#it's about. thunderousness. it's about. being told not to write about water and coming back to it anyway

[tempestclerics]

all you need to know about hathym is that their playlist is more than a third straight off florence and the machine's album how big how blue how beautiful

[fashionteahouse]

Hii! Your work is amazing!

Could you write a Reader x Paul story? The idea is that the reader is Jacob's friend, and he takes her to meet the pack. Paul has an imprint on her but keeps it a secret. Meanwhile, the reader becomes very close to the boys without knowing they are shapeshifters. At some point, they start arguing about Jacob suffering because of Bella. The reader then comforts Jacob, saying how sweet and loving he is and that he should find someone who truly loves him back. This makes Paul jealous. If it’s not too much trouble, could you make it a long story? I’ll leave the ending to your creativity—I absolutely love it!💓

heyy thank youuu 💜 and sure I would love to ! hope you enjoy :)

where do we go - paul x reader

"I can hear your stomach growling from here." Jacob pokes at you.

Nudging him, you tell him, "Just wait, yours will rumble like thunder in just one moment."

He chuckles at this and focuses back on the road with one hand on the steering wheel.

"This rides really smooth." you compliment his newly constructed ride. The rabbit he had been working on, was finally finished.

"Thanks." he says with a big smile.

Pulling up to the small but friendly looking home, you get out the car and adjust your slightly wrinkled clothes from it being pressed against the seat belt.

"Come on." he says impatiently. You wave him off, knowing that it was due to his hunger. He takes your hand and guides you into the home. You were shocked at the fact that he just opened the door and walked in like it was his own home.

A long, dark haired woman sets a platter of food in the middle of the table and looks over and smiles, "Just in time, Jacob. You brought someone." she states as she looks at you with a crinkle in her eye.

You wave with a friendly smile.

"This is Emily. Emily this is Y/N." Jacob says and you both say hi again.

"Are you hungry?" she asks.

"Hell yeah, I'm hungry." a boy says as he walks in and plops at a seat at the table.

Emily rolls her eyes and tsks, "Not you. I'm talking about Y/N." she says.

"Yes. Everything looks so good." you say and comment.

Jacob tugs your hand and sits you down next to him.

"This is Jared." Jacob tells you and you nod.

"I could've told her that." Jared replies back and this makes you smile a bit.

More people started to file into the room, conversations were thrown as people settled into their seats. They introduced themselves. You kept note of their names. Quil, Embry, Seth, and Sam.

"Where's Leah and Paul?" Sam asks as he grabs a fork.

"They said they were coming." Embry says as he wastes no time with digging in.

The door opens as you were in the middle of defending your growling stomach, Jacob tells the table how loud it was growling earlier.

You look and see a tall woman with short hair walk in with a muscle covered man.

You almost drooled at the sight of him but decided to keep your mouth occupied by chewing.

"We have company?" Leah asks as she takes a look at you and sits down with her own plate.

You both exchanged names.

"Can you hand me that?" you hear a rough voice.

"You should say please." Jacob says. You still hand it to him, you took it as an opportunity to look at this person who to you, was eye candy.

His eyes were like a spell. The talk that circled around you was muffled and didn't register in your ears as his warm fingers plucked the syrup bottle from you. His eyes went down to his own plate. You missed the sight but thought it was just a silly crush.

Paul on the other hand, didn't know how to feel. He liked the life of not being tied down. He loathed the idea of imprinting, he felt it was glamorized brainwashing. He didn't speak for the rest of the time at the table.

You and Leah wash the dishes as Emily clears the table.

"Are you going to be around more often?" Leah asks as she rinsed the cup under the warm water.

"I hope so. You guys are fun." you say with a smile.

You join the others in the living room, Jacob pats a spot next to him.

Paul did have questions. He wondered if Jacob had finally gotten over Bella Swan. He wondered if you were taking her place. He wondered how you two met. So, that's what he asked.

