#i even printed that fabric myself | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

improbable-outset · 8 months

Text

📂 𝐄𝐫𝐞𝐬 𝐦í𝐚

Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

𝐀𝐎3 | 𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 | 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.3k

𝐓𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐖: kissing, SMUT, PIV sex, unprotected sex, pregnancy sex, nipple play, cum play. MINORS DNI🔞🔞

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You’re not the only one experiencing cravings during your pregnancy.

It was the first time Miguel came home to see you in a summer dress during your third trimester. You would usually wear sweatpants paired with a tank top or a t-shirt that would always be too big for you, in an attempt to hide your growing belly.

But now Miguel could see every curve and crevice of you. The dress reached upto your knees with the thin cotton adorned with floral prints, hugged the shape of your body. But the real charm was the ribbon that was added around the waist that accentuated your blossoming bump.

He watched as you bent over the counter top, the fabric tightened as you stretched further and struggled to reach the edge with the wet cloth to wipe down the surface. You huffed while resting your palm on your stomach, a thin film of sweat coated your face, making you glow under the warm kitchen lighting.

After a moment, Miguel finally drew himself closer to you, his hands gently gliding over the soft fabric of your dress as he placed them on your waist. You hummed inquisitively, acknowledging his presence. The faint smell of disinfectant and soap lingered from your skin as your eye bore up onto his.

“¿Qué pasa, amor?” It was easy for him to get lost in the sweetness of your voice, especially hearing you talk in Spanish. Even hearing you curse angrily, the feistiness with the edge you’d carry in your tone was still attractive. He could already see you after giving birth to his child, after hours of labor and pain and you’d still mumble soft words of affection to your baby’s ear that cradled in your arms.

“Your dress.” He simply replied back, his hand trailing up to reach the spaghetti straps that rested on your shoulder, looping his finger beneath the string.

“You like it? I thought I’d treat myself to one of the dresses from the maternity clothes section today.” You seemed unaware on how radiant you looked right now, especially with your bare arms catching a kiss of the setting sun.

“It’s phenomenal on you.” he murmured, his lips grazing your ear with his soft exhales ghosting over your soft neck. He knew by the shift in your gaze, his compliment didn’t reach you completely. He turned you around so you finally faced him, his hands on your belly.

The impending arrival of your child has brought with it subtle signs of motherhood and visible changes in your body. The stretch marks that accommodated the growing belly, the ever-present sheens of sweat and the swelling of your feet that made it hard to walk sometimes - these were all part of your everyday reality until the big day arrived.

Although you were both amazed by the life growing within you, you couldn’t help but feel unattractive which Miguel wasn’t surprised by. You were never obsessed with your appearance but these changes were bound to make you feel a little more self-conscious. However, the dress you were wearing was a hopeful sign.

Miguel found the connection you shared more profound now more than ever and he continued to remind you that you were carrying his child which made you more beautiful to him as well as the journey you were sharing.

He hooked his finger under the strap again, this time dragging it down your shoulders until the top of the dress hung loosely over your breast and did the same on the other side.

“Miguel��” you breathed but it sounded distant and it didn't fully register in his mind. His focus was solely on the straps that fell completely off both arms, the dress slipped off the top now exposing your breasts. Watching them grow along with your belly made Miguel’s libido flare.

Carefully, he cupped his hand over one, grazing his thumb over the hardened nipple. He knew you were more sensitive now so he handled your chest with care. The barest touch would have you whimpering. He heard your groans as he kept fondling with your breast, a sharp exhale leaving your lips.

Gentle.

He watched your dress loosely cling over your swollen stomach. He knew it wasn’t going to fall to the floor so he tugged the fabric and pulled it over your head before he lifted your bare body on the countertop.

“¡Ay Miguel! Not here. I just cleaned the counter.” You scolded lightly, but the grip you had on his biceps contradicted your protest. You wanted it as much as he did.

“I’ll clean up the mess after. Just let me have you now.” He was already tugging your undies, feeling the pool of your arousal staining the fabric.

“You’re unbelievably needy, you know that?” You watched him as he kneeled down to reach your cunt, your belly now blocking your view.

“I don’t see you complaining, querida.” He purposely breathed heavily over your clenching cunt, making sure you felt the hot air from his mouth in an attempt to tease you. Your hand feebly reached around to his hair, running your fingers over his locks in a silent plea to continue. Your other hand leaned against the counter behind you.

His tongue ran over your folds before reaching your swollen clit. He attached his mouth and started sucking on the sensitive bud, keeping a firm grip on your thighs. You tasted different now compared to when he ate you out before he knocked you up. Slightly sweeter than before. He could feel you tugging on his lock and attempting to pull him in closer to your cunt. But he was more firm and he wanted to take his time with you.

As he pulled away, a few strings of saliva were connected from your fold to his lips that he quickly wiped away. His cock was painfully hard behind his digital suit and he was sure you already noticed.

With a few taps on his watch, his suit disengaged, each pixel fizzled out in cobweb shapes.

Both your elbows rested on the counter as you locked your gaze onto him. He loomed over you, hands on the counter and leaning in before his lips found yours. The kiss was soft and sweet but carried a depth of emotions. He felt your swollen belly press against his torso as he leaned in closer, deepening the kiss. Breaking away from your lips, his gaze fixated on you as he brushed a lock of your hair behind your ear.

So soft.

He held onto your waist and pulled you in until his cock was inches from your cunt. Pre-cum was already leaking from the tip and twitching in anticipation. Slowly, he pushed himself in and felt your walls caress each inch of him. You were already throwing your head back, one hand gripping onto his arm to steady yourself.

He could feel every pulse from his cock rubbing against your silky walls and flesh, squeezing him just right. Your body swayed helplessly over the countertop, taking in every thrust from his hips. He groaned as he was lost in a haze, completely aroused by how your wet cunt was pulling him back in greedily with each withdrawal.

Finally with his peak crawling up to him, he made sure he reached in deep, but not too much that he’ll hurt you. He felt a sudden rush from his cock as his seeds spilled inside of your swollen womb, reaching every crevice and coating your walls.

With a shaky breath, he pulled out of your dripping hole. As expected, his seeds didn’t stick, instead leaked out of your folds, spilling onto the counter. The post-nut clarity he was experiencing nearly made him forget his promise of cleaning up his mess.

“See why it wasn’t a good idea fucking me on the counter.” You quipped, smearing your fingers over his cum that continued to spill from your folds. Miguel groaned, his senses were coming back to him now and he could feel the newfound frustration settling in.

“Cállate.” He mumbled while grabbing the wet wipes from the shelf. “You’re lucky I had to be gentle with you, amor” he lowered himself and kissed your thigh before cleaning up the surface.

“Next time, we’ll stick to the bed.”

1K notes · View notes

roach-works · 6 months

Text

junk journal quilt!

i bought every charm pack with textual elements i could find off fatquartershop.com to make a full-size junk journal quilt. extra squares to get it up to size were added in from botanical and natural history type prints.

in structure it's an extremely straightforward patchwork, not even set on point: the appeal is entirely due to careful arrangement of beautiful prints. it really proves that you don't need more than the basics to make a gorgeous quilt if you've got a good enough idea! anyway, because i used a cheap ikea duvet insert instead of batting, the top and bottom sheets were loose and inclined to get wrinkles sewn into the stitching. so i did an inch of zig-zag stitch back and forth at every fourpatch intersection to keep the loft loose and fluffy but the patchwork nicely secure. the hems are very casually folded over and topstitched with straight and zigzag stitching, which gives it a very scribbly sort of finish.

this is the most expensive quilt ive done in awhile because i bought so many new fabrics for it, but it's my favorite one yet. it was my holiday gift to myself and i regret nothing.

#holiday present to myself #art #quilt #quilting #my art

1K notes · View notes

brewed-pangolin · 6 months

Note

Drabble request for Super Soap Sunday:

Soap and you find yourselves in an unusual place/set of circumstances when the mood strikes. How does he A) let you know what he wants and B) how does he get you in the mood too?

Domestic Bliss

Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x Fem Reader

Warnings: 18+ MDNI: Explicit smut, some fingering, P in V, backseat sex, slightly Dom-ish Soap, tons of dirty banter, Soap being a needy little horn dog

This 'drabble' turned into a one-shot because I can't control myself.

