadows told him that you seemed troubled.

It was the job of a lone shadow of his to trail you, to keep an eye on this cabin— on this place, and to alert Azriel if anything was of importance. It was a precautionary measure at the beginning of your little arrangement, a way to keep track of everything going on, to always have something watching you— the most unpredictable factor in his life, the thing he never saw coming. But he wasn’t sure why he’d continued to send that shadow out even after you both had come to a sort of agreement, a sort of truce born of a miniscule understanding.

Perhaps it was for reasons like this, for your strange appearances in the Spring Court at nearly four in the morning.

He knew in his gut that something was wrong even before his shadows told him.

You looked so put together— that was the first thing Azriel noticed. The dress you wore was entirely too formal, lacking in the usual flare that accompanied your presence; and your hair was tied back tightly, so neatly and simple it seemed constraining. The way you sat on the grass now, before him, almost resembled the stance of a small child looking at the sky in a sorrowful form of prayer, waiting for a star to shoot by for a wish of yours to be placed upon it.

“Why do you always do that?”

Your voice rang out clear and goosebumps crawled on Azriel’s skin at the sound, a chill making its way through his body. You hadn’t moved, hadn’t bothered looking away from your stare at the sky. Part of him was tempted to remain still, to back further into the darkness that surrounded him.

“Stare at me afar like a creep?” You added.

Finally, you turned to look at where he stood and Azriel found himself stepping forward, allowing his shadows to disappear around his body. He didn’t offer you an answer, opting to flex his hands— his clammy, tense hands— as he continued to walk forward. You followed his every movement.

“What are you doing here?”

Azriel’s voice was neutral, monotone.

You raised your eyebrows. “I could ask you the same thing.”

He frowned at the response. He’d expected something snippier, something more you— he’d grown accustomed to it, to the snark that he’d return easily. He took a moment to think, to rummage through his thoughts like an overly-cluttered junk drawer.

“Don’t you think this is a bit pathetic,” Azriel said, “Sulking on the dirty grass in the middle of the night?”

His voice was stern. But as much as he’d attempted to ensure it was devoid of emotion, there was a trace of something in his words, a hint of concern. A part of him, one larger than he’d care to admit, was pushing him to be softer, to tell you he was worried, to offer help pick you up. But he refrained. You would push him away the minute you sensed a semblance of pity. This he already knew.

You gave a humorless laugh and there was a strained sense of sorrow that Azriel recognized instantly. You stood up. “I guess so. You’d know a thing or two about what being pathetic looks like.”

He gritted his teeth and took a steadying breath. His shadows curled around his wrists and he fought with them as they strained to extend further, to slither down his body and towards you.

There was a tense silence before he spoke again. "I heard Beron is arranging your marriage."

Your head snapped to the side and your eyes met his— the fire in them still visible in the moonlight, but entirely too dull compared to what they’d looked like weeks ago. You took in his form, the straightness of his posture and the tuck of his wings. Even at this hour he was clad in his fighting leathers, poised and deadly like the image of ruin.

“How do you know that?”

Azriel gave a small, almost nonchalant shrug. “I have spies in every court.”

“Doesn't it defeat the purpose if you tell me?”

“Wouldn't you find them, anyways?

Despite yourself, the corner of your lips twitched upwards. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

You stared at each other for a moment and Azriel’s eyes seemed to soften with an internal conflict. He cocked his head at you and you forced yourself to look away, finding new interest on the ground below you.

“Is that why you’re here?”

When you met his eyes once more, he took a sharp intake of breath.

“I have nowhere else to go.”

Azriel’s mind reeled again. While he felt stuck in place, forged to the very ground he stood on, his brain threw him into every memory he held of you— back to the first times he’d seen you standing alongside Eris.

He saw the memories in an entirely different light. Before, Eris had domineered over you, had poised his body in front of you and your mother in a way to assert his dominance as the heir to the throne, to remind those around him that you were both females at the end of the day. But now, Az saw it as what it truly was: protection. A bodily shield similar to that he’d done himself to Morrigan, to Amren, to his High Lady.

You never came to official meetings, were never seen at political gatherings. There were multiple reasons for this, Azriel had gathered. First and foremost, you were a female. And to Beron, females had no place in politics—- no place in his court beyond eye candy and child bearing. His wife was always there, yes, but she never spoke. Never did so much as lift her hand. Azriel could’ve believed that she was nothing more than a doll, not truly living; not truly alive. He didn’t even know her name beyond her title, Lady of Autumn, a female that belonged to her court; nameless beyond the one thing that established her— her husband.

And beyond being a female, you were their youngest, their only daughter. You were to be protected, to be molded into the perfect wife, ready to be sold off to the highest— and most powerful— male. He’d never bothered to think about that last fact. He never cared. But as you stood in front of him, he indeed felt bothered, felt unsettled at the idea.

“I feel bad for the male who will be tied to you for the rest of his life.”

“Because I’m that awful?” You scanned his face, your voice veering between wounded and sardonic. “Here I thought you’d be jealous because he’d get to fuck me for the rest of mine.”

Something flashed in Azriel’s eyes and the shadows on his face grew harsher as he clenched his jaw. But then, for a moment, his eyes seemed to soften, turning from a molten brown to a soft honey. “That’s not what I meant.”

"Then what did you mean?"

He took a deep breath and you could’ve sworn you saw a twitch in his hand, saw it move out slightly before he pulled it back in, as if he wanted to reach out, to place a hand on yours.

"Ownership doesn't suit you. Any male who thinks he has a claim on you is in for a rude awakening.”

You looked away. "It's not like I have a choice."

"You always have a choice.”

You met his gaze again, a dry laugh bubbling up. Azriel’s face was serious, sincere, and it made your blood boil with a sense of resentment that felt comical. You could taste it: the bitter feeling in your throat and the burning in your stomach, like something making its way from your esophagus to your mouth.

"Of course you would say that."

Azriel's brow furrowed slightly and his body tensed in response. "What does that mean?”

You shook your head, running your tongue along your teeth before you turned to face him fully, jaw tight, teeth clenched. Azriel wore a sense of self-loathing like second skin. You could smell it on him, could see it in the way he walked, in the way he interacted with those around him. You noticed it from the first time you’d met, watched as he longingly looked at Morrigan, as that self-loathing filled his eyes and dripped into his features. You knew the feeling well, knew how to recognize it.

And you wanted to laugh at the fact. The male before you hated himself so much because he had room to do so. He was powerful enough to let it fester, was comfortable enough to set aside time for his self-pity. The Night Court, despite how much you hated it, had freedoms that yours would never give you. Rhysand granted his family privileges that they never acknowledged. You felt the urge to tell Azriel exactly that, to shove a finger into his chest and chastise him for such foolish, childish sentiments.

But instead, you found yourself asking him a question that took both of you by surprise.

“Why do you despise me?”

Azriel blinked and his shadows stilled, their movements halting around his body. “What?”

“Tell me,” you said, “Tell me why you hate me.”

Azriel’s eyes hardened. “Eris–”

You cut him off. “I asked why you hated me. Not my brother.”

His mouth tightened and he remained silent, his wings twitching slightly as if they bore the weight of his thoughts. The shadows that usually danced around him like a protective barrier were now motionless, and you felt a twisting sensation in your gut, a cold, coiling dread.

"You know,” you said, your voice low, a hint of anger lacing your words. "It's not only hate that I have felt for you."

He stiffened. "Then what else?"

"Jealousy," you admitted, the word leaving a sour taste in your mouth. “Bitter, suffocating jealousy. I'm envious of you, Shadowsinger. You have this court that you love, this family that can get away with anything and you don't even acknowledge it.”

You’d always been a jealous person. By the gods, you’d tried your best to get over it. But it was rooted in something deeper than superficial envy— especially when it came to Azriel.

There was something about the moonlight, about these darkened skies, that made it easier to be honest, something that almost compelled a sense of vulnerability. And as you stared at him, felt his gaze burn into yours, you felt a cold shiver of realization roll throughout your skin.

“I’ve come to realize that you and I are entirely too similar for my liking. And I am so unbelievably envious that I’m punished for everything you are praised for.”

Azriel stilled, his movements slowing as though your words had struck him with the force of a physical blow. His chest tightened and an urgency wrapped itself around his ribs like a vise, constricting with each breath.

Azriel had always hated you. It was a visceral, almost instinctive reaction that he never fully understood until now. You were a mirror of him—a reflection of the darkness he harbored within himself, the parts of him that he loathed. Your cunning, your ruthlessness, this sense of loyalty that left you desperate, that led you to tearing apart pieces of yourself. All qualities he recognized, all qualities he despised in himself.

It was easier to hate you than to face the self-loathing that gnawed at him. To acknowledge that you were a product of your environment, just as he was. But as much as he tried to detest you, as much as he tried to push you away, his hatred for you had spilled into desire, something sickly sweet and thick. It ran down his body and even after he’d scrubbed himself clean, even after he’d rid himself of his urges as he took you from behind—- it was still there, coating his skin. He was unable to rid himself of the burning that had settled in his chest, the longing he refused to admit; because that hatred, that desire, had grown into something else, something just as hot, just as all consuming.

It had turned into admiration.

His expression softened, a flicker of something—regret, perhaps—crossing his face. "You’re right."

A silence settled between you, thick and heavy. Azriel's gaze wavered, his eyes searching yours as if he were sifting through the layers you held. You felt a flutter in your chest, a vulnerable ache that made you want to recoil and step closer all at once.

You stared at him, at the way his wings perched over him like a dark, protective shroud, at how his shadows seemed to radiate off him in waves. The heat beneath your skin intensified, a simmering fire that burned hotter the longer you looked at him. Your eyes drifted to his wing, to the area that had been torn open the last time you saw him. The scar had healed, but the memory of it was still fresh in your mind. You looked back at his face, at the way he hadn’t dared to look away.

Azriel's face was hauntingly and devastatingly beautiful, a creature of the night, perfectly in his element under the moonlit sky. Your chest felt tight, as if your ribs were being pulled apart, making it hard to breathe. You couldn’t save Eris. You couldn’t outrun the fate your father had set for you.

You wanted it all to go away, to forget who you were, where you were.

Without another thought, you threw yourself at Azriel, your lips crashing against his in an angry, heady kiss. The intensity of it was almost violent, something born out of desperation, out of a need to feel something other than the suffocating anger that had taken residence in your heart.

He pulled away for a moment, his brows furrowing as he took in your face. His eyes fell to your lips. You waited for it— for the abandonment of reluctance that had become a routine, for him to stare at you, for that stare to turn hungry, predatory, and for him to surge forward and claim your lips with his. But Azriel didn’t move towards you. He shook his head and took a step back.