"How do you know Jacob?"

He didn't care how it came out, it was itching him to know. He watched closely as you looked at Jacob and giggled before saying, "Do you want to tell him or should I?"

Paul sighed softly to himself with impatience. He wanted to know the answer but you and Jacob laughed with each other as if you two shared an inside joke. Paul wanted to know how Jacob made you bubbly like that.

"Just tell him." you say, feeling nervous at Paul's intense and focused gaze.

"She used to work at a cookie shop. She would hook me up with the leftovers." Jacob shrugs.

"You still work there?" Quil asks, he wanted to be in on it.

"No, not anymore." you say while shaking your head.

"Why? He got you fired?" Paul asks again.

"No." you say in a small voice as you look to him.

"It was good while it lasted." Jacob says as he then starts to hold your hand.

"Everything can't last forever." you say to him with a small smile.

Since that day, you came over more often. You guilty started to prefer Sam and Emily's over Jacob's garage, even though you two shared great memories in such place.

Some days you would see Paul. Some days you don't. It didn’t bother you too much, you found yourself enjoying the quirks of each pack member.

You all were on the beach. You joined in on a soccer game. You had fun even though it was supposed to be competitive. Falling in the sand didn't matter to you.

You pant and sit down next to Leah, feeling tired.

"How come Paul didn't join us?" you ask. It was a nice day and everybody was in high spirits.

"Who knows." she replies.

"Oh." you say.

Paul walked the pathway to the beach. He could hear and see everyone from a distance. His ears opened as he could hear you and Leah speaking. He had conflicted emotions as seen you sitting next to her, he dreamt of you, two nights in a row.

"Is Paul antisocial or something?" you ask her.

Leah chuckles but shrugs and looks over, she sees Paul making his way to the sand covered beach.

Seth comes over and begs you both to play again. You get up as you watch Leah get up.

Paul just sat on the fallen log that distance from him and the group. He watched as you all had fun.

He didn't stay long. He found himself watching over you and he felt the spiked feeling when you looked over at him a few times.

Jacob wrapped his arm around you as he walked you back to his car. The sky was dark and you were yawning.

This time, you went over and Sam and Emily's with Leah. Walking in, you were happy to see everybody. Everyone got up and greeted you or gave you hugs.

Everyone except Jacob and Paul.

You walk over to a sulking Jacob, your face was masked with concern as he wasn't his usual sunny self.

"Hey Jake." you say softly.

"Hey." he replies back.

You didn't push it, you made sure to stay close. Paul watched as you brushed your arm against his, he secretly wanted you to do the same for whenever he was moody.

You eat some cookies that Emily had made, you offer him one. He shakes his head. You follow him out of the door and sit on the porch swing next to him.

You both sit in silence as the swing slowly rocked back and forth and the sounds of birds chirping was what filled the silence.

You look at him.

"Who did it?" you ask him. He shakes his head as he stares ahead.

"It's nothing. Really." he says. You're not convinced.

Dinner had came as you all enjoyed the cooked meal.

"Don't tell me you're still upset at that chick." Quil says as he takes a look at Jacob's slow paced eating.

"What chick? He wont tell me anything." you say as you put your utensil in your mouth.

"Bella Swan." Paul says. It was sneaky, but he didn't care.

"What did she do this time?" you ask Jacob and rub his arm.

"I just don't get it, why does she keeps pretending like she doesn't have feelings for me as well?"

"Well, how can you know for sure?" you ask.

"Come on, Y/N. The whole time her precious boyfriend was gone, she came to me for comfort. I saw the way she would look at me, let me hold her hand, and everything." Jacob says.

Embry snorts, "He still holds onto the fact that she told him he was sorta beautiful."

Snickering filled the table as they tease at the fact that he used to never shut up about it when it happened. Jacob just didn't have it in him to laugh a long with them. He genuinely felt frustrated and strung along. You didn't laugh either, you hold his hand that was resting on the table.