Synopsis: You and Soap take the next step in your relationship, and his not so subtle attempt to rile you up in public ends with an impromptu session in the parking lot.

Reference for where this man takes you to Poundtown here

Word count: 2k

"Alright, ma'am. If I can just you to sign here, here, and here. Then we should be all set up." Your advisor instructed as you sifted through yet another mountain of paperwork. Your eyes growing numb and your fingers beginning to ache from the repeated minor motion of signing your life away.

You pushed the last pile of paperwork over the advisors desk with gentle smile curling into your lips. Glancing over at the man sitting next to you with that same smile, a loving fondness in your eyes as you both took the next pivotal step in your relationship.

A mortgage.

Soap's demeanor was calm. Stoic even. Letting you take the lead in this circumstance as you were the one going to habitate the home more often than he would. A thought you both pushed aside for now to savor the wave of domestic bliss that came along after you signed the final piece of paperwork.

Yet his cool facade couldn't hide the cerulean maelstrom swirling within the whites of his eyes. A look you knew all too well, and one that never failed to send a quick shiver down your spine.

But here? At the bank?

Your smile quickly curled into a smirk, rolling your eyes at him as you turned your attention back to the advisor across the desk. You couldn't feed into Soap's growing needy desires. Not in public at least.

Pursing your lips with a heavy sigh, you tried to maintain your composure by focusing on the task at hand. Eyes trained to the quick movements of fingers across the keyboard as your consultant effortlessly entered your information into the database.

However, even the light clicking of keys couldn't keep your attention as you caught the sudden tremor of his knee in the lower periphery of your vision. The frantic cadence of his boot heel hitting the floor tearing at your concentration yet again, forcing you the bring the knuckles of your right hand up to your mouth to hide the apparent grin quickly forming on your lips.

With as subtle movement as possible, you placed your left hand on the top of his knee to quell his growing feverish motion. Gripping your fingers into the fabric of his jeans and pushing towards the floor in a physical attempt to ease his obviously heightening arousal.

“Ookay. That’s done. Let me get this all printed out and you two should be all set.”

“Thank you, sir. Appreciate all your help with this.”

You share a quick glance with your advisor as he stands, his eyes momentarily shifting to Soap with a subtle curl in the corner of his mouth. You keep a close eye on him as he exits the office, finally turning to face Soap with a furrowed brow and address the apparent tension erupting between you two.

“Jesus Christ, Johnny. Would you please calm down?” You scolded playfully. Your lips a thin line of a smile, obscuring your clenched teeth as you dug your fingers further into his jeans.

“How much fuckin’ longer is this gonna take, bonnie? ‘Cause I'm 'bout to bend ya over this goddamn desk if he don't speed this shit up. He can bloody watch for all I care.”

"We're almost done, Johnny. He just needs to give us the paperwork, and then we can go. So just, keep it in your pants for another five fuckin' minutes."

Your tone of reprimand barely able to combat the deep, rumbling brogue in his voice. Shifting slightly in your seat to quell the growing ache pulsing within your core. A gesture that most certainly did not go unnoticed as you took in the hungry blaze radiating within his eyes.

"Johnny. Don't. No!" Your frivolous attempt to stop him was broken down immediately as he thrusted his hand between your legs. Pressing his knuckles into the base of your heat through your jeans. Shifting to bring his chair closer and caress his mouth and tease you with his whispering brogue to the nape of your neck.

"Gonna fuckin' wreck ya, bonnie. Forget th'mortgage. This my down payment fer tha sweet pussy a'yers."

"Goddamit, MacTavish. Not here, ya fuckin' horn dog."

"Horn dog?" He questions with that distinctly mischievous grin. Pulling away as he eyed your advisor walking back into the office. His calmness in complete contrast to the excited flush bellowing from your chest as you quickly swat his hand away, scolding him quietly under your breath.

"Overconfident bastard."

"Alright. You two are all set up. You should be getting a call within the next five business days once you qualify. Other than that, welcome to home ownership."

"Thank you." You shook your advisor's hand, grabbed at your paperwork, and made an immediate bee line for the door. Beating Soap at his own game as you left him in the office with an obvious growing hard on. Already midway to the exit of the bank when you eyed him barreling out of the office in your periphery.

You didn't want to lose focus again. Not now. Now when you had the upper hand. You Kept your eyes locked onto the 4Runner at the back of the parking lot as your feet moved quickly at their own accord. Your ears perking to the sound of its alarm, a wave of triumph rolling over you as the locks sprung free.

You opened the backseat passenger door to toss your purse and paperwork on the seat. Expecting to see Soap at the driver side as you tried to close the door.

Tried.

You glanced questioningly at the door. Only then did you notice Soap's hand gripping on the edge. Spinning on your heels as you came face to face with a fiery blaze and a hungry look in his eyes.

"John?"

"Get in."

"John?!"

"GET IN!"

You felt his hands on your hips the moment his voice registered within your mind. Thrusting you into the back seat, an excitedly victorious giggle escaping your chest as he crawled in before slamming the door behind him.

"Yer such a fuckin' lit'le minx, y'know that? Leavin' me th're wit a full bloody stonner." He growled, pulling your shoes off and tossing them to the side, frantically moving to the front of your jeans as you continued to laugh in triumph at his feverish need.

"Makin' me do the goddamn walk o' shame and...why are these fuckin' buttons so goddamn small?!"

"Ooohhh, what happened to that cool confidence, Soap? Thought you could handle yourself under pressure. Bein' a demolitions expert an' all."

"Yer pushin' it, lass." He spat back. Relinquishing the fight with the buttons in favor of simply tearing your jeans off.

"M'also not tryin'a fuck tha bombs, smartass."

Soap tossed your garments to the back, flaring his nostrils with a darkened veil in his eyes as he spread your legs to take in the sight of your silken arousal. Moving onto his haunches with a deep inhale, his eyes rolling back as he took in the scent of your growing excitement.

“Mhmm. Could smell tha’ sweet pussy in th’re. An’ ya already so fuckin’ wet fer me, aren’t ya, bonnie?”

Words escaped you as he pushed two of his fingers inside your soaking heat, your eyes fluttering closed as he slowly pumped up to his knuckle, teasingly preparing you for what was to come. Unable to restrain your body’s reaction as your walls reflexively clenched around him.

“Donnae think I didn’t feel tha’. I know what ya need, lass. An’ m’gonna give it to ya.” Soap lured to you with a husky purr, your eyes fluttering open in response to take in the sight of him stroking himself through his jeans. His steely blue gaze boring into your soul as he effortlessly worked at the buckle of his belt. A throaty growl reverberating within him as he teasingly pushed the waist of his jeans below his hips to expose his painfully hardened cock.

"Johnny, I-" Your pleasured whimper was cut short as he throw his muscular frame on top of you, sealing his mouth over yours in a wet and desperately needy kiss. His strong hands gripping into the flesh of your thighs, guiding them around his waist as he teasingly pushed his throbbing erection into your moistened cunt. Filling you to the brim in one fluid thrust.

"Th's s'my home, bonnie. Right 'ere. B'tween yer legs an' deep in th's beautiful fuckin' pussy a 'yers."

Soap didn't give you time or air to respond as he encapsulated your mouth once more and immediately began pistoning himself into your core. The force of his thrusts wiping whatever thoughts and words out your mind, only focusing on the feel of him as he caged you against the backseat with his arms bent on either side of your head.

"Steamin' hell yer tight, lass." Soap growled into your lips, pressing his chest down into yours, keeping you still and allowing him full reign to pound his hardened length into your heat.

His bulbous tip kissing the flesh of your cervix with each forward thrust before pulling out almost entirely to only throw himself back into you once more. The continuous motion forcing your back to arch off the backseat, pushing your pelvis into his to stimulate the sensitive flesh of your clit.

Soap pulled his mouth away in repsonse to your shifting position, leaning forward to press his forehead into the crook of your neck. His hot breath cascading down your skin as he grunted and moaned with every subsequent thrust, his relentless pounding forcing you to grip into his shoulders to keep yourself stable beneath him.