“What is it?” you breathed, your voice trembling, edged with frustration. “Have you suddenly gained morals? Do you not want this?”

He hesitated. “No. Not like this,” Azriel said and you bristled at the words. They weren’t entirely dismissive, but they felt charged with something that left your mouth dry, left it difficult for you to breathe. “I don’t want your anger.”

“What does that mean?”

His eyes flickered, as if trying to blink away the thoughts racing through his mind.

“I don’t know.”

The uncertainty in his voice made your chest feel tighter. An almost embarrassing sensation of exposure washed over you, as if your entire life had led to being denied the one sick pleasure you’d found.

“Why did you come here?”

“I don’t know,” he repeated, this time firmer, more desperate. His shadows churned around him, dark tendrils of darkness twisting and writhing like a storm gathering strength, charged with an unsettling energy.

It set you on edge. Your fingers twitched, and you clenched your hands into fists to stop their trembling.

“Well, what do you know?”

Azriel looked at you, a crease in his brows, his expression a mix of pain and relief as he finally responded, his eyes burning. “That you have plagued my mind for weeks.”

"What are you doing here?" you asked, your voice teetering between curiosity and a simmering anger. It was a blend of emotions you couldn't quite unravel—whether you sought answers or were simply lashing out. “What do you want?”

He shook his head, attempting to take another step back, growing more furious with himself at the motion. You moved closer, bringing your hand to his arm and he felt the burn of your touch through his leathers. You were a nightmare and he felt desperate to keep you as you pleaded with him, voice rising, fiery in spirit and heart.

“Tell me what you want, Shadowsinger.”

You weren't sure what came over you, why you suddenly felt desperate for him to tell you what you felt was true, for him to admit it. It felt like you were on the edge of a great precipice, your heart tugging and tightening in your chest all at once, needing him to look at you, growing anxious, angry, even. You wanted his truth, wanted his confession and his sin all in one.

And then you continued, voice suddenly tender, seeking. “Tell me what you want and I can give it to you.”

He willed himself to look at you and his chest rose with his uneven breaths.

“You,” he managed to breathe, shivering with craving.

Once the admission fell from his mouth, Azriel was done for. “I want you.”

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

As an extra treat, the wonderfully talented @micahssketchbook gifted us with an illustrated version of this confession 🥹

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

authors note:

yknow.... if theres one thing ill give these angst fuckers credit for is that they are so honest with each other, like tell me why reader is more honest with az than rhys was with his own wife 😭

anyways everyone thank @writingcroissant as usual for inspiring me (forcing me) to finish this part when i was tempted to delete everything

permanent tag list 🫶🏻:

@rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria @georgiadixon

@glam-targaryen @cheneyq @darkbloodsly @pit-and-the-pen @azrielsbbg

@evergreenlark @marina468 @azriels-human @panther-girl-124 @bubybubsters

@starswholistenanddreamsanswered @feyretopia @ninthcircleofprythian @velariscalling @azrielrot

@justyouraveragekleemain @marigold-morelli @mrsjna @anarchiii

#azriel x reader #azriel #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel x reader angst #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel acotar #acotar fanfic #azriel angst #a court of thorns and roses #acotar fanfiction #acotar #acotar x reader #malice series #EIM #an education in malice

656 notes · View notes

imaginedreamwrite · 3 months ago

Note

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT2QB7gL3/

König and his omega

You were weeks away from giving birth, a matter of two or three weeks at best, and it was becoming harder for you to find a comfortable position to sit in, let along having to do much walking. König was always aware of your sensitivities, of your physical wellbing, he had taken that seriously as his role as your alpha and mate.

When he had observed you in the kitchen making some tea and trying to slice some apples, the discomfort that weighed heavily on your shoulders and back was evident. He didn hesitate, he didn have to, he had immediately left the couch and followed you to the kitchen to give you aide.

His arms slipped around your waist, hands coming to support your pregnancy belly. Before you could even ask him what he was doing, he had gently lifted the weight of your belly, the baby that was growing and all the amniotic fluid that was becoming hard to balance. König saw the relief on your face immediately, the way your shoulders slumped and the sigh that had fallen from your lips was just as relieving as you hoped for.

You leaned your back against him, revelling in the strength of his body and the strength in which he had so effortlessly lifted your belly. It was an action that spoke incredible volumes about the care and affection he heralded for you and your child. The relief was there, without him having to say a thing, and he was happy to give you that reprieve, for as long as you needed it.

He waited for you to finish making your tea, holding the weight of your 38 week baby belly while you continued in relief. König had leaned into you and pressed a kiss to the top of your head, finding an ultimate peacefulness in this moment, in this small act that he could do for you.

This is what he loved about being home, far from the fighting and the blood. This is what he missed most when he was gone, just being here.

#alpha!könig #alpha!könig x omega!reader #alpha!könig x pregnant!omega!reader #könig x reader

163 notes · View notes

spider-mandaily · 4 months ago

Text

This scene had my jaw ON THE FLOOR, and the GREEN GOBLIN SETUP?!? PEAAAK!

I understand why this immediately got renewed for two more seasons—the little details within the storytelling are meticulously woven together!

But also, I think that the animation here is raw and absolutely stunning, especially with the inclusion of blood, which is a bold move for a Spider-Man animated series. It adds a whole new layer of intensity and realism, making the stakes feel higher than ever. This sequence was so well made, literally reminded of Tobey Maguire's Spider-Man too!

The action sequences are beautifully choreographed, with fluid motion, dynamic camera angles, and weighty impacts. Every punch, web-swing, and dodge is visually striking, making the fight scenes feel raw and visceral. The lighting and color palette also enhance the tension, creating a cinematic atmosphere.

What truly makes this jaw-dropping is how it pushes boundaries. Spider-Man has always been about balancing heroism with personal struggles, and this scene doesn't shy away from showing the consequences of battle. The inclusion of blood signals a shift in tone, acknowledging the brutal reality of Spidey’s world while maintaining that iconic comic-book style.

Seeing Peter battered and bruised in this scene is absolutely gut-wrenching. It’s one thing to watch Spider-Man take hits in battle, but seeing actual blood—cuts, bruises, and the sheer exhaustion on his face—adds a whole new level of emotional weight. It’s rare for animated versions of Spider-Man to show him this physically broken, and it makes the fight feel far more intense and personal.

This version of Peter feels more vulnerable, more human. He’s not just the wisecracking hero swinging through the city; he’s a young man pushing himself beyond his limits, getting hurt, and still refusing to back down. The visual storytelling here is incredible—his torn suit, the blood dripping from his face, the way he struggles to get back up. It’s a reminder that Spider-Man’s greatest strength isn’t his powers, but his resilience.

Emotionally, this scene hits hard. It evokes that classic Spider-Man No More feeling—the idea that being a hero comes at a terrible cost. It makes you worry for him, root for him, and feel the weight of his struggles. This is what makes Spider-Man different from other heroes—he gets beaten down, but he always gets back up.

This is truly peak Spider-Man storytelling—gritty, emotional, and visually breathtaking. If the series keeps up this level of quality, it might just set a new standard for animated superhero shows!

181 notes · View notes

4kozy · 3 days ago

Text

her sinking sun

megan. ( i watch it die )

━━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━━

pairing | megan x gn!reader

wc | 4.2k

genre | angst

tw 🔸 | no happy endings, toxic relationship, language, implications of attempted SA ( not by reader or megan ), exes to STILL exes, implied alcoholism…

an | instead of sleeping i chose to write this…😀 and it was worth it cus megan is REALLY bias wrecking me rn..

syn | there’s no comfort in an ex, that’s universal, but for megan, there’s no comfort in the familiar and unfamiliar all the same. megan stopped going to parties. she stopped going to everything.

you never unblocked her number.

━━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━━

Megan didn’t know what to handle first.

The most pressing matter at the moment was keeping herself busy enough to ignore the second thing. You.

You, radiant as ever, effortlessly demanded control of the of the function, all eyes on you as you swayed, lights and sounds almost hypnotized by you, like the people around here.

It was full of shit.

Her jaw clenches.

Her grip on the plastic solo cup tightens.

Megan swirls her drink around and rolls her eyes.

She was never the sharing type.

And it wasn’t as if this was a first-time occurrence, no.

Megan went to every single frat house, every club, every single school event, just hoping you’d be there and getting insanely jealous when she saw you with anyone else.

She knew she was supposed to be letting go; she knew that she was supposed to be moving on and finally getting somewhere, but the heartbreak was all-consuming.

It was the sort of heartbreak that haunted her every action–the sort of heartbreak that showed itself when she was brushing her teeth, and your toothbrush wasn’t there anymore.

The sort of heartbreak that showed itself when she went through her half-empty closet, or when her bed was still messy after an hour of being awake because you weren’t there to make it up again.

The sort of heartbreak that showed itself when breakfast wasn’t made in the morning, when for weeks afterward she would bring home two orders of takeout on instinct, when she would hold her pillow and pretend that she’d lose you if she didn’t.

Even when you were already gone.

It was the heartbreak that sought her out, making her legs move before her brain even caught up to her body. Making her drink until she can’t think anymore.

And here she was; foggy-brained, sad, and so incredibly angry she didn’t know what to do.

How could you be so happy when she’s so miserable? How could you be prospering alone when you were always better with her?

Megan tips her head back and downs the rest of the second drink–a pretty nasty concoction from hell–not that that seemed to register at the moment.

All she could think about was the fact that it was like you were made for this. Like you were made to be unleashed–no attachment, and no responsibility to anyone. It was almost as if she were a failed experiment, a test to settle down, and one you’d given up when it wasn’t what you wanted anymore.

She finds herself moving to the drinks again.

Megan’s vision is blurred at the edges by the time she’s done with her fourth of the night, figuring that the rest of the evening would consist of bad decisions dunked in unmarked fluids, and desire coated in deep-seated rage.

She knows it’s a bad idea to get drunk at a party with your ex.

She just doesn’t care.

It’s not enough to brood in silence, sitting on the sidelines amongst a similar crowd, no.

Megan secretly hopes for the liquid courage to take hold of her, get her petty and loud, with too much confidence and too few inhibitions.

Megan secretly hopes to scream at you until her throat bleeds and her lips crack. Hopes to god that you cry, maybe even try to fight her. Maybe, you’d run out, sobbing.

Her body trembles beneath the weight of her fantasies.

It’s immature of her, dark, and completely out of character. She realizes that.

It isn’t normal; wanting to hurt you so bad that you hurt her. Wanting so desperately to elicit a reaction of any kind from that nonchalant façade of yours.

It isn’t normal.

It’s Megan.

It’s Megan: raw, real, and unashamed. It’s Megan at her worst, so pathetic that she came out to a place she’d know you’d be at, just to imagine throwing off that demeanor of yours.

Somewhere, anyway, at the bottom of the punch, there’s a truth. One that she wasn’t willing to admit without a tad in her system.

A truth that may have sobered her up immediately, if it weren’t for her strange determination to ignore it.

She was still in love with you, and God forbid she ever admit it.

The liquor still hadn’t kicked in by the time she hit the dance floor.

Megan’s not dumb. She knows she’s pretty, and even better, she knows how to use it, choosing a random man to grind on, after seeing his okay with it. He’s handsome enough with the bright lights off and the drink in her system. He’s handsome to take her mind off things.

Enough to make you jealous, perhaps.

Her eyes meet yours across the sea of warm bodies. Still, you look as gorgeous as ever, and even worse, there’s no visible reaction from you.

Megan’s soul fractures–body thrumming with panic, with want, and with everything left unsaid between you two. Etched into her being was you; in all things she did, aware or not.

All the pieces of your past, all the pieces of you that she keeps locked away, in the darkest depths of her body, all the parts of herself she’s hidden away–they all float to the surface, like a corpse.

Every secret that was kept, every misunderstanding like a shock to the heart, every touch like an apology, and every lie like a band-aid on a bullet wound.

Nothing could fix it. Not what both of you had broken. The foundation of your relationship was damaged before it had even begun, the question always being “how does it end for them,” rather than “will it?”

All the delusions shatter. Her breath hitches in her throat. Face stuck in a nervous expression. She couldn’t even bring herself to narrow her eyes at you.

Megan is always so pathetic when it comes to you. How could she even imagine putting you through any of that?

You two only lock eyes for a moment. You never stare for too long–just enough to hook anyone unlucky enough to catch a glimpse.

She’s been hooked for years.

Ever since that fateful day in her Junior year of high school.

She can remember vividly–it was a Friday afternoon. 4th period, dance.

To your credit, you weren’t bad for a beginner, being good enough to grab the attention of your shared instructor and her.

You had only taken the class for an art credit, falling in love with it over time. To Megan, however, it was her whole life. Ballet and tap at 3, dance competitions at 6 onwards, and now her junior duet for the dance recital.

It was after her run-through with Daniela that you spoke to her for the first time. “Woah… That’s amazing! When’d you start dancing?”

Megan, covered in a sheen of sweat and exhaustion, gawked at you.

She didn’t respond for a minute, gulping down the rest of her water in 4 swallows.

“Since I was 3, you?”

You smile thoughtfully. “Just started. Although I couldn’t dance like that in a lifetime.”

Megan chuckles, panting a tad. '‘s just practice. I’ve been at it for a while.”

She takes a seat on the floor to rest, and you follow, choosing to listen to her ramble on about her dance career. You know it’s not to make you feel bad, judging by the very genuine excitement on her face.

It’s a chance for her to catch her breath, and she does it with you.

Somebody that she is quite unfamiliar with, yet getting comfortable with anyway.

Megan’s never done it before.

Sure, she’ll make small talk, habitually continuing a conversation with anyone she meets, but it’s not like they like to talk with her that long.

She’s learned that she has quite the habit of firing off at the mouth, every thought spilling out as soon as it comes to fruition. It makes people want to exit the conversation as soon as possible.

But not you.

You sit there and listen attentively, making eye contact. She can see the care, or at least a lite version of it, operating within you, with every word she speaks and every breath she takes.

“I think you’re really good,” you say after she finishes. “I think you’re incredible.”

It’s soft, a compliment so delicate that she’s afraid to respond–so she doesn’t, choosing instead to let it hang in the air, acknowledging it with a hum and a firm nod.

“Megannnn… One more time, please? We just need this move synced up!” Daniela said, albeit a bit too loudly.

“That’s me,” she smiles, grunting lightly as she stands up. “I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah,” you say.

She doesn’t realize that you spent the final moments of class watching her.

Weeks later, you’re still finding ways to keep watching her and talk to her.

If you saw her around school, you’d walk her to class. If you saw her at lunch, you’d eat with her. If you saw her pull into the school parking lot, you’d park right next to her ( much to the dismay of its original owner ).

If you saw her struggling on assignments, you’d spend hours of your day guiding her through them: no infantilization, no complaints, and no throwing it back in her face either.

You wouldn’t label it a crush, no, more like an intense, barely-concealed interest.

And who could blame you? The way she moves is mesmerizing–movements practiced and intentional. Each one is just as 100% as the last. Not one feeling out of place.

Her disheveled appearance is proof that she takes it seriously.

Megan’s hair is tousled with effort, despite making things look effortless. Her cheeks are pink and full with gasps of air after her third run of her duet today.

It’s a week till the recital, and you guys have moved to the stage.

She’s bathed in a sharp blue light, the kind that makes her eyes pierce, and every line of her body jumps out.

You rush up to her with vigor, grin so wide, it’s scary. “Megan, that was perfect–“

She doesn’t return your enthusiasm. “I fucked up, pretty bad,” she puts her head in her hands with disappointment. “If it weren’t for Dani sliding out of the way, I would’ve hurt her.”

You wrap your arms around her, ignoring the wetness on her skin, mixing with yours. She’s not crying, but you can feel her heaving with fatigue, burying her head into your shoulder.

You’re glad she’s taking advantage of your silent offer.

“Let’s eat?”

You and Megan stay after school, sitting in the auditorium all by yourselves, feasting on your lunch, watching Fantastic Mr. Fox without a care in the world.

She looks at you with the corner of her eye as her pinky locks with yours. You pretend not to notice.

You make a mental note to pack more.

You also make another mental note: it is a crush. It walks like one. It talks like one. It must be one.

5 days until the recital, and the group showcase was starting to fall apart under the pressure.

It was a simple mistake at first, a freshman missing her spot by an inch. Then it was a different one moving in the opposite direction. Then, it was three girls missing the final pose.

Safe to say, everyone was getting a bit annoyed and overwhelmed–none more so than Megan.

Megan, who’d, without fail, find a reason to doubt her ability.

She was a proud girl most of the time, obnoxiously eager and kind, but it’s clear the nerves are taking their toll on her.

You’ve noticed she gets in her head, like something won't allow her to be content with what most would consider stellar.

For Megan, it wasn’t enough to be ‘stellar.’ She had to excel, each performance needing to surpass the last, just for her to accept it. You wouldn’t have known why this fierce determination existed, not at the time.

There was a lot she struggled with. A lot of English and Math tests, bombed. A lot of parent-teacher conferences. A lot of let downs, no matter how hard she tried.

Dance was something she refused to fail.

She chooses to go through the motions again, without Daniela, who had left to go handle something.

Like clockwork, you bounce up to her when she’s done, tired but ready to talk once again. “Hey, you wanna go tak–“

“I’m fucking busy,” she interrupts, stiffly.

You try not to let the shock show.

There’s an awkward silence in the air. Tension you choose not to call into question by retorting.

You leave her portion of food next to her bottle.

2 days until.

Megan’s been going at it for hours on end.

You sit in a chair in the audience, watching her play back the music over and over again. There’s frustration carving into her features as you watch her stumble over a slow part of the choreo for nearly 15 minutes. You haven’t talked in a while.

“Fuck! I–“ her shoulders slump.

You’d give yourself a good 6 seconds of waiting before you find yourself right next to her.

You two are back-to-back, choosing to give her just enough space so that she’s not also overstimulated with your presence as well.

It’s just you and Megan, in a deep silence, filled with all the pain, sweat, and tears she’s poured into her craft. In a silence that talks, and tugs on you, like it has a vessel of its own.

She breaks it. “I’m sorry for snapping at you the other day. It’s just…” she trails off, her voice pulled taut and thin.

She thinks about all the times you’ve gone out of your way to show her that she meant something to you.

There’s a quiver in her body before the words shoot out of her like vomit. “I’m just being a jackass. Shouldn’t have jumped at you like that. You were only trying to help, and I–I don’t want to push you away, I know we’ve only known each other for a while but, I really do care, and I don’t want you to think you’re disposable, ‘cause you make me feel better all the time and–I… I was just frustrated, that's all. I get if you’re upset with me–I was an asshole and–“

“I’m not mad at you, silly,” you sigh, leaning your head back onto her shoulder. “I wish you had let me bear your burden with you. I care too,” you whisper, threading your fingers together.

She sniffles.

“Promise, you can rely on me next time. You don’t have to be by yourself,” you say, after a moment has passed.

“Okay.”

That’s how you are for a long time. Quiet and content with each other’s presence. At least until her stomach grumbles.

You take her out to eat with you, choosing to stop at the Zaxby’s nearby campus and watch Drag Race.

Day of the recital.

Megan’s whole attitude changed, now completely and utterly enraptured with the idea of nailing the entire showcase.

The crowd was roaring, the whole group dance went amazingly. You were so excited, you could barely think. Until Megan took you into a tight embrace, congratulating you on how well you did.

She ignored the butterflies in her stomach. Barely regulated the urge to say “I couldn’t take my eyes off you the whole time, even while I was up there with you.” Forced herself to be okay with a squeeze instead of a more…passionate display of affection.

She settled with a “You did great out there.”

You giggled, joy overtaking your features, as you pulled back for a bit to look at her. She’s ethereal, blue lighting coating her face once again.

She always is.

“And you’re gonna do even better,” you punctuate your sentence with a gentle press of your lips to the corner of her mouth. “Good luck–not that you’ll need it.”

Megan beams, eyes twinkling with pure pleasure. “I’ll take any kind of luck from you, Yn,” she grazes her fingers across your back, eyes fluttering between yours and the same lips you’d just ‘sort-of-actually-probably’ kissed her with.

If it weren’t for Dani whisper-yelling for her, by the way she had licked her lips and gradually closed the distance, you were sure she was going to kiss you.

You’re not sure you would’ve stopped her either.

“That’s me,” she mumbles, eyes closing with a flicker of annoyance. Megan wore her emotions like she wore her insecurities, exposed and without shame. You feel yourself swoon internally. “I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah, you will.”

You chose to sit with the spectators to watch her junior duet. Although the way you kept following Megan was more of a solo.

It doesn’t take much longer for you guys to start dating.

3 years.

That’s how long you wasted Megan’s time.

That's how long you pretended to reciprocate her love. How long you humored her yearning.

The alcohol completely takes control now, her body now a puppet to her subconscious.

Megan doesn’t even realize she’s on her way towards you, in the corner of the living room, laughing with your friends, and not her.

It makes her blood boil.

She’s on the edge. On the precipice of losing her sanity. The world starts to fall away with each step, bringing her closer to you.

She’s got tunnel vision: all she can see is you.