"Johnny...Johnny..." you whispered softly against his temple. His name the only coherent word you could manage to let fall from your lips as your mind and body fell into the depths of his desperate and needy pleasure.

"Jus'...lemme 'ave th's, bonnie."

"Only g'nna need...an'ther minute.."

Soap's gasping breaths washed over the flesh of your neck, his voice rumbling within his throat like an otherworldly mixture of a growling whimper.

And the moment you felt his hips begin to falter, you pushed aisde your own pleasure in favor of reaching his. Only focusing on him. His needs. His desperate compulsion to always need to fill you and mark you as his own.

"C'mon, bonnie. Come for me."

You responded to his grunting demand by simply pressing your lips to the flesh of his temple. Wrapping your arms and legs around him tightly, letting him vigorously thrust his throbbing cock into your cunt until you felt the warmth of his release erupt deep inside you.

Soap's movements then halted all together. Burying himself into your heat as he rode out the relentless pulses of his climax.

Even within this impromptu moment, with him panting against your neck and you hunched beneath him in the backseat, there was always a certain level of intimacy that seemed to meld between you in the bliss of the afterglow. Cradling him in your arms as he slumped over in a limp and gasping mess.

"Fuckin hell, bonnie." He whispered, softly panting against your neck as he lightly pursed his lips against your neck.

"Jesus, Johnny. If I knew home ownership got ya this worked up, I'd it done years ago."

"Shut it, lass."

"Can't wait to see how hard ya get when I do my taxes."

Soap remained silent to your playful banter, responding only by continuing to kiss the curve of your neck as his body trembled, slowly coming down from the high of his release.

His mouth gently curled into a smile as he placed a series of gentle kisses up the nape of your neck. Chiding in once more to your jesting, his distinctive brogue thicker and more hoarse as he purred against your flesh.

"Won't 'ave ta, hen. Unless yer 'nta doin' a threesome."

"What?" You questioned, pulling him out of your neck to meet his steely blue gaze with a coitish smile.

"Uncle Sam already fucks ya in the ass, bonnie. It's the only time I'm yer designated sloppy side piece."

You can't hide the smile that emerged over your lips, pushing a piece of sweat ridden hair out of his eyes as you lovingly gaze up at him.

"Then I guess I'll be needing another down payment in advance. Just for good measure."

And of course, Soap obliges. Thrusting his still hardened cock deep into your core as he mutters those two words you love to hear.

"Yes, ma'am."

4Runner Wingman Masterlist

@deadbranch @sofasoap @d3athtr4psworld @punishmepunisher @jynxmirage @obligatoryghoststare @mykneeshurt @glitterypirateduck @homicidal-slvt @shotmrmiller @astraluminaaa @kkaaaagt @havoc973 @writeforfandoms @luismickydees

679 notes · View notes

thehaberdasheress · 5 months

Text

Valentine's Day for embroidery nerds

Something I love about historical embroidery is how much the present and the past are stitched together. Valentine's Day is one of those things that's centuries old, but still a little new and fresh every time it rolls around. It is what we put into it, as well as what it used to be.

I print patterns onto interfacing that sticks to the fabric while you stitch. Then when you're done, you just dunk it in water to wash the pattern off!

So here are my new festive offerings:

Visible mending patches: Hearts I and Hearts II

I couldn't decide on one, so why not both? These are great if you want an easy way to embroider little wee hearts on things! They really shine when they're used for visible mending. You can use them to attach new patches to holes in old clothes, and look good doing it.

Embroidery Border: Lovebirds High

I wanted something big and fun, so I designed this one myself. Its figurative grandparents are Renaissance blackwork and Scandinavian Rosemaling. I liked being able to combine an existing embroidery border into a bigger pattern. 7.5 cm (3") wide and 16" (40cm) long.

Embroidery Border: Lovebirds Low

Another original design! I've been making a lot of birds lately. To me these feel like office-worker sparrows that have stopped to kvetch together on a window ledge during their seed break. Love... is on the staff meeting agenda. 1 ¼" (3.5 cm) wide and 40 cm (16") long

And finally...

The apple of my eye, the jewel of my crown, Renaissance Hearts

God bless Bartolomeo Veneto (active 1502-1531), who was incredibly good at painting clothing. Because this one, I could make literally the same pattern. I could just go...

The pattern is 3.5 cm (1 ¼") wide and 16" (40 cm) long.

My Etsy Store has even more designs, as well as some fashion accessories. Shipping is free on orders $40 CAD and above.

And as always, I remain deeply grateful for your attention, energy, enthusiasm, and patronage. I am so lucky to have this business; it's changed my life. Thank you!

#costuming #haberdashery #embroidery #needlework #textile art #historical fashion

504 notes · View notes

tadpolesonalgae · 6 months

Text

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 12

Pairing: Azriel x Third-Oldest-Archeron-Sister!Reader

A/N: Welp, it’s taken like seven chapters to lead up to this, but we’re here now

Word Count: 6,038

-Part 11- -Part 13-

——————————————————————————————————————————————

The flight up to the House of Wind is quiet, but your ears had been ringing before take-off, and you can’t even hear the pulse of your own heart or the puffs of your own breath.

For a few minutes, you allow yourself to cave in. Like a cake that’s sunken in the middle, soft and gooey from too much butter and not enough flour. Your head dips, pressing against his shoulder, able to feel the strokes of chill wind across your cheek, eyes slid shut with fatigue. Wishing the night away, pushing it far below your conscious, burying alongside everything else you don’t want to touch. Pushing into rough but fresh palms, handing it off for someone else to deal with.

His scent presses into your clothes, and you let it, pulse gradually slowing from its war-drum beat in your throat, the sounds beginning to rise to the surface. The leathery rasp of his wings as they fly higher to the House, the steady in and out of his breath, the wind whispering as you cut through it.

The warmth of the wards passes in your ears, and then he’s landing, arms shifting to set you down on the floor carefully. The muscles in your legs are like custard, and you take a moment to steady yourself, raising your gaze to the House before you. He opens the door, guiding you inside silently, taking you to the kitchen and seating you at the table.

You stare down at the grains in the wood, picking out the slight dampness across from you, table clean and empty.

Azriel slides a mug of tea into your vision, still steaming, and your sinuses start to ache. Cold hands wrap around the burning ceramic, feeling the sting begin to seep through the velvet.

Vaguely, you’re aware of him silently moving around the table, taking a seat, but you’re staring into the swirling darkness of the tea, wondering if your tongue will somehow swell and warp like your hands if you drink the mug down as it is.

“You should take your gloves off,” he says quietly, hands around his own mug. “The heat will warm you up faster.”

You silently stare down into the depthless well below you, wishing to plunge inside. Bathe yourself in hot, searing water that’ll purge those prints from your skin. Remould you like the cauldron did, removing the past roughness of your fingertips and constant grit beneath your nails.

Shadows roll up onto the table in thin streaks, dancing deftly atop the surface, as if trapped in water. They flicker and swell in places, thrumming with magic as they reach out. You stiffen as they dip beneath your fingers, prying them gently from the mug. Slipping beneath the fabric at your wrists, pinching lightly at your fingertips, and pulling.

At first your digits curl, but the velvet slides a little more, and you allow it to fall away.

The sickeningly sweet smell of gardenias fills the room, and you draw your hands back, staring at the crumbling skin as you wrap them around the mug, not minding the surface level burn.

“You don’t have to wear those, you know,” he says quietly, watching from across the table. “Nobody would mind.”

Hands tighten around the thick ceramic, raising it to your mouth as you take a sip. It’s boiling. Lower it back to the table, scalding liquid washing down your insides, not enough to thaw the numbness that’s settled over your skin.

“Is it from your magic?” He asks quietly, sliding his fingers through the handle of his mug. Moments tick by, then you dip your head. “It itches sometimes,” you murmur, then seal your lips tight. “Is it itching now?” He asks, keeping your attention.

Below you, the tea swirls, steam wafting from the lip, warm but wet. You shake your head, “I don’t think so. Not yet.” Hazel weighs upon you, and you take another scalding sip, allowing the burn to sear into you. “Not yet?” He echoes, taking a drink from his own mug, watching you steadily over the rim. You remain quiet, not offering up anything else, keeping to yourself.