Still beaming as if you didn’t see her coming that way. As if you didn’t see her with someone else earlier.

“We need to talk,” Megan slurs, crossing her arms tightly.

You stare at her quizzically. “Megan,” you sigh, rubbing your temple. “You’re drunk.”

“You think I give a fuck?” she hisses, nails starting to dig into her skin. “I wanna talk to you.”

Your friends give you a look, and then her, and then you again. You take the silent okay to drag her elsewhere.

You’re standing in a dark hallway when she starts rambling.

“I just don’t get why you don’t care,” she scoffs, pointing at you. “All that time, and you just don’t care? I don’t get it.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s why you couldn’t stop glaring at me all night? That’s why you so desperately needed to speak to me?”

Megan swallows thickly. Her heart is pounding. “Don’t do that. You know it’s more than that. You know me.”

“No, I don’t. Haven’t known you for a while actually–it’s pretty new to me, the whole ‘follow-me-around’ shit. Look–Megs, you’re drunk as hell,” you groan, turning to leave. “I’ll see you around, okay? Let’s talk when you’re sober and ready for it.”

She snatches your wrist, pulls you back with a pathetic whine in her voice. “No, don’t–I did it all for you… Don’t you understand?”

You have half a mind to leave this where this is–unfinished, like everything else. But a stronger part of you, the part that can feel her yearning, the part that can tell the feelings left to linger are bubbling up, stays.

“I don’t want you to leave, ‘M sorry,” she hiccups. “I want you to listen to me again.”

“You just left me. You ghosted. You don’t get to leave me without giving me a reason this time, please.” Megan’s pleading, big, puppy eyes reel you in.

You’re at a loss for words.

You don’t know what to say.

So you don’t say anything.

But she does.

“3 years of my life with you? And you’ve got nothing to fucking say?” she starts crying. “I sacrificed so much for you–I still do, I–I think about you all the damn time, and you have nothing to say to me?”

You sit there ashamed and quiet.

“I’m still so obessed with you, and it hurts me so bad. You hurt me so bad. Why would you even– knowing I… I don’t understand?! And you won’t explain shit–won’t even look me in the eyes,” she sobs, with every muscle in her body, gut wrenching up, like her face, with nothing but pain covering her features.

You don’t know what to do.

“I didn’t wanna… I didn’t want this–I wanted it to be painless–for you,” you tear up. “I’m sorry I got you caught up in it.”

Megan can feel her throat closing up. She can feel every hair on her body raise with misery, weariness, fury: every single emotion she’s felt since it happened.

“You’re not sorry. You don’t even care! You’re a coward. All you ever do is run away,” she yells, tossing your hand to the side as she storms away.

“Megs, stop I–“

She whips around, with bloodshot eyes and trembling. ‘What?’ is the unspoken word this time.

You don’t have the guts to say anything.

When you get back to your people, the party has only kicked up in gear, music blaring like warning sirens you dismissed, and bodies packed together with a loud uneasiness.

You want to say it’s easy to forget about it. To feign blissful ignorance while you get lost in the mob of people.

They rock back and forth, slamming into you like harsh tidal waves.

You try to ignore that, too.

All you ever do is run away.

The thought isn’t cast out to sea.

It replays in your head, even when you’re attempting to brush it off. That strong part of you, the regretful, buried part, knows she’s right.

That part knows you’ve been running for a while.

Things in your relationship were amazing–trying to be this nurturing person that you knew Megan deserved. You knew deep down it wasn’t you, but it was someone you wanted to be.

They say, “fake it till you make it.” You made it nowhere. And it’s not like you didn’t love her–far from it, actually. Love wasn’t the proper descriptor; only something stronger would do. Worship? Too crazy–that wasn’t accurate. Devoted? That was the word.

You were devoted.

Committed to everyday being all about how you could change for Megan.

You were selfish by nature. None of the things you were doing, let alone saying, made sense to you. It didn’t make sense to anybody but her.

It pissed you off to no end.

All you ever do is run away.

All couples argue.

Most make up.

Megan had told you that you were acting off, and you lashed out. For once, words flung at her, piercing her with every insult and complaint.

By the time you were finished, she was standing there in tears, head down in that same way she always did when she was hurt.

She went to your shared room, expecting you to follow her quietly and slip into bed with no words like you usually did.

When you didn’t, she tried to convince herself that you’d be on the couch.

When she heard the door slam, she didn’t bother chasing, already quite aware of what you’d done.

All you ever do is run away.

Texts and missed calls flooded your phone, all from Megan–the girl you’d abandoned just last night.

You stare at the notifications with an unreadable expression.

By the time you’d read through everything, your mind was set.

It would be easier for both of you this way.

Her contact is blocked and deleted the next morning. ( But you still remember her number by heart. )

All you ever do is run away.

You know you’re a coward–you ran away here, too. You couldn’t take accountability for anything you did, even when it was tearing her apart. Even when it was sitting right in front of you.

There were no more chances, no more opportunities to try to fit the pieces back together. You and Megan were over.

“No… I–” A loud, drunk, raspy voice breaks through the rave music.

That voice would never not stand out to you. Always distinguishable, always recognizable, always–Megan, slumped over on the couch with the guy from earlier all over her.

He’s touching her, dangerously close to places he shouldn’t be, right in front of everyone.

This time it doesn’t take 6 seconds to be by her side, though. You’re there instantly, sailing across the room to her aid.

You shove him backwards, hard. But you don’t think to even make sure he stays down, only focusing on her. Still, she’s beautiful, even after all the drama tonight.

The guy grabs you, Lucas, as you later learn his name to be, invading your personal space too. “Fuck’s wrong with you?”

You don’t answer, still murmuring under your breath. You’re pissed, jaw clenched and fist tense with poorly-disguised rage.

“Bitch, I was–“

Your fist flies into his nose.

There’s a crack.

Then there’s a silence.

No more music, no more… anything.

“Don’t you ever, ever, touch her again,” you voice cold and bitter.

You lift Megan up and finally leave the party, for the first time in a long time, being honest with yourself. You wanted, needed, to protect her. You were always that person. The one you thought you were pretending to be for Megan. All the time, every single day.

All this life-of-the-party shit was a lie. You knew Megan was watching. You wanted Megan to see who you thought you were. Somebody that she’d already seen past.

There was no running away from it.

Just depressing how long it took you to realize.

i know you of all people would hate to hear from me but please come pick megan up.

she’s super drunk and i’m worried about her dani.

we’re here ( xxxxx )

Doesn’t take long for Daniela to show up, tire marks trailing behind her red mustang.

“Put her in the backseat, please.” Daniela sighs, partial relief and exasperation.

You comply, lightly lowering Megan before she grabs you, whispering into your ear. “I never stopped.”

'Loving you' is the phrase that goes unsaid.

You want to ask why she didn’t go after you that night. Want to ask why she still cares.

You don’t.

She gazes into you. You feel compelled to return it. “Neither did I,” you confess weakly.

By the time you closed the door, they were speeding off.

Megan stopped going to parties. She stopped going to everything.

You never unblocked her number.

━━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━━ ★ ━━━━━━

#katseye x reader #wlw #megan skiendiel x reader #katseye ⭐️#megan skiendiel imagines #megan skiendiel #katseye imagines #bias wrecker megan strikes again…#MEGAN STOP!#ko’s works

71 notes · View notes

inamindfarfaraway · 23 days ago

Text

I love how well Kung Fu Panda works on a meta level. You’re a tired parent who just wants to keep your kid entertained for a bit with a tolerable movie. No more Disney. Please. You can’t take any more Disney. Let’s see, a panda who does kung fu? A comedy/action cartoon about a big, fat, cute, cuddly panda voiced by Jack Black? With the lowest effort name you can imagine? Made by the Boss Baby company? Perfect. Lots of animals and movement and jokes. Good jokes, to your relief. And beautiful scenery. And the fights are really fluid and… you don’t know enough to be sure, but it looks like this could be real kung fu, even though some of the warriors are a bird, a snake and a bug. Did they study proper martial arts and somehow make animals do them? And… oh. Oh, wow. That’s sad. That hurts! And that’s - wow, that’s profound. Holy shit. This is incredible.

And all the while you’re discovering one of the best movies ever made, its own plot is showing you the error of your thinking. Showing you how wrong you were to judge a book by its big, fat, cute, cuddly, funny, child-friendly panda cover. I wonder how many people were Shifu watching it for the first time.

#kung fu panda #kfp

58 notes · View notes

cerastes · 6 months ago

Text

Today is Day 9 Of Me Playing Girls' Frontline 2.

Like any other gacha, the start is braindead because they need even the most non-sentient of creatures to be able to clear. This is nothing new, but it really stuck out like a sore thumb in this particular case because this game heavily uses the XCOM formula as its inspiration. For the uninitiated, the original 1994 X-COM: UFO Defense starts incredibly brutal and only gets harder as you advance. The 2012 reboot, XCOM: Enemy Unknown starts reasonably brutal and scales pretty harshly and always demanding you really, really are learning what your tools can do and what the game mechanics are as you basically fight an asymmetrical Civilization III game against an opponent that 1) outguns you most of the way and 2) fights you with the hatefulness one only reserves for someone that has fucked one's wife. GFL2 starts you off against enemies that require absolutely no tactical acumen whatsoever, that do not use cover, and that deal pitiful amounts of damage even if you yourself don't use cover. This lasts a little too long for comfort but again it's industry standard. Once you get to parts of the game that require sentience, it's fun to see how they've gone about the flow of combat: You're basically pitting your characters with their own special conditions, specialties and passives against many enemies that initially are simple as hell (they just move and shoot) but steadily become more complex and nuanced (enemies that target an area for bombardment at the end of their turn, enemies that can counter in specific circumstance, enemies that trap your enemies with overwatch fire, reaction intereceptions, AoE, etc). The system definitely has potential. I've yet to truly find anything actually challenging that wasn't me fighting enemies 10-20 levels higher than my units, but the fundamentals of cover and risk-reward are there even on-level; if you get shot at completely exposed, you are going to take hefty damage (unless you are rocking a Suomi shield).

The biggest departure from XCOM proper is that there is no accuracy: All attacks will always hit, unless certain abilities outright deny the damage -- like certain enemy Medics that can use the Anesthesia skill to negate one instance of damage -- and the game really favors a more aggressive style for both the player and the enemy through the Stability System: All units have a Stability counter, which decreases by certain amounts depending on the attack received. Once it's depleted, units can only benefit from the most bare and basic defensive effects of cover, which are not very good. Stability Break also may have additional special effects on certain enemies, chiefly bosses, resulting in extra damage taken, reduced attack power, changing forms, losing certain active or passive skills, etc. As a huge fan of systems like this, I Enjoy.

The game is gorgeous looking: The environments are highly detailed, the character models are incredibly well made, the guns are lovingly sculpted. I know the overarching meme is that it's got the best anime girl feet in the industry -- and it's true, they put more love into rendering and modelling these girls' feet, stockings and socks that I've seen parents put into raising their children -- but the model quality is truly overarching, they spared no effort in any obvious area, it's a really gorgeous looking game. The sound design and the music are all fine and have not wowed me in any special way, really, but visually, good lord, the game truly does go hard. Another thing the game does really well is video cutscenes, the action and choreography of actually very decently lengthy cutscenes they show pretty often go very hard, with good explosions, good gunplay, fluid and good looking motions, etc. The animation direction in GFL2 is really, really good, something I wasn't expecting given they've not really delved on this area particularly in previous games. They probably hired a really good studio for this-slash-got themselves some very talented and skilled personnel for it.

The game economy is Post-Mihoyo style: There's a set cast of Max Rarity characters, called Elites in the game's nomenclature, that inhabit a Standard Banner with absolutely fucking horrendous rates. 0.6% chance of rolling anything Max Rarity, 0.3% of an Elite Doll, 0.3% of an Elite Weapon. Besides this, there's the Limited Banners, which is every banner ever, meaning post-launch Elites are all Limited with a Limited Signature Weapon. In other words, shit sucks. The only saving grace is that the game, in thankfully true XCOM fashion, is much less about having Strong Individual Units, and much more about having a team with good synergy, and there's plenty of great non-Elites you'll have plenty of copies of. Gameplaywise, you won't get shafted by not having the Newest Woman With A Broken Kit, which is good. Signature Weapons so far from what I've seen are very nice to have but no functionality is tied to them and no character feels incomplete without their Signature Weapon or without multiples dupes, which is really good practice and a deal breaker for me if it's present. About the only stupidly broken character I can think off right this second is definitely Suomi, who supports so incredibly well that she lets you Not Play XCOM. She's seriously and hilariously busted and futureproofed.

The writing is pretty damn stiff. This is nothing new with Sunborn. The thing with Sunborn is that when it hits highs, they are VERY high, but the trip to those highs is clunky and stiff, with an overabundance of nothingburger technobabble and tacticool filler dialogue that, were this a megahit the way One Piece is, would definitely inspire a dogged group of fans to make a website that tells you exactly where to read and where to skip to avoid all the meaningless filler. Even if you like some tacticool, it's just SO much of it that serves no purpose. The characters are... Unfortunately, not super fun. Our old friend Oats, ahem, Groza (OTs-14) is there, and she's fun, but the rest of the characters have not done a good job to endear me to them: Colphne I'm pretty ok with, Nemesis and Krolik really have exhausted the fucks I can give for them by this point (I'm in Chapter 4). This is particularly painful in the case of Nemesis for me, a character whose design I really, really love and who I was looking forward to a lot. Nemesis' whole thing is that she literally cannot speak normally and has to communicate entirely in cryptic theater kid ramblings, and Krolik conversely only exists as the only person that can somehow accurately decipher what the fuck it is she's saying. This is charming for all of three cutscenes before it becomes very old and basically filler: Nemesis says "The embers of starlight long forgotten by statues lingers in the fingertips of the deaf" and Krolik replies with "Hah!? Who are you calling a coward?! I'll beat you up!" because Nemesis shittalks Krolik a lot, and that's the crux of both of their personalities. I know they are building Nemesis for something else but good lord it's torturous and stale. There's a Super Powered Child that I don't care about and she's the main plot device. Mayling is funny and endearing, and I like her. We meet characters from Ye Olde GFL 1 days and so far it's been pretty nice every time: Suomi, Lenna (UMP9), Kalina, Leva (UMP45), always a good time hanging with them. I particularly enjoy how divorced Commander and Kalina are. Oh, the Commander (your character) is an actual character, fully voiced and all, I like that a lot, and I like them. You can choose a male or female Commander, with fully 3D rendered distinct non-obscured, non-masked models and that's pretty damn cool. Still, can't help but miss the bangers that were ST AR-15, RO635, DEFY, and others from GFL1.

There's plenty of stuff to do without using Stamina, especially event stuff, but I fear that once you run out of it, you enter that weird limbo of "logging in, autoclearing the RNG drops mode, logging out". I'm not there yet but I dread reaching it. I know they just launched the game here (1 year old in CN) but, I guess I've been immensely spoiled by Arknights' several replayable game modes, this game, being XCOM in nature, would ROCK a roguelite mode or some sort of replayable game mode so much.

Overall, it's been a pretty nice time, as someone who dropped but nonetheless greatly enjoyed GFL, it's great seeing the Old Friends better than ever. My friend Suomi and my friend Tololo (CHILE MENTIONED 🇨🇱🇨🇱🇨🇱) are there for me and I'm glad to hang out with them again. I wish my friend Sabrina would also join me sooner than later :'). Color me surprised that so far, the gameplay seems both fun and has potential, but we'll see how it goes from here. Overall: Good first impression.

Say something nice about my friend Tololo

86 notes · View notes

minkdelovely · 3 months ago

Text

obsidian

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

“baby

i’ve been waiting

my whole life

for

you and i”

Charlie x Vaggie; Chaggie ; MDNI 18+

tags/warnings: vaggie worship (at 👏🏼 the 👏🏼 top 👏🏼✨ just in case y’all forgot i love love), demon charlie, fluff, adoration, touching/petting, kissing, smut: praise, breast sucking, and vaginal fingering (yes you read ‘fluff’ right above this so what?)

word count: 2.4k

find out more on how you can still donate here

author’s note: it was such an honor to join in on this incredible event created and hosted by my dearest friends @hellsgreatestevents! if you haven’t seen the main post, please check it out and share if you are unable to donate — while the event was yesterday, there’s still time to help raise awareness for this extremely important cause! this is my personal contribution and my first foray into writing for chaggie; something i’ve been wanting to do for a long time but felt absolute NEED when @notherpuppet posted this breathtaking art back in january. many, many thanks to mare for giving me her blessing to use this piece as inspo. i hope it does them justice and that you all enjoy it! quote is from ii hands ii heaven by beyoncé 🙏🏼✨

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

Eternity had its perks, but that didn’t mean there weren’t days that felt like eons.

It had been a tumultuous one for Vaggie and Charlie, stress racketing up bit-by-bit as they navigated the chaos of the day. They could barely manage to lock eyes with each other to exchange a silent what the fuck before another problem fell into their lap. Alastor had been noticeably absent, leaving them alone to handle mangled pep talks, patching walls, and cleaning up ambiguous fluids in the parlor. So when the aforementioned Overlord finally decided to waltz back into the lobby, there was only a split second of relief before he opened his mouth.

“The hotel seems especially shabby today! Was there a hurricane I didn’t hear about? I didn’t think we had those.”

It didn’t take much for Charlie to bite her tongue, not when she could tell that Vaggie was seeing red — Alastor’s silhouette all she could find in the reflection of her girlfriend’s eye.

“Aaaand I think it’s time for a break!” Charlie said, her voice flirting with mania as she quickly wrapped an arm around Vaggie’s waist to direct her towards the stairs. Turning to give the Hotelier a pointed look before adding, “I’m sure Alastor is more than capable of managing things for a while.”

All she got in return was a slow blink and ambiguous smile, which didn’t leave her with much confidence that Alastor would actually stick around to do his job. Something she might have lectured him over if she wasn’t just as desperate to escape upstairs for a bit.

Charlie did her best to deflate Vaggie’s anger, gently smoothing out her hair as Vaggie muttered to herself in Spanish. They had barely managed to close the bedroom door before crashing into each other, pent up frustration escaping in a steaming hiss of relief as lava meets the ocean.

Vaggie groaned as they clung to each other, with Charlie merely sighing in agreement. Both of them slowly began to relax as their hands mindlessly roamed and petted the other in an effort to soothe. Vaggie shivered as Charlie removed the bow from her hair, the tingle in her scalp traveling all the way down to her toes.

They pulled away from each other after a moment, the exhaustion of the day so evident in both of their faces. But there was softness in their eyes, sprinkled with a glimmer of pride, and they both let out a soft chuckle before Charlie leaned down to rub her nose against Vaggie’s.

“You did a great job today,” she said, bringing a hand up to cup the angel’s face. “No matter what the problem is, you always know what to do. I really couldn’t do this without you, you know.”

Before her mind could even catch up with the action, Charlie kissed Vaggie’s face; her pace heated but intentional as she eagerly made her way to Vaggie’s jaw. She couldn’t help but nip her teeth at the soft skin, humming as felt the angel relax more in her arms; a heady sigh leaving her lungs through her lovely, open mouth.

The Princess really couldn’t help but admire the view. Pride scorched through her veins to see the stoic face she adored melting away into one of pleasure. Vaggie’s eye was closed, her thick eyelashes fluttering against her cheekbones. Showcasing the delicate angles of her face in a way that made Charlie’s heart ache, and she couldn’t help but continue to show her appreciation with each kiss.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Charlie purred, baring her fangs again to gently scrape at Vaggie’s throat, right over her black choker.

She felt her horns begin to sprout as Vaggie cursed in response, relishing the transformation as her eyes glowed gold and sclera went red. Charlie always felt so at ease in this form — her now wild, flowing hair nearly a manifestation of the feeling. Vaggie liked it too, if the sudden roll of her hips was any indication. Charlie took this as her cue to shrug off her jacket, tossing it to the side before she pulled at the bow at her neck. The black slip of fabric and her button up shirt quickly joined their red counterpart on the floor.

“You’re one to talk,” Vaggie chastised, what little edge there was in her tone softened by the timid look on her face before she turned away. The sight of Charlie’s half-naked body making her bashful, despite how much she knew Vaggie admired it.

Charlie loved that she was still shy like this. This sweet vulnerability that no one else got to see but her. Outside of these doors, Vaggie was constantly on high alert. Never allowing herself to be fully relaxed when anything could go wrong in an instant. To those who didn’t know her well, she must seem very stern. And while they may catch glimpses of the softness that hides underneath, it was only Charlie who got to bear witness to this side of her.

No walls, no threats, no guests. Here, it was just the two of them, safe and sound. Where they could completely let go and focus just on each other.

It was only too easy to get lost.

Charlie’s hands never felt like they were touching enough — her desire to caress and grab and hold easily outweighing her physical capability to satisfy her need. But she managed, reminding herself that they had all the time in the world as she pulled away just long enough to take Vaggie’s shirt off. She would pet her pretty angel for eons if that’s what it took, never tiring of how it felt to have Vaggie’s soft skin under her fingers. Unable to resist giving a testing squeeze to feel the lean muscle underneath.