“How long has this been happening?” He asks instead, once it becomes clear you aren’t going to be coerced by silence. Your eyes don’t leave the mug, fingers tightening around the pale orange ceramic, the low gleam of faelights warming it. “Do you know what it is?”

“I know it hurts,” you say softly, raising your cup, but not drinking. “But you’re going to make me train it regardless, so why don’t we leave out the messy details?”

He pauses, observing you quietly from across the table. You don’t meet his gaze, and it feels like running away. Letting him put himself above you.

Your eyes blink shut, easing in a breath. That’s not what he’s doing at all.

“You likely aren’t doing it right,” he says at last, sipping from his tea, your eyes finally meeting his over the glazed lip. “How would you do it?” You ask quietly—reluctantly—again peering into the swirling blackness of your drink. “I’d have to know what I’m working with first,” he says pointedly, inviting you to tell him more about what’s been going on with your magic.

“Funny,” you murmur, eyes flicking to his, “I’d come to the same conclusion.”

His brow twitches almost imperceptibly, the edges of his mouth souring, and your gaze dips back down to the tea. How nice it would be to burn those handprints from your skin, for once finding yourself craving the searing itch of your magic.

Azriel shifts in his seat, great wings refolding themselves at his back, narrowed hazel piercing into you. “You might’ve hurt a lot of people back there,” he says, setting his mug on the table, one hand wrapped around its base, middle and forefinger curled through the handle.

Your throat rolls, but you choose not to respond, staring deeper into your tea.

He sighs, and you can feel his attention on you. “Tell them tomorrow,” he orders, voice deceptively soft for what he’s asking. Nails press into the ceramic, tension coiling in your shoulders. “I have one more day left. That’s what we agreed,” you mumble, the real world beginning to sink back into your bones. The weight of grief and the strain of anxiety coupling in your body. Having gone from a night of quiet mourning to one of icy violence in under and three hours.

“You put people in danger with that move,” he replies smoothly, appearing relaxed though you can guess he’s anything but. “So you’ll be telling them—at least Feyre—tomorrow. Unless there’s something you’ve discovered this past fortnight?” Even you know your mouth has pressed into a sullen line. Sulking like a child who’s lost a bet.

“I don’t want to figure it out,” you mumble, pulse thrumming in your throat as you stare into the hot tea. “It’s already hurting me. I don’t want anymore.”

“You don’t have a choice,” he counters from across the table.

“Rhysand would disagree,” you argue numbly. You always have a choice.

“Rhys isn’t here right now.”

Hazel collides with your gaze, the green-brown colder than usual. Is this what he’s like without affection numbing your judgement? Have you been seeing what you want to see? You dismiss the thought—things would have worked out better if that was true.

“It’s hurting me, Azriel.” You reiterate, trying to emphasise the pain that lacerates through your bones, without doing exactly that. “Because you’re doing it wrong.”

“And how am I supposed to do it?” You reply, more bitterly than you’ve ever dared speak to him before. He sits back in his chair idly, taking a deep drink from his mug, watching you pointedly over the lip.

“Fine,” you say quietly, but not weakly, staring at him from across the table. “Where would you start?”

“Tell me what you’ve been doing this past week,” he says calmly, “tell me what you’ve found.”

So he was being serious about that, not just trying to prove a point. You look down into your mug, lightly running your finger over the lip. “I’ve been trying to get it to spark,” you reply softly, not meeting his gaze.

“And?”

“That’s it.”

Azriel blinks, watching you silently. Thinking over his words before he speaks. “What have you been doing, exactly. Aside from reading.”

“I told you,” you reply, humiliation grating and twisting in your stomach. “I tried to get to it, but nothing… It didn’t work.”

“Nothing happened, or it didn’t work?” He asks, and you feel the smallest bit of resentment for his acute attention to the things he’s interested in. “It didn’t work,” you relent.

“So what happened?” He pushes, drinking from his mug—an action you’re certain he does to encourage a sense of ease.

Tension buzzes beneath your skin, ringing in your ears then flashing to deafening silence as you think back over the past fortnight. The steady decline of your skin. “I already told you,” you say quietly, noise fading to numbness again. “It began hurting.”

“Tell me what it feels like.”

“Itching,” you reply.

He waits sternly, practically ordering you to give more than a one word answer. Your jaw works, head dipping as brows tighten. “It burns. Usually only in my hands, but when…” —you swallow, remembering how it had spread so rapidly across your skin, only halting at the line of the pendant— “when you… What you saw, that one time…I felt feverish for hours after. My hands hurt the most, and they…” You trail off, not wanting to speak that single night into existence.

“They what?” He prompts quietly, shadows flickering mildly along the grain of the table. Your tongue unsticks from the roof of your mouth, swallowing around a lump in your throat. “They bled a little. I still have sores on my knuckles.” Palms splay as still as possible upon the surface, allowing his eyes to trace the scaly, flaky skin—lumpy in parts.

He gives no visible reaction, but you can’t help to imagine silent disgust. They aren’t a pleasant sight.

“That shouldn’t be happening,” he says, hazel weighing into you, and you hastily bring your hands back to the mug. “You shouldn’t be experiencing pain from accessing your magic.”

A heavy weight forms in your stomach, having sat there for a while now.

“Why not?” You ask hoarsely, meeting his gaze. His brow narrows, watching you silently for a moment. “Because that’s not how magic works,” he replies quietly. “It isn’t in itself good or bad, and so it follows it should not have an impact upon its user. Magic is a tool for the wielder, something to be moulded.”

“But cauldron-given magic isn’t the same,” you mumble, eyes dipping to your hands, knuckles popping from your skin as you hold the mug tighter. “Nesta stole from the cauldron. She wasn’t supposed to have anything. And if she wasn’t supposed to have something, why would I?”

The words hang in the air, only now being allowed to fully take shape in the world, finally spoken aloud. “Elain’s the only one who was given something freely,” you murmur, tea steadily cooling, no longer steaming. “So it makes sense mine…that mine has a catch.”

“No it doesn’t,” he says, and a muscle feathers in your jaw.

“Yes, it does,” you grit out.

“No,” he repeats, shadows flickering closer to you, imploring you to meet his gaze; you refuse. “Even with Nesta’s magic being taken, it never hurt her. Magic doesn’t have sentience.”

This time you meet his gaze, pointedly flicking your eyes to his shadows. “They seem pretty aware.”

Azriel stiffens.

It’s by no means an obvious change, and it may well have been enhanced by your mind, but you felt the air shift. On a subatomic level, something changed.

“You said yourself that magic is something to be moulded,” you force out quietly, gaze dipping away from his, regretting the brief snappiness. “So it becomes a reflection of the user.”

“I hate to break it to you, but you’re no torturer,” he says dryly.

“Neither are your shadows,” you murmur, watching the blackness of your tea. Humour leeches from the air.

A heavy silence follows, taut and loaded, like a bow pulled tight.

“Elain and I spoke the other day,” you whisper, hands tightening around the mug, practically able to hear your skin rustle with the small movement.

Azriel waits quietly, steadily cataloguing the small inconstancies in your behaviour that have been cropping up throughout the night. He’d put them down to shock from being at such close proximity to violence, but it appears there’s something more.

It’s lucky he’d been feeling so restless earlier, allowing his shadows on a looser leash than usual, able to explore and patrol the city streets, cataloguing details to busy them while he worked. Then a commotion had kicked up, and they’d naturally snuck forward. It was only when they’d caught the balmy floral scent tinged with fear they’d scuttled back to return to him, having split the two males apart once he had you away.

“She’d been off the past few days, and I thought it was because of… I thought I knew what it was.” He watches as your pulse deepens, noting the slight but frequent disturbances between scaly knuckles. He thinks back to the way your spine had shuddered with lonely despair, grief etched into the hunched knots of your shoulders as tears splashed into a small pool where he’s now sitting.

“She had a vision,” you manage thickly, and this time there’s nothing subtle about the way he stiffens. Even his shadows skitter back at the mention of those vivid dreams that had stolen words from her mouth for so many months. Trapped in a state half between reality and fantasy.

“You…you die,” you whisper, hardly a breath. “There’s a flash of light, and then you’re on the ground, and you’re— you’re bleeding out.”

“The light?” He asks hoarsely, features tight.