And still, it wasn’t enough.

No matter how many scratches or bruises, bites or kisses Charlie gave, her hunger seemed bottomless. She needed more. More shaking, more heat, more goosebumps, more heaving breaths. More of those beautiful whines and moans, echoing off the walls of their room with the resonance of a bell tower. The fruit of her efforts ringing in her ears was nothing short of devious; a wicked symphony of cursing gasps as Charlie’s hand dipped under the hem of Vaggie’s skirt to palm over her panties.

Charlie chuckled and gave Vaggie a gentle rub, unsurprised to find that she was already wet. “My perfect girl… Have I really made you feel this good already?”

All Vaggie could do was hum and nod, the golden flush under her lavender skin renewing with force. Her eye opened just slightly, and Charlie was thrilled to see that her pupil was blown; a small yellow ring glowing against the surrounding pink. A hot wave of affection coursed through Charlie, dumbstruck again over how ethereal her girlfriend was.

While she hated what Vaggie was subjected to to end up here in Hell, she couldn’t help but be grateful for the twist of fate. God may have created her, but Vaggie was wasted on Heaven. She was always meant to be here with her. And though Charlie wouldn’t consider herself possessive, she was definitely proud.

There were very few things that made Charlie feel confident. A true, albeit sad, admission. And though that list was gradually beginning to grow there was one thing in particular that Charlie could easily say she was truly talented at. Being an excellent lover was an innate gift, a trait that was likely unavoidable given her parentage, and one that so many had to strive for success in, and even then struggled to maintain.

Charlie didn’t take it for granted, though it had been a long and bumpy road in terms of receiving as well as she gave. Awkward and disappointing memories of past relationships flashed through her mind, but she would never regret her efforts. Whether it was giving extravagant presents out of the blue, or rendering her partner speechless in bliss, Charlie was happy to do it. And when the returns began to feel like too much of a deficit she would walk away, left to wonder if she was to be forever burdened with an uneven scale of affection.

Her partnership with Vaggie was recompense.

Charlie was resolved to show her gratitude and slowly sank to her knees, kissing down Vaggie’s neck, an appreciative moan caught in her throat as she reached the top of Vaggie’s breasts. She brought her hand out from between Vaggie’s legs to teasingly rub and pinch at the softness of her thigh; her other hand kneading Vaggie’s left breast as she kissed the right. A wicked smile spread across her face as Charlie felt the angel’s nipple perk up, giving it a hungry lick over the lace of her bra. The roughness of the fabric against her tongue was a pleasure in itself, but nothing could compete with the way Vaggie’s chest heaved, her heart pounding just below.

She couldn’t bring herself to detach her mouth from Vaggie’s skin for even an instant, relishing the taste of it as she made her way to Vaggie’s other breast. Angels didn’t sweat, but seemed to be imbued with a sweetness she couldn’t place — somewhere between amber and honey that only the Divine could have conjured. Charlie swallowed a rush of saliva just thinking of what awaited her a little further down, using the opportunity to take Vaggie’s breast into her mouth. Her left hand massaging the other, while her free hand snuck behind Vaggie to run a mischievous claw down her spine before coming back up to unclasp her bra with ease.

With the give of the garment, Vaggie’s breast settled further into the heat of Charlie’s mouth, and she hummed as she suckled the sensitive flesh. Vaggie’s head fell back, a strangled whine leaving her as Charlie let the bra fall away. The warmth of their bare skin finally making contact, while Charlie’s forked tongue teased at Vaggie’s pert nipple.

“You always take things slow,” Vaggie pouted, writhing under Charlie’s touch in a silent plea for more. “Please, amor, I can’t wait… Not today.”

Charlie cursed around the flesh that was still in her mouth, Vaggie’s words igniting the kerosene in her veins. Her whole body was suddenly hot, the ache of her own need screaming to be sated as she tugged Vaggie’s skirt and panties down. Vaggie moaned at the show of force, quickly stepping out of the garments and peeling off her gloves before resting her hands behind Charlie’s neck.

Vaggie was a vision standing in only her stockings, and Charlie made no secret of her appreciation as her hands roamed the expanse of naked skin. Charlie squeezed Vaggie’s full hips as she pulled the angel closer, straightening herself up enough so that their mouths could find each other to indulge in a deep and languid kiss. Her hands now gliding over Vaggie’s thighs, ass, and waist — kneading and rubbing the suppleness of her body as she drank in every sound and twitch from her love. Vaggie’s impatient grinding against her torso too much to ignore as Charlie’s left hand made its long awaited return to Vaggie’s core, lightly rubbing against her folds before spreading them open to coat her fingers in the ambrosial slick she took such pleasure in inspiring.

“Is this better, Angel?” Charlie teased, licking the underside of Vaggie’s chin as she took in the ruined look on her girlfriend’s face. She couldn’t help the proud smile that tugged at her mouth as Vaggie’s hips rocked against her hand, begging for the fingers that had yet to enter her.

“Charlie,” Vaggie growled, her nails biting into the thin skin of Charlie’s neck in warning. “You know it’s — ah!”

Vaggie’s complaint was cut short with a swipe of Charlie’s thumb over her swollen nub, her hand finally applying a generous force as she massaged Vaggie’s sex. Charlie placed a kiss over Vaggie’s heart as she finally pressed in, unsurprised that she could glide two of her fingers into her core with ease. And while Vaggie had asked for a quicker pace, what good would it do to hurt the one she cherished over all others? Charlie knew the relief of being filled was enough to quell her impatience for now as she slowly worked Vaggie open, allowing her some freedom to grind into the base of Charlie’s hand.

As they found a rhythm, a string of barely-coherent curses tumbled from Vaggie’s mouth, her breath coming in hot puffs of steam against Charlie’s face that refused to look away. Charlie crooked her fingers and angled her hand so that she was passing over the spongy bundle with each motion, her pace fueled by the eager desperation of Vaggie’s body pulling her in. The room was a symphony of moans and heavy breath, underscored by the lewd wetness between Vaggie’s thighs.

Charlie always knew when Vaggie was close. It always started with a flex of her abdomen, a bite to her lip. Her walls squeezed around Charlie’s fingers as if wishing to commit them to memory, arousal pouring down her hand and landing in warm droplets that soaked into Charlie’s pants. If she had been feeling truly devious, Charlie would have pulled her hand away. Leave Vaggie to whine and bemoan the loss and draw out their fun for a while longer.

But it had been such a long day… Vaggie faced every challenge head-on and determined as she always did. And deep down Charlie wanted nothing more than to give back as much of the love and security that Vaggie gave to her, by whatever means were bestowed upon her to do so.

“Let go, baby… Cum for me, please, I’ve got you.”

The words were out of her mouth before she could even register that she had said them, with Vaggie’s orgasm quick to follow. She cried as her muscles and body spasmed while Charlie worked her through it, fingers pressing more than pumping as Vaggie’s hips rocked against her soaked palm. After a moment, Charlie withdrew her hand and brought it to her mouth, their eyes locked on each other as she lapped at the sweet arousal that was too precious to waste. She finished with a salacious grin, and hooked her arms under Vaggie’s thighs before rising off the floor.

Vaggie wrapped herself around Charlie, taking refuge in her strength as she placed soft and reverent kisses wherever Vaggie’s lips could touch as Charlie brought them to the bathroom. All their worries forgotten by the promise of a hot bath and another evening of finding refuge in their loving bed.

Meant to be, like ocean waves against volcanic shores.

✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧ ✧

tag list: @fairyv-ice, @wat4r, @midorichoco, @raynerrold, @krak-jj, @tremendoushearttaco, @redfoxwritesstuff, @chibistar45, @kaylopolis, @cutiebimbo, @lousypotatoes, @rfox1998, @cosmiccandydreamer, @hyperfixations-keep-me-going, @catticora, @velvette3, @sailorsmouth, @reath-solia, @junieshohoho, @cxrsedwxrlds, @littlebluefishtail, @nxcxllxsevens, @swagkittybear, @hazelfoureyes, @sugoi-writes, @fraugwinska, @macabr3-barbi3, @synamartia, @kewpikayo, @reinthechaosdeer

#chaggie #chaggie smut #chaggie fluff #chaggie fan fiction #hazbin hotel fan fiction #HGIWD2025 #lilith fund #helluvacommunity #hellsgreatestinternatinalwomensday

54 notes · View notes

bunni-v1 · 5 months ago

Note

bunni!!! im here with a thought! now i believe lighter is a total masochist. im all here for it. slap him, choke him, torture him, beat him if you wish… but what if you put a shock collar on him? yknow… for good measure. just incase he disobeys like a naughty boy…

imagine his little strangled noises, the whines as he knows hes about to be punished. mm… get him to beg for mercy, for you to forgive him and waive his punishment. do anything, just not the shock collar. you could even put him back in the cock cage! just dont shock him, please!!!

Mini!!! GTFO OF MY HEAD!!!! Jk ily pookie <3

I think the best thing about masochist Lighter is the fact that it's, in a way, incredibly selfish. He won't do things to you, ever, it goes against his moral code. Too loving and sweet to ever think about torturing you like that. On him, though, he's there to service. Use him as you please, that's what he's there for right?

Sure it's torturous and overstimulating and cruel, but you love it so how could he possibly refuse you? Even when you put the cage on, it's okay. He loves it because it's for you. The only issue is... he can easily overpower you if he wants. When you're overstimulating him and he wants to cum, he can just force you to let him because you can't overpower him.

You had to find a solution to, ah, train the behavior out of him. So, you went looking, and what you found was perfect. A pretty red collar with little gold studs, perfect for your pretty boy. You even got him tags, heart-shaped with your number on the back in case he got lost. When you present it to him he's almost confused. He wasn't really into pet play, but sure he'd give it a whirl, but you correct him and wave the remote that comes with it in his face.

Again, not something he considered, but with that smile on your face how could he say no. You let him test it out, picking the setting that he was most comfortable with (which was high, thanks to his insane pain tolerance) beforehand, and thus your little plan goes into action.

You don't use it at all during the usual session, drawing it out particularly long this time. It was more than Lighter was used to and it was almost too much for him to handle. You'd made him cum at least five -- he lost count after the fifth -- and now you were teasing him. It had been at least half an hour of you slowly dragging your fingers along his shaft, he was getting impatient, you could tell. He was whining and crying and drooling, but you just wouldn't give him what he wanted.

Usually, he's able to grab you by your thighs and get what he wants no problem, but you weren't gonna let him this time. As you feel those strong hands pull you, you reach over and press the button on the remote. The reaction is instantaneous, his entire body tensing under you, a confused moan rumbling from the back of his throat. Like the pain was unexpectedly nice to him. Best yet, he cums instantly, sticky white fluid coating your fingers.