“Green. Like Starfall, she said.”

Azriel stares at you, the top of your head, spine bowed before him in such a meagre, inoffensive stance. Somehow, you’ll be the death of him.

Questions fall from his lips, about the vision: where was it set? What events led up to it? Was there anyone else? What happened after?

In a forest, bargain rings formed with a fox, no one else present, the steep grassy slope with the bone-grey gate and dripping blue web.

He stares at you for a long time, and you keep silent. Wondering if he’ll get to you before you get to him.

“All the more reason for you to train,” he says at last, still staring at the dipped top of your head. Teeth bite the inside of your lip, brows narrowing as heat warms behind your eyes.

“When did you find out?” He asks, refusing to do as much as consider leaving the trail. Who knows where his might might wonder, with the freedom to finally ponder his end.

“The day before yesterday. When I came out of her room.”

No wonder you’d looked so shaken. No wonder Elain hadn’t wanted to speak with him. No wonder you’d been acting so strangely this evening, with everything coiled tight.

“All the more reason to have the others involved,” he says finally. Cassian and Nesta aren’t to return for another week yet, but their plates are full. There’s no way to ask them to take on a task like this, it would be too much to handle. A familiar ache blossoms through the bones of his hands, the signs of restlessness setting in. He still has so many reports to get through, then to manage the topic of your strange magic as well as the vision…to find himself a replacement, too.

Before him, you nod, still clutching the now-cold cup of tea.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Okay.”

————

The parchment lays tauntingly upon the volume, stretched out lazily, practically grinning at you with that razor-sharp smile.

Write again when you’re ready to show your claws.

Well, if there’s ever going to be a time for you to step outside of your circle, it’s now. Taking the first step over the rickety old threshold, moving from mildew smelling wood, toward the crisp freshness of cold wintry air.

You remember what Elain had told you—about the twin bands that forged an alliance. Under no circumstance will you allow even the first step of the prophecy to be fulfilled. So long as you don’t actually enter into a bargain with him, you can stave off the inevitable. Keep it at bay until a solution is found.

The pen trembles in your hand, and dark droplets stain the parchment, having forgotten to clean the nib on the lip of the pot. The words are carved into the paper, looking more permanent than etchings on a grave stone.

How do you feel about a bargain?

The paper vanishes, and your heart pounds in your throat. It’s been a while since you last wrote to one another. What if he’s become bored?

To your surprise, his response is prompt, but you waste no time on considering why he’s up so late in the night, already blending into early morning. Your heart pounds harder when you read his message, pen trembling lightly in your hand.

What trouble have you gotten yourself into, cygnet?

Even through the paper, you find yourself able to hear the condescending lilt of his voice. You can’t help but feel you’ve walked right into whatever trap he’s set for you, but you’re left with no choice but to continue.

I’m serious, Eris.

The parchment vanishes, and you wonder if you should have continued with the first point to keep his attention, but— You can’t let him know how badly you need this. He might not be as bad as the others have made him out to be, but you’d be foolish to trust him entirely. You need to keep your cool.

But then the paper reappears.

I can tell from your wobbly handwriting.

You scribble on the page.

Incredibly articulate, as always.

Nausea bubbles in your stomach, and you sit back in the chair, glaring at the parchment. Teeth chew on your lower lip, pen dipping into the ink pot, hovering over the page, but hesitating. It’s so insane to be doing this—even you can see that. But it’s insane you’re having to be confronted with your own source of magic as well as a vision predicting Azriel’s death.

If you remain idle, he’ll be the one to pay.

They haven’t snatched you up already, have they?

Something cold and slimy ices down your spine, staring at the words, lips twisting down at the sinister question.

What do you mean? You write back, this time keeping your hand as steady as possible.

The parchment vanishes, and you’re left with a sour feeling in your stomach. You’d forgotten about the edge that weighs at the back of your mind whenever writing to him, like he has a dagger idly tracing the knots of your spine. You raise your hand, fingers lightly tracing the nape of your neck, clearing the area.

Paper reappears, and you hesitate, sucking in a light breath before leaning forward to read.

I was under the impression your oldest sister had to undergo some unpleasant rehabilitation. I wouldn’t put it pass Rhysand to do the same to you.

You give him no time to sense your doubt, setting pen to parchment thoughtlessly.

You’re lying. You have nothing to base that on.

You clearly haven’t been filled in on our meetings if you think things are well enough that you have the luxury of inaction.

What the hell does that mean?

You glare at the paper, pulse bumping against your rib cage.

Are you interested or not?

The page vanishes, and you fall back into the habit of counting. One…two…three… Hands fumble with the volume, unread since you last wrote to him. The book isn’t even fully opened before his response is delivered.

I wouldn’t have bothered talking with you if you were entirely bland.

Your expression sours, apprehension draining as you glare at the parchment.

Is that supposed to a compliment?

Paper vanishes, the reappears seconds later.

I don’t give them out often.

The edges of your mouth quirk, familiar discomfort settling over your skin.

I can tell. You need some practice.

The paper again disappears, and you again return to the book, scanning the short title—one you’ve already read. You flip forward, scanning the text to see if it’s something you haven’t yet reached or not.

Parchment settles over the page, returned to you.

Is that any way to be writing to me? I’m under the distinct impression you want something.

Curious, Eris?

Fascinated.

You lean back in your chair, breathing steadily. Reaching habitually for the emptying pot of hand cream. Taking a moment to pause, regulating your heartbeat. This has to happen one way or another, and as it is, it’s the best you can do to keep the prophecy at bay.

I want to learn more about what I can do.

Go on.

Good gods. This is mad. What are you doing?

I know I have something. You write, easing in deep breaths, stretching your feet, body stiffening over the parchment. You know I have something. I want to know more. And I think you do, too.

There it is, written down on paper. Your offer.

The parchment vanishes, a cool sweat sliding down your spine, thumbs rubbing the remaining cream into your skin, rubbing over the dry scaliness, gliding over the stray lumps in your knuckles, the area around your nails dead and hardened.

I’m sure your High Lord would be intrigued by your offer. He’s written. What’s in this for me? If Rhysand finds out what you’re planning, I’ll be the one to take the brunt of his fury, and that’s not what our alliance needs.

He won’t find out. You write.

Forgive me if I doubt that.

A frustrated sigh leaves your chest, pulse beginning to spike.

What do you want?

Tell me what you’re seeking first. Then I’ll decide my price.

You swallow. Unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth.

I need to hide for a bit.

The parchment vanishes, and a split second of doubt ripples through your fingers, crushing weight pulling on your shoulders.

You’re in trouble.

A little.

To do with your magic.

Maybe.

Moments tick by, but you’re unable to read, vision slanting at the edges as you stare at the blank space, chewing on your tongue until copper spills, coating your mouth. Stress peels down your skin.

You’re asking for refuge.

I didn’t say that.

The paper vanishes and reappears in seconds, and you briefly shoot a glare at the letter.

Lost interest?

For how long?

You blink, thinking. You hadn’t gotten this far. How long would you need? If you tried to bring it out…even through the pain…

How long is possible?

Another silence. He’s probably guessing how serious this is. Probably already knows. Calculating away at your expense.

A month. Take it or leave it.

Eris I need more than a month.

There’s no way you could master it in a month. Both Feyre and Nesta took much longer, it’s unachievable.

The paper reappears, nothing added since, anxiety being sprinkled upon your mind. Your fingertips prickle, and you wring your hands together before relenting, putting pen to paper.

How soon can the month start?

How badly do you need it?

(How badly do you need me?)

Promptly, you respond, dodging the question. You’ve got to be careful around him, the last thing you need is him knowing about Elain’s vision before it’s even been spoken about with the rest of them. You can only imagine what he’d do with that sort of information to hold over you, however briefly.

Tomorrow?

Within the hour would be appreciated.

Very badly.

You scowl at the page, able to hear his mocking tone through the letters.

This isn’t funny, Eris.

I didn’t say it was.

I can hear your mirth through the paper.

The parchment vanishes, taking a while to reappear. You can imagine his lips pressing together—the same way he had when you’d fallen into the river.

You have unbelievably acute hearing.

You glare hard at the paper. Wishing it would burst into flames.