"Ooo~ You liked that didn't you?~" You coo at him, and he flusters like a shy little puppy. So adorable. Unfortunately, you didn't tell him he could cum, so it seems like you would just have to draw it out a little longer. It was his fault he was being tortured anyway, he should just behave after all.

It becomes his least favorite, favorite method of torture you use. He can't help but love the sensation, how weak and helpless it makes him to your whims, not to mention how happy you get when he submits to the pain. But, it really sucks that he lost the one thing he had over you when he bottoms.

On good nights you won't bring it out, but the second he starts misbehaving you'll reach for the drawer you store it in, and he immediately gets in line. He'd rather you fuck him without the added threat of that horrible little thing.

#sorry this took so long to get to #life is #its in a place right now #also sorry that its not that good lol #i'm really busy this week lol #anyway ily <3 #zzz lighter x reader #zzz lighter #lighter zzz #lighter x reader #lighter

68 notes · View notes

wakeup01 · 1 year ago

Text

The Transformation House

Week One: Consumption

First Part: https://www.tumblr.com/wakeup01/751841318589841408/the-transformation-house

(Warning: freaky stuff ahead, including animal transformation, loss of identity etc. Not all of these will be furry related, scroll to the bottom if you want to vote for the next part.)

You choose to *pick up* item *milk carton*

You grab the milk carton and raise it to your nose, it smells incredibly strong. Unaware, a camera overhead turns towards you, a red light blinking on it’s front. You lightly shake the carton, the dryness of your mouth growing in intensity. This was a terrible idea, but curiosity had now gotten the better of you. Maybe just a small sip. Pursing your lips, you tilt the carton towards you until the contents hits your tongue.

You have *consumed* item *milk*.

The milk is unexpectedly thick. The taste is weirdly familiar, not altogether horrible but heady with a salty aftertaste. You take another sip, and then surrender to your thirst as the liquid starts to liberally flow down your throat. You think about stopping but you continue to gulp it all down, feeling the substance bloat your stomach. With each swallow your belly expands below you, shuddering in place like a balloon with too much air. You look down and watch it inflate, your bellybutton popping outward like the punchline to a sick joke.

Blinking, you feel confused. Something was…different. You just can’t figure out what it is. The concern quickly subsides and without hesitation you continue to slurp the full flavoured fluid from the container. Your legs begin to push further apart as a strange throbbing racks your crotch. Unperturbed, you adjust your posture, leaning forward slightly and letting your clothes fall from your body. Something about the position seems more comfortable. The weight, however, is becoming impossible to ignore, pulling you further forward. A low snort echos from your widening nostrils.

You dare to glance at your nethers as a rubbery pink sac comically unfurls where your genitals used to be. The cool air brushes against it’s sensitive surface. You wince at the heft pulling down between your thickening thighs.

*Udder* filling…1%

In one final gulp you drink the rest of the milk, belching while your chest effortlessly barrels out to ridiculous proportions. You lick your lips with a decidedly longer tongue, making sure there is nothing left of your favourite drink.

You notice the joints of your legs beginning to seize up, making your stance much more uncomfortable. Your calves appear to rub against your sides as if they had swelled up. You want to see for yourself but your neck is frustratingly difficult to turn for some reason. Maybe if you prop yourself up you could get a better look. A tiny step forward throws off your whole weight distribution. Stumbling, you attempt to keep your balance, but you can no longer hold yourself upright. With a single motion you fall forward, catching yourself with your hands. A loud snap at your wide hips, locking them in place ensures you won’t be getting back up.

You try to *lift* yourself.

Action *lift* cannot be performed.

You try to *stand*.

Action *stand* requires bipedal legs.

Pushing with your arms only makes your flattened back ache. You decide to give up on that for the time being, choosing instead to crane your neck down.

Staring at your hands, it’s hard to ignore the fact that they are quickly looking less and less human in shape. The fingers numbing as they begin to fuse, forming the clear outline of a hoof - turning black and rock hard. You can only imagine your hind legs look much the same.

*Udder* filling…37%

The thought comes that you should probably be more concerned than you are, you are literally turning into a cow after all. But for some reason that doesn’t fully register, as if that wasn’t something abnormal. Instead you feel incredibly lethargic, resigned to just stand in place. The changes only quicken as you lazily stare out at nothing, stuck wondering if there was more milk to drink.

Backing up slightly, your flank begins to heat up. Your butt cheeks casually start to spread apart, displacing the flesh as your enlarging, donut shaped rear entrance is revealed to the world. The opportunity to feel shame has well and truly passed. You cringe as a strong smell wafts from behind you. With no break to the changes in sight, the base of your spine begins to wiggle as a ropey tail pulls away from you. An embarrassingly guttural groan fills the room.

The inhuman sound you made pulls you out of your subdued daze as your mind begins to kick into overdrive. Why were you on all fours?! What was that foul stench? In a panic you attempt to move, but your body is now so heavy and inelegant that you can barely turn on the spot. Like a truck trying to reverse out of a parking space. And then there was that… *thing* between your legs. At this point so large that it rubbed against your thighs, feeling it continue to expand to an impossible girth.

*Udder* filling…72%

A series of *pops* distract you from your current predicament. Your head stiffens in place; this was gonna be a bad one. You watch in terror as your neck cracks and your face inexplicably pulls out in front of you, stretching like it were made of putty. Removing any semblance of human features. You can’t help yourself as a droll *mmmoooo* escapes your throat, passing between thickening teeth. There was no doubt, you were no longer capable of speech.

Your mouth and nose continue to join and grow further from your face. Nostrils flaring. Eyes pushing apart to the sides of your head as your skull is reshaped, squashing on your shrinking brain. A distinct muzzle now hangs between your peripheral vision. Your face completely filled out into a caricature visage of a cow, reflecting back at you from the surface of the fridge, not unlike the cow adorning the side of the carton. You stare at yourself in sheer disbelief and disgust. The only identifying feature of you left is a small tuft of styled hair that humorously sticks up. Like an afterthought, A pair of cute horns grow from your slopped forehead while your ears stretch out.

*Udder* filling… 94%

The humiliation was palpable, you looked unmistakably like a…a cow. Not just any cow either, one that seemed oddly…sexualised? Somehow idealised with unrealistic curves and proportions - especially when it came to your giant puckered rear entrance and that pink…*thing*. The thought alone made you recoil. That was ignoring the sounds involuntarily coming from your hindquarters or the shameful pleasure derided by your ‘milk’ production.

You have obtained status effect *full udder*

Your ‘milk’ audibly sloshes inside your rubbery swollen udders. The pressure below you is unbelievable, the feeling consumes your entire being. Right now, nothing else matters. You didn’t want to admit it, but you NEEDED to be milked. Drained until there was nothing left. An unmistakably bovine moo leaves your mouth, torturing you as it confirms your new animal form.

As if your wish was magically granted, you feel hands grip at your sensitive udders and begin to pull. The relief is incredible, as if climaxing over and over again. You hope it never stops. Each pull floods your thoughts with pure pleasure, making your human worries seem less and less important. Was this what your life would be like now?

Action *milking* is being performed on you.

*Intelligence* stat lowered.

The hands start to get faster, getting into a rhythm that left no space to question your eventual fate. Your udder is rigorously milked. The creamy thick substance refilling the carton below you. Once filled another replaces it, and then another. You fill a dozen cartons with your musky milk loads until you are emptied out.

You feel so docile as you just stand there and let yourself be milked in the middle of a kitchen. Almost a complete farm animal in both appearance and mind. To ‘reward’ you for your service, something thick is slipped around your elongated neck.

You have obtained cursed item *cowbell*

The hands then hold your huge ear in place and a dull pain momentarily fills the cartilage.

You have also obtained item *yellow identification tag*. Previous identification deleted.

You begin to be led outside, entering a large open field, your udders swaying beneath you. The warmth of the sun shines down on your back. With the milking finished, the haze on your brain softens. Once again you feel that sense of impending dread grow as you move across the field, noticing other cows in the distance. But each clomp forward results in a loud *clang* from your cowbell. The sound seems to dispel any attempts at complex thoughts. And yet, you can’t seem to stop yourself from moving, like your body knows something you don’t. Every step you take is cementing your own fate. Your fate as a farm animal. Just eating, shitting, being milked and…god, maybe it wasn’t all that bad. No! You wouldn’t succumb! You desperately try to gather your wits but every ring reverberates through your dim cow mind.

You attempt *human thoughts*

Action not recognised.

You attempt *clear mind*

*Mind* already clear.

Your lumbering body begins to act on pure instinct, like the dumb beast you are. That inner voice getting quieter as it’s pushed under blissful cow simplicity. Any concept of being something else is fading away. You existed to be milked. Your lowly purpose. The pupils in your eyes go glassy and opaque. An image of a virile bull flashes in your head and triggers a rising heat as you imagine your ginormous hole being completely stretched out. Bred. Like a good cow. The idea lingers in your simple mind like a bad smell. Not that you exactly smell like a flower yourself. More like a dirty farm. A smelly, filthy cow. As is appropriate. It doesn’t bother you.

You lean down and begin to absently graze the grass at your hoofs, slowly chewing on the clumps with your huge teeth. Your stomachs start to gurgle while a familiar sensation presents itself. Nature takes over - your tail automatically lifting as you begin to happily relieve the remains of your humanity out of your enormous rear end.

Item *humanity* dropped.

You let out a bellowing moooooOOOOOOOOO.

*bzzttt*

New form recorded: *cow* 🐮

________________________________

“Odd. I would have put money on them choosing the dog bowl. I had a whole doberman sequence programmed and everything.” The man says, watching a live feed on an assortment of screens.

“Eh, what can you do. The dog one was kinda boring anyway. Mmm. Milk? It’s lactose free.” The other man asks, holding out a glass.

“Uh, I’ll pass thanks. But. Why…why did you design the cow to look like…that?”

“I dunno, it’s hot I guess. Better start preparing the next scenario. Promising results so far though.”

#the transformation house #furry transformation #cow tf #dumbing down

177 notes · View notes

accioscarheadthings · 10 months ago

Text

ULTRAMINE ~ CHAPTER 9

kenji sato x reader

summary: with no time to waste, kenji gears up to face the kdf in a final, decisive battle to rescue you and emi from their grasp

pairings: kenji sato x fem!student!reader

warning: none, violence, use of missiles, combat,

masterlist !

you slowly regained consciousness, groggily looking around to take in your surroundings. your mind was foggy, and your head pounded with each beat of your heart. as your eyes focused, you noticed the familiar corridor ceilings of the kdf.

a wave of realization washed over you, and you instinctively tried to move your hands.

however, they were tightly restrained to the stretcher you were lying on, effectively preventing you from escaping.

the mecha gigantron and emi were making their way through the ocean.

the sudden splash of water caused mecha gigantron and emi to pause. they glanced around to determine the source of the disturbance and found Uutraman towering before them, his silhouette etched against the watery horizon.

as the water rippled around him, he planted himself firmly, blocking their path.

emi chittered, beak open in excitement at his arrival as she flew towards him.