Is it plausible? To be away within the hour?

I suppose.

Yes or no?

Time ticks away, sitting still as you wait, muscles tense as you absently peer down at the flaky skin. You begin running through a list of things to do should he agree: you’ll need to pack, to find a reason to disappear for a month, to… That’s it. Clothes, and an alibi. But how in the world are you going to find something to keep you away from them for a month. You don’t like the idea of breaking from the agreement with Azriel, but you suppose technically he broke it first…

Teeth worry your lower lip, head resting in your hands, breathing heavily as you peer through cool fingertips. This whole night has been a blur.

If you aren’t there to tell them, it’s a safe bet that Azriel will go ahead with it anyway, regardless if you’re present or not.

All you need is a reason to vanish.

Flashing images of sawtoothed ice crackle through your mind, vacant gold filled with sparks.

Your stomach sinks, seeing a way through.

It’s wrong. Wrong and hurtful to him, being used for your own needs. But if it’s for a greater good…

The paper reappears, and you’re out of time to figure out a cover plan.

Eyes scan the single word, written in a neat, elegant script.

Yes.

————

He’d be furious with you.

He wouldn’t show it, but you know what you’re doing isn’t right. And what you’re about to do is much worse.

Hands grip the straps of your bags tighter, two strung over your shoulder, ready to leave. As many clothes as you could fit, as well as the volume Eris had given you. The small, deep blue box burns against your thigh, searing through the fabric of your pocket.

“Bas?” You call, wary of making a disturbance.

Minutes feel like hours as they drip by, the door eventually cracking open.

His lip is split, and his nose looks soft and broken, no blood in sight save for the bruising across his cheek. Gold gutters as he sees you, making to turn away but you stick your foot over the threshold, hand landing atop his, having him flinch.

“What are you doing here?” He asks, voice rough and raw, thyme and rosemary tinged with copper. “I wanted to check on you,” you say, quietly, heart pounding. “I don’t have a lot of time. There’s a lot I want to say to you right now and more I wish I could explain, but I want to know how you are.”

His throat rolls, and he relents on the door, allowing it open a little more. He’s changed clothes, having cleaned himself up since you last saw him. Mere hours ago.

Wordlessly, you extend your arm, returning the warm over-piece he’d lent to you. He takes it silently, hanging it over the hook beside the door, deeper in his house.

“Are you… Have you taken care of yourself?” You ask quietly. He stiffens, but nods numbly, and you can tell he’s being truthful. “What did you want to say?” He asks, diverting the topic, causing your pulse to spike erratically. “I need your help with something,” you admit hoarsely, gold latching with your gaze, a spark of awareness returning, telling you to continue.

You shift beneath his attention, gripping the straps tighter. “I can’t tell you what it is, or where I’m going,” —Bas startles at that, straightening— “But I need to leave for a bit.” Anxiety rolls across your chest as you feel him staring at you. But remaining silent. “I just need a week to figure things out, but until then I need you to help,” you whisper.

He scans your features, searching for clues, dropping repeatedly to your bags as if they might hold the answer.

“What do you need me to do?” He asks quietly, warily.

“If anyone comes asking for me, I need you to tell them I’m with you,” you say, meeting his gaze. “It’ll only end badly for me otherwise. Nobody can know where I’m going or why. I need that privacy, Bas.”

He stares down at you, lips parted, eyes slightly wider than usual. “You— what?” He hisses at last, grip tightening on the door, and you consciously take a subtle step back, watching as he marks the action, features shifting from shock to guilt in the blink of an eye. His posture stiffens, and he straightens, getting a hold of himself, pulling back into his home.

“I can’t— I’m not lying to your family,” he murmurs, unable to look at you, gaze cast down. “You’ve been so insistent on me asking for help when I need it Bas,” you remind quietly, guilt soaking into the chambers of your heart. “Well, I need it,” you whisper, hardly able to get the words out. “I need you.”

The dilemma rolls behind his eyes, scenarios flashing through and playing out in his head. “What would I even say?” He asks softly, voice raw. There’s no time for embarrassment, you have to meet Eris in under an hour, so you push it aside. “Just say I’m on my cycle, and I wanted to be some place safe,” you say quietly, dipping your head in a show of vulnerability. Allowing warmth to heat your skin, fingers tightening around your bags. “It should keep them away for a little, if they think that I’m…” you trail off purposefully.

“Yeah,” he whispers to himself, nodding. “I get it.”

Seconds pass and you shift on your feet, displaying your distress. “Can you— I mean, will you do that for me?” You ask hoarsely, forcing your gaze to meet with worn out gold, tired and weak from the long night. He appears indecisive, torn between you and his rulers.

“Just a week,” you remind softly. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t…” You guiltily shift on your feet, and at last he nods.

“Okay,” he whispers, hands shifting on the door. “Okay. But one week. And you’re not doing anything dumb.”

“One week,” you agree nodding. “And nothing dumb.”

“I’m serious,” he emphasises, moving to reach for you, but hesitating, then pulling back into himself. Guilt bubbles up your throat, wriggling beneath your flesh. You want to apologise, to cry and tell him you’re sorry for putting him in this position. After all he’s done for you.

“Tell me you’re going to be okay,” he says quietly, watching you.

“I’m going to be okay,” you reassure, tongue flicking out over your lips.

If he can tell you’re lying, he doesn’t show it.

Bas nods stiffly and silence stretches between you, a rope slowly going taut.

“Okay,” he murmurs, releasing the door, pushing upright. “Be safe, yeah?”

Your throat rolls, but you nod. “Yeah. I will.”

————

The entrance to the tunnel looms before you, right where Eris said it would be.

You walk down into this, and it will take you straight to him, no going back.

You shift the bags on your shoulders, the weight nudging against the little blue box at your thigh.

With a heavy breath, you turn, scanning the trees before you, barely able to make out the speckled lights of Velaris in your wake. A strange sense of melancholy nostalgia settles across your skin, except it’s thick and lined with heaviness. Like you’re leaving behind something you never quite got to enjoy, leaving before you’re ready, suddenly extracted from your life. Lifted and replaced.

You hadn’t expected to fear being away from them. You hadn’t expected to miss them so soon—not even out of the Night Court yet. But the prophecy haunts your steps, driving you apart in order to keep them together. Azriel will tell them about your powers, the vision will come to light, and they’ll understand why you went away. It’s safer like this.

Exhaling steadily, you turn back to the open tunnel, and begin the descent.

The darkness wraps around you quickly, and a sense of confusion prickles at your skin, like your brain has been turned around, direction wobbling. All you can do is continue on forward, putting one foot in front of the other, wandering deeper into the pitch blackness.

A crisp breeze plays with the sleeves of your dress, wrapped in the thickest scarf you could find. The chill of autumn washes over you, sweeping into your lungs, soothing the anxious heat of your skin, cooling down your spine. You pause, the early dawn colours of grey-blue glowing faintly in the distance, nearing the end of the tunnel. Taking in a deep breath, you allow the tension to roll from your muscles, soothed and softened by the freshness of it all. The newness.

When you reach the tunnel’s exit, you’re greeted by an unrecognisable figure, but that possesses autumn court uniform, taking you securely by the arms, before a flash of icy air shocks your skin, dropping through the dizziness of winnowing until you’re within the confines of a castle, great braziers lighting the walls either side a small door. The male instructs you to wait inside, then leaves, disappearing silently off down the hallway without another word.

You quietly open the door, finding that it leads to a windowless room the size of your old bedroom from the hut, lit by three candles. To the left is a neat, single bed with a small closet at its foot, a thin rug over the cold floor, and a writing desk pushed against the other side of the room. A door leads away into what you hope is a washroom.

Overall, it’s sparse and bare, but the air is warm and dry, smelling faintly of pastry, and you wonder where it’s coming from. From the looks of the area, it’s a place usually assigned to servants or handmaids, likely given to you to draw less attention—it would be odd if a Lady suddenly took up temporary home in the Autumn Palace without having to greet any of the Members of Court, so you suppose a place like this is ideal. Which must mean you’re near the kitchen, hence the warmth and smell of pastry.

Fatigue weighs on your bones, lids sliding shut before you’ve even made it to the bed.