"there's my girl!" kenji held his hands out for her.

when emi got closer to him, the mecha gigantron screeched sharply, making her stop.

"emi. we gotta go, girl. that’s not your real mama," kenji explained softly, "she’s just a fake. something the bad men made to trick you. the very same men who took y/n,"

kenji clenched his fists at his sides, "i know you're up there! I know you have her!" he hollered up at the sky, "coward!"

"mecha gigantron, attack!" dr. onda snapped, ordering the gigantron.

you feigned unconsciousness, waiting for the opportunity to make your escape. as soon as the restraints were removed, you seized the moment and slipped out with a burst of energy.

before the guards guarding you could react, you had already sprung into action. you dodged a punch from the nearest guard, sidestepping to the side in a fluid motion. in a swift counterattack, you struck a blow to the guard's ribcage with a powerful strike of your own.

you continued with a series of swift and skillful movements. you blocked another punch with the leg of the chair and kicked your opponent's knees, causing him to fall hard on his front.

without missing a beat, you somersaulted into the air, landing with a graceful flip on her back atop the dazed man. the chair shattered into pieces under the weight of her impact, adding to the chaos and confusion.

freeing yourself, you rushed out of the room, heading straight towards the combat in the waters below.

just as you reached the hatch of the aircraft, a deep voice stopped you in your tracks.

"stop right there, agent y/n!"

you froze at the voice, raising your hands at your sides, and slowly turning around.

dr. onda stood with a gun aimed at you, your ordering captain beside him.

you narrowed your eyes at him.

"leaving so early?" dr. onda taunted.

"i have no interest in staying here, so by all means, fire away," you raised a fist to the air in front of you.

a rumbling sound was heard and dr. onda and the captain were knocked off their feet by a pile of boxes. a tiny missle shot through the air, zipping right towards your wrist and landing on your skin.

metal plates shifted and crawled up your arm as you sprinted and leapt off the hatch of the aircraft.

firing your thrusters, you plummeted down the air towards where kenji battled the mecha gigantron.

ultraman moves with incredible agility, smoothly dodging and shifting to avoid attacks. with every strike he delivers, the water below churns and roars, its surface becoming more chaotic by the second.

the gigantron had grabbed hold of kenji's neck, raising him up into the air while he struggled to evade.

a beam of energy shot at the kaiju, throwing it aside a good distance away frm kenji, allowing him to land on his feet.

you had had your arm raised as you shot the energy ray frm the chest piece of your warbird suit.

"there you are," kenji murmured, shoulders sagging in relief that you had made it out alive and well.

"well, i can't have you mourning me too soon, now, can i?" you tilted your head at him in acknowledgment and he knew you were smiling at him behind your mask.

"missile attack now!" dr. onda ordered.

several projectiles rained down on you and kenji, the latter successfully held up a shield dome for protection.

but emi got in the way, taking a direct hit from one of the missiles.

"no!" kenji yelled in horror.

letting down the shield, kenji hurried over to where emi had fallen and cradled her in his arms, "no, no," he breathed heavily, "no, no, no. no, no, no,"

"come on. come on. come on," kenji muttered over and over again, "wake up. wake up, girl!"

"emi," you were hovering in the air beside ultraman, your voice carrying remorse.

kenji held emi to his chest in affection while you placed a palm on the kaiju baby's cheeks.

kenji set her down on a rock gently, turning to the mecha gigantron.

you and kenji charged forward, anger fueling your determination to protect emi at all costs.

in a coordinated effort, you took turns delivering powerful blows to the gigantic mecha, surrounding it in a coordinated attack.

the kaiju was on its back, laid back helpless as it was knocked out for the moment.

kenji pulled back a palm, holding a disc of spinning energy on it. just as he was about to bring it down, you managed to hover in the air in front of him, "kenji, no!"

kenji froze, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.

"look," you motioned at the exposed skin of the kaiju body under the metal armor of the gigantron, "that kaiju is still alive. project surrogate was about this,"

kenji lowered his hand, "oh my god,"

suddenly, the powerful tail of the mecha giganton struck out, catching you off guard and sending you reeling backward.

before either of you could react, you were plunged deep into the dark and unforgiving depths of the ocean.

as you sank deeper into the water, memories of your past flooded your mind. your father's face, his words, and the times you spent together washed over you like a wave. you recalled him passing down the mantle of warbird to you, the weight of the legacy resting on your shoulders.

"one day, the mantle of Warbird will pass to you," he said firmly, his voice carrying a weight of expectation.

"taking up this legacy won't be easy," he continued, his eyes never leaving your face. "it will require sacrifices, and you may have to carry the burden alone."

you stared up at him, clinging to every word he uttered.

"but I have faith in you," he added, a hint of pride in his voice.

something large blocked the light above you, and you felt a giant palm wrap around you and pull you out of the water.

the grip around you tightened as you were lifted up from the depths of the ocean.

looking up, you saw that the large hand gently wrapped around you, its palm acting as a supporting platform that raised you higher into the air.

you glanced over and saw Kenji nearby, seeming to have gotten knocked into the water like you. he was slowly rising to his feet, staring up at the figure that had come to your saving.

your eyes widened as you were met with the towering figure of mr. sato in his ultraman form. he looked down at both you and Kenji with a calm expression, his gaze filled with both concern and worry. it was mr. sato who had come to your rescue in the nick of time.

"dad? you’re alive," kenji breathed in relief.

"i promised I would always be here," he told his son, sparing you a glance and nodding silently. you nodded back at him in respect.

the mecha gignatron roared loudly, making you three turn towards it. she seemed to be in agony, trying to override the protocols the kdf were feeding into its mind, while trying to decipher who emi was.

it let out a loud screech into the cloudy night sky, sending soundwaves above.

it clawed at its face, scraping out a part of its eye, to reveal its original green ones as it blinked at emi in recognition.

chittering in joy, emi flew towards her mother, snuggling closer to her beak while her mother leaned into her daughter's embrace.

a bright light flashed, showing displaying the way several jets scrambled out of the kdf jet above the clouds.

"is this the part where the villain sends a hidden force we didn’t know about?" kenji pondered

"those are escape pods," professor sato elaborated.

a large laser beam hit the older ultra, right at his chest and he skidded back on the water on his back from the force of it.

but professor sato was careful to cradle you and kenji to his chest. he raised his fist at his side and opened them.

"professor!" your voice raised in panic.

"dad! are you okay?" kenji was nothing but worried.

"it's alright, y/n. I’m fine, kenji," professor sato replied.

the kdj aircraft from above descended through the clouds and landed in front of you all.

a large mechanical suit revealed dr. ondo to be in control of it, staring at you all in defiance.

kenji looked between you and his father, "we gonna do this together?"

"well, i’m not gonna do it alone," professor sato retorted.

kenji transformed back to his ultraman form; your warbird suit covered over your body, the mask closing over your face, and eyes lighting up.

dr. ondo yelled as he charged forward to fight.

the four of you approached at dr. ondo, taking turns to attack him. all of you moved in sync, striking at vulnerabilities and working together to bring down the man in the mechanical suit. the mecha gigantron clawed at him, while the two ultras tried to restrain him by holding him down on both sides. you fired a beam of photon at him, trying to disarm him.

but dr. ondo was able to shake off the ultras and found his arm at you in a punch, tossing you off your balance.

with each blow exchanged, the battle grew fiercer and more desperate. dr. ondo's suit retaliated with powerful strikes, trying its hardest to eliminate the ultra heroes. despite the danger, you and kenji held your ground, determined to take him down.

at one point, dr. ondo had overpowered professor sato and had him on his knees. he pulled out his electric machete, raising it up to swing it down and take his revenge.

kenji swung in between just in time caught his mechanical arm halfway, grunting in effort. in one quick motion, he snapped it in half and tossed it aside, "batter up!"

you swooped in, firing from the chest-piece of your warbird suit and lacerated an arm.

emi had charged from the other side, roaring with all her might as she swung the pipe in her hand at dr. ondo. holding it like a baseball bat, just like kenji had taught her.

dr. ondo was now devoid of both his arms to combat.

emi flew over to you, the metal pipe still in her hand.

"that's my girl," you glanced at her, your tone affectionate. emi cooed at you, bashful at your comment.

mecha gigantron and emi fired at the man, beaks wide open. you fired from your own chest piece while kenji and professor sato held up their hands together perpendicularly, sending a beam of energy his way.

the combined energy forces from all four of you had dr. ondo struggling for his life, feeling the inevitable defeat crawl upon him.

finally, when his suit gave out, he collapsed back on the water, making the four of you withdraw.

all began to walk away from the scene of intense battle, bodies still thrumming with adrenaline. you did a double take when you caught sight of a red blinking light on dr. ondo's suit. it only meant one thing: the suit was about to self-destruct, and danger was imminent.

it seemed that kenji too had realized that and acted quickly. without a single moment of hesitation, he created a protective dome shield around himself and the suit to effectively contain the impending explosion.

"kenji, no!"

TAGLIST !

@earth-to-mee @sassy-cat-in-town @breaddippedinorangejuice @nuhteyam @gameboigyu @byunpum @jennypenny-19 @doublebunv @moonjellyfishie @m00nd0v3 @despacito-uwu16 @reivelmin @seyoran @warlike-morning @crimson-mage-02 @b3e-sat0 @miffysoo @t4naiis @lovingyeet @imsimping4life @mmeerraa @btszn @jusmango-shak @yobriisstuff @goldenpoison @bat-h-tic @fruchtgeschmack @iateurdad16 @bandolls @lovingyee @reivelmin @f-ergj @arrozyfrijoles23 @aise-30 @simp-hub @armycaratlover @taleiak @ellie-x0xo @femmefqtqle @mp-buezo @bakugouswaif @berryjuicyy @f-ergj @aise-30 @marshhbs @star-flecked-soul @bontensbabygirl @vynwan-cbq @scarasw1f3 @bakugouswaif @deimmortales99 @burnthecheshirewitch

AUTHOR'S NOTE !

i'm so sorry for this messy chapter, I'm not good at writing fight scenes and i just wanted to get it over with.

#ultraman rising #ultraman rising x reader #emi ultraman #kenji sato x reader smut #ultraman #ken sato #ken sato x reader #accioscarheadthings

125 notes · View notes