You hardly manage to keep your eyes open long enough to remove your gloves and rub cream into the skin, the sickening smell of gardenias permeating the previously pleasant aroma of jams and tarts and other breakfast pieces. It has your stomach rumbling but you’re far too tired to do much, save for setting your bags down and putting the volume on the desk.

Shoes are lethargically toed away, scarf unfolding and put beside the volume before padding over to the bed, rummaging through your bags in search of a night gown. Discarding your clothes and paying a brief visit to the door in the corner—which is indeed a tiny washroom—before pulling on the ankle length gown, slipping into a thick pair of socks, blowing out the candles.

The bed is soft despite the thin mattress, and you settle beneath the covers, muscles the most relaxed they’ve been in a long time, exhausted from a day of emotional turbulence.

Breaths sigh in and out, settling into a peaceful rhythm, deepening as you begin to finally sink into the shallow waters of sleep.

Comfort sweeps over you like a fresh blanket, warm and clean after a long day, finally ready to rest.

“You’ve been here for the lesser part of an hour,” a voice calls from the door, dripping with displeasure. “Get up. It’s morning.”

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch @nightcourt-daydreaming @assassinsblade @marvelouslovely-barnes @v3lv3tf0x @kalulakunundrum @vellichor01 @throneofsmut

#azriel x reader #azriel angst #azriel x you #azriel x yn #cbmthy #multi part fic

486 notes · View notes

mrghostrat · 3 months

Text

my first book, bound!

this thing is a mess and i love every little part of it. i made my own bookcloth, sewed in the headbands, formatted and printed everything at home, with less than perfect materials, and even redid the whole text block after messing up trimming the first one. it was a learning experience that definitely taught me a lot.

this fic changed me, carved out a little space in my chest and has lived there since i first read it. it’s also been erased from the internet, and required some fandangling with the waybackmachine to ever check it out in the first place. i managed to scrounge the html file and turn it into an epub to read it initially, so making a physical copy of it was a no brainer.

it’s beautiful and heart warming and painful, and for some reason i knew it needed to look as battered as the characters felt. so when the fabric i bought for bookcloth turned out to be too thin and soaked up the glue in ugly splotches, i decided to keep it rather than go out and buy something new. when the paper i found for end pages ended up too small and misshapen, i left them. when i cut myself on my bookbinding needle partway through the second text block, i could have reprinted the signature, but decided i wanted to sew it in.

something about these wounds just aligned with the fic, to me. and now i have a real record of my first bind, errors and all, that i can’t wait to look back on in however many years from now.

edit: i reached out to ayes on twitter for permission to share the file for this, since it was taken down… and they’ve republished it for me instead!!!!!! 😭 please read it here

#i hope one day i can bind a perfect copy for ayes #i need them to know how much their words have changed my brain fr #libratian #good omens #book binding #tw blood #rat reads

246 notes · View notes

holylulusworld · 1 month

Text

Indecent Proposal (18.2)

Summary: Your boyfriend wants to be part of their empire. You are the pawn he’s willing to sacrifice.

Pairing: Mobster!Stucky x fem!Reader

Warnings: established Stucky, caring mobsters, pregnant reader, polyamory, fluff

Indecent Proposal (18)

Indecent Proposal masterlist

Licking your lips, you watch Bucky and Steve emerge from the shower. They chose to wear nothing but a smirk while parading around the bedroom.

“So…are we going to get down and dirty or what is the surprise you were talking about before bending me over the bed to eat my coochie,” you wink at Steve who was all over you this morning.

You whistle when Bucky steps toward the bed to cup your face and press a soft kiss to your temple. “Aw, doll. You are so needy and pretty this morning. If only we had more time.”

“Buck, we should get ready. The stylist will be here any moment and our pretty princess is still in her pajamas.”

You pout. “I’m not in my pajamas,” you push the covers off of your body. “I’m naked.” You smirk and wink at Steve. “Just like you.”

“Stevie, she’s so naughty,” Bucky grins devilishly. “Doll, I swear. If we had more time, I’d kill that pretty pussy and ass with my tongue and cock.”

“Buck, not now,” Steve tuts. His features darken for a second, remembering the things Jake revealed to them last night. “We have more important things to do. And we need to talk about a few things later. But first…”

“It’s time for our surprise,” Bucky chuckles. “Get out of bed, Y/N. You need a shower too. We will be waiting to send the stylist in.”

You blink a few times. Why do you need a stylist? Is there a special occasion you forgot about? Crap, maybe it’s the wedding anniversary and they want you to celebrate with them.

The dress the stylist brought is a dream. No. It’s more than that. Never in your life did you wear something so beautiful and elegant.

You feel like a princess or a queen. Maybe you are.

Because Steve and Bucky make you feel like you’re one in a million. Not just a random woman they can use for their pleasure and toss on the street.

“How do you like it?” The stylist asks. She pushes her looks out of her face while looking you up and down. Her cheeks dimple and she claps her hands. "Not to brag but I outdid myself with that dress!"

“I love the soft fabric,” you run your fingertips over the floral print and smile. The dress is playful, just like you. The bohemian vibe of the flowy maxi dress in a floral print was Bucky’s choice, and you love him for it.

“You look very pretty,” she says and points toward the jewelry on the bed. “We only need to decide on the jewelry you want to wear.”

“Something simple, I think,” you point at the rose pendant in rose gold with a single purple-pink diamond, matching your light rose dress. “I want the dress to impress.” You chuckle at your bad rhyme. “I mean…it’s beautiful and speaks for itself.”

“You’ll look beautiful, and they will love it,” she coos. “Aw, this is so exciting.” She claps her hands. “Let’s take their breath away, sweetie.”

“Doll…wow!” Bucky and Steve gasp when you walk inside the ballroom. “You look stunning.”

“We got us a good one,” Bucky jokes before he takes your left hand to kiss it. “Right, Stevie?”

“Beautiful,” Steve takes your other hand and presses a soft kiss on your knuckles. “And stunning.”

“What is going on here?” You look at both men. They’re wearing black tuxedos, today, and matching bow ties. “Steve? Bucky?”

“You’re our beautiful and pregnant fiancé. Today, we want to make it official. Even though polyamorous marriage is not legal, we want to make you our wife. You’re our third. The missing piece we were looking for,” Bucky softly says.

“You’re not only the mother of our babies, but the queen sitting between her kings,” Steve smirks that irresistible smirk. “What do you say?”

“Will you give us the honor to become our naughty vixen?” Bucky throws in. “Will you let us eat that pretty pussy for the rest of our lives?”

Steve makes a face. “What I wanted to say was that we’d be honored if you would agree to become our wife.”

“YES!” You wink at Bucky. “And I want to become your wife too,” you purr in Steve’s direction. “I’m not wearing this dress for nothing.”

Part 19

Tags in reblog.

#bucky barnes #steve rogers #stucky x reader #stucky x female reader #x reader #female reader #mafia au #tw: pregnant reader #stucky x you

197 notes · View notes

come-into-my-parlour · 2 months

Text

Coming home to find a note from you covering a plate. I can't see what it's hiding but the note says Eat Me. How strange. I pick it up to see what's under it.

It's at least two handfuls of various pills in different colors and sizes. Hm, I've never seen so many different drugs in one spot before. I don't want to disappoint you but I'm scared. I read the note again. Okay.

I start taking the pills one by one and it takes me a long time to know for sure I'll manage to keep them down. Once I'm done eating what you left for me I see you've scribbled something on the plate. "Bed"

I go to our bed and see a pile of clothes. Crotchless lace panties, a bra that keeps my tits up but doesn't cover them, thigh high stockings, mesh gloves that end in a satin mitten-like fabric. I don't know what you'd want me to do but I guess I won't need to use my fingers for it. And, lastly, a collar with a bell. Well, that explains why everything is in cow print. Okay, I'll try anything once.

I put on everything you've laid out for me and I want to see myself wearing it. I go to the mirror and before I've even looked at myself, I see some writing on it.

"Good night, princess."

I read it and reread it, very confused. What do you mean?

But then I can feel my head get dizzy. The room is spinning and I'm on my hands and knees trying to keep it still. I can't. Everything is moving. I fall down and I think I pass out.

I wake up to sounds of cows but they're strange. There's also moaning, I think. I'm so confused. I can hear a lot of men's voices and panting and sounds of wet flesh slapping. Where am I?

I open my eyes but they feel heavy. I'm still a bit dizzy but in an instant, all that gets overshadowed by an overwhelming heat. My body is on fire. I feel hot everywhere, but especially between my legs. I think I'm wet but I can't move to touch myself and check. It's just now I realize im strapped to something, my hands and knees bound to it as I'm placed leaning on it. My tits feel heavy and sore as they hang low towards the ground and I don't know why they feel that way. I can't look around yet, my head is still spinning, so even though I fight it, I pass out.

When I come to, my breasts hurt so bad. I can feel water flowing on my thighs between my legs, and I'm drooling. I look around and I'm shocked.

There are dozens of women naked or wearing similar clothing to me, strapped to a wooden bench of some sort in the same position I am in. Each woman has a far off look to her and is either smiling blissfully or moaning in pleasure. I can see men surrounding most of them but a few are left alone and there are machines strapped to them.

I can see their breasts are connected to something that appears to be milking them. There's also a fucking machine pushing a dildo between their legs and a bucket placed between their spread legs. They're leaking so much I thought they were relieving themselves but it looks like it's just their arousal that's leaking that way. Is that even possible? Is that why I feel wet between my legs? Am I leaking in that same way?

I look to the women with men around them and see they're pounding their cocks in every hole they find while the women are being milked. I hear a few of them moo.

I'm so shocked and captivated by the sight before me that I don't realize you're standing in front of me.

"Good morning, princess." I look up to you and you look so normal and I look like this and I feel like crying.

"Now, now. No crying. The only places you're allowed to leak for me are from your pretty mouth, gorgeous breasts and from your needy pussy." You punctuate your words by touching my lips, the side of one of my breasts and barely grazing my pussy lips. But by the time you're behind me to do that, I'm screaming. It feels so good I'm blinded by the pleasure. I don't know how I didn't pass out again.

"Mm, I can see you're ready." You look to me. "Are you ready, pet? Are you ready to be milked and bred?" You're looking at me expecting something but I can't take this anymore.

"What are you doing to me? Get me out of this and take me home! Now!" I scream as loud as I can.

Before I'm even done with my tantrum you slap my ass cheek hard. Then the other one. Then come to my face and squeeze my jaw. You tip my head up so I can took at you.

"Cows don't talk."

I'm so shocked I gasp. You take that opportunity and shove your cock down my throat. You taste so good. You're so hard inside my mouth. I want to eat your cum. Let me. Please, let me.

No, what the fuck? Where are these thoughts coming from!? I start trying to squirm away but you're relentless. You keep fucking my mouth and I can feel the drool pool and leak down my chin. Please, feed me your cum. Please, I promise I'll be good to you. I close my eyes and moan in pleasure. I can feel my wetness drip straight in what i presume is a bucket like the others have. And even that sound is oddly arousing.

My tits feel like they're about to explode but the force with which you're fucking my mouth is making them sway back and forth and it feels so good. I moan around your dick and try to lick you. I look up to you and you must see the switch in my gaze because you smile.

"There's my good little cow. Are you hungry?" You moan and he doesn't take long before he spills inside you and you feel it slip down your throat. You choke a bit but make sure to swallow.

Only after he decides you must have swallowed it all does he pull out of you. He pats your head and says "Good cow." You smile at that with the same dreamy smile you saw on the other women.

The memory of that snaps you out of whatever daze you were just in and you start squirming and trying to escape your restraints. He frowns at you.

"Stop that, cow." But you keep going and you can see him getting angry now. He grabs your face again and leans in close.

"Listen to me now and listen well. This is your life now. I am your God, your master, you reason for living. You are my breeding cow, my toy to do with as I please. You are an animal and you exist to take my pleasure. You are nothing else. You are not allowed to talk. You are not allowed to touch yourself. You are only allowed to move if I am walking you on a leash. You exist for me. The sooner you accept it, the sooner you can be rewarded. The more you struggle, the more I'll punish you. And you won't like that, would you, cow?"

You look up at him with wide eyes full of fear. That seems to soften him a little.

"Listen, pet. I know it's a big change, but I know you can take it. I know you'll enjoy it. I know you'll love it as soon as you give in. I will take care of you. I will make your life heavenly. You know I can. You see these tits?" He touches one of your heavy breasts and you moan without meaning to. "I know they hurt and feel sore and heavy and I can take that pain away. I can make it feel so so good if you let me take care of you. That wet pussy that's still dripping in your bucket? I can fill it with so much cum you'll be leaking it for days straight in the bucket, mixing it with your pussy juice." You shiver. "I'll take good care of you, pet. So give in to me and don't fight me." You raise your eyebrows still not understanding. He sighs.

"If you're difficult, I'll have to let you go. But don't think that means you'll get away from here. You won't. This is your life now and there's no escape. But you'll be given to someone else. And if you're difficult with him, too, you'll be left in a shared paddock for common use. Is this what you want? To be a shared animal between dozens of men every day who don't care about you? Don't care to make you feel good? Hurt you just because they can?" You look at him with your frightened eyes again.

"At least I love you. I want to you to feel good too. I want you to love it here." He caresses your cheek. "Don't you want that, pet?"

You close your eyes and breathe deeply. If those were your choices, then yes. You do want that. You open your eyes and they're a bit blurry with tears. You look up at him with your eyes resolute. You will accept this. You will learn. He must see that because he smiles.

"Good cow. Now, let's take care of your udders."

He starts strapping the milking machine to your breasts and you've never felt anything like this before. You feel so sore but every time he touches you, you feel so good.

When he finishes with the straps, he presses a button and you immediately scream. It feels soo good. The suckers are pulling at your nipples and you start to moan so loud. Nothing else exists beside those suckers working your hard tips. You vaguely hear dripping and realize that your bucket is getting filled with your arousal.

Then you feel it. Milk. It's dripping from your breasts. The machine is actually milking you. You didn't think it'd manage. God, it feels so good. You forget yourself and start writhing your hips, trying to find pleasure. You moan and gasp and pant and move your body trying to find something, anything to touch your clit. You know it wouldn't take long before you cum.

"You look so good being milked, cow." You also forgot he was here. But as you look to him dazed and drooling, he's stroking his cock. You whimper at him.

"Time to breed you now, cow." You moan again and wiggle your ass as much as you're allowed to.

He goes behind you and you feel him align himself with your dripping cunt. He enters you in one hard thrust and you scream. You keep screaming as he pounds into you.

Between his hard unforgiving thrusts into your soaked pussy and the milking machine pulling milk out of your engorged breasts, you lose it. Your orgasm overwhelms you and you pass out again.

When you come to, you still feel hard thrusts between your legs. You whimper and moan and you hear him chuckle.

"Oh, good. You're awake for round three. I'm glad you didn't miss that one." And you hear him grunt and feel his hot thick seed inside you. He starts to pull out and you moan. No, not yet. More!

He slaps your ass. "Don't be greedy, cow." He pushes something back in you but it's not as big as you need it to be.

"That's to keep my cum burried in you until I'm back." He then picks up your bucket and starts spilling the liquid it collected on your ass, legs and back. You feel it dripping from your body to the floor. You didn't even realize you'd produced that much of it.

" There's my nice, clean cow." And he places it back down to its spot.

He kneels next to you and touches your breast. You moan and wiggle again.

"You're still tender but you're not giving me any more milk, so that's all of the machine time you're getting today. If you produce more milk tomorrow, I'll reward you with more time with the machine while I breed you. But if you don't, I won't let you use the machine at all for at least two days."

You gasp, scared that's even a possibility. The relief the milking machine provides is tremendous, but the suckers also give you tremendous pleasure. You need it. You need it like air.

"Now, let's see how you taste then." And he goes to collect some of your milk and drinks it while looking at your eyes. He closes his and sighs. "So fucking sweet." You preen.

He kneels by your face and whispers at your ear. "If you're good, tomorrow I'll drink it straight from the tit." You can't contain the moan that escapes you. He likes your reaction and pats your head. "Good cow."

He sits up and looks down at your big eyes bracing himself to leave you for the day. You smile and say "Moo."

209 notes · View notes