"I say to don't keep wasting your time on earning her love. If it was meant to be it would've happened."

"Thats the thing, it was going to happen. Had her boyfriend not come back."

"Jake, if she ran off with him at the opportunity presented, did she really love you enough?"

Jacob shrugs in defeat. You tug at his hand to get him to look at you. He does.

"Shes not the only girl in the world. As someone as sweet as you are, the right girl will come around. You're so loving and just so full of love, you will easily find someone who will love you right back. Just open your horizons." you say to him closely, you wanted him to grasp onto what you were saying.

"Is Y/N trying to shoot her shot?" Jared asks humorously.

Laughs circle around you tell him to shut up through your own laughter.

"Let me be there for him." you say as you take a look at your friend. He cheered up a bit, you didn't want him to get out of character for someone who didn't treat him to his value.

Paul didn't have an appetite anymore. He watched the interaction and felt something foreign enter his body. Jealousy. He was used to people being jealous of what he had, not the other way around.

"You don't want any more?" Emily asks Paul as he rises to empty his plate.

"I got full." he simply says. He takes a last glance as you continued to rub the back of Jacob's hand.

He goes outside and does what he does best, phase.

His mind wouldn't stop. Fantasies and realities began to mix with each other.

He huffed out through his snout as he bared his teeth at the thought of Jacob and you becoming an item.

"Paul? Did you imprint?"

Paul groaned at the distraction of his brain, not giving him a clue when Sam phased in. He shifts out and books it toward his home. He did a lot of thinking in the shower.

It shocked Emily and Sam when Paul decided to come over earlier than he usually does.

Sam gives him a look. Paul ignores him. He didn't need a pep talk, his mind was focused on one thing.

You and Jacob came in hand in hand and you both were softly talking to each other.

"Y/N."

You jump at the sound of Paul's voice saying your name. It was unexpected and you couldn't lie, you liked the way that it sounded.

"Yes?" you answer in a small voice.

"I need to talk to you." he says and steps forward.

Jacob clutched your hand tighter before moving you back a bit.

"For what?" Jacob questioned.

"I'm not talking to you." Paul coldly says.

"Jacob. It's alright." Sam speaks up and nods to Paul.

You say to Jacob, "I will be back, okay?”

He nods but you still saw the uncertainty.

You and Paul walked away from the home. You expected it to be awkward but it was comfortable. You kept glancing at him, his face was focused, as if he was thinking.

"I wont bite." he says as you two stop near a tall tree. You then saw the handsome grin that was displayed on his face.

"What's this talk about?" you ask warmly.

"I want to see you more often." he states.

"I do see you." you say.

He chuckled a bit, "No, I mean. I see you and you see me."

Your stomach drops. You had to make sure you weren't dreaming.

"W-why?" you ask, in a cracked voice.

"Never mind. I will back off if you and Jacob are a thing." he says.

"No!" you say louder than meant, "I mean.. Me and Jacob, we're just friends."

"The way you were talking to him, I would've thought you had a crush on him." he says in a somewhat teasing tone.

You shake your head, "I just really care for him. People who are in my life mean a lot to me." you say.

He nods.

You bring your own smile.

I mean. You're sort of beautiful." you say in a small voice. The look he gave you almost made your knees buckle.

"Sort of?" he asks.

You playfully roll your eyes a bit as you then look down, "You know what I mean." you whisper.

"So, where do we go from here?" you then ask.

"Wherever you want." he simply says.

As you two walk, he didn't want to tell you the imprint. He kept picturing the crash that would come down on your world once he tells you that you would be bound forever to someone like him.

You come back in and Jacob immediately, is in your face, this makes you laugh.

"I'm still alive, Jake. Calm down." you laugh. He just hugs you. Paul ignored the narrowed eyes that were darted his way.

You didn't come over on this particular day. You and Emily decided to spend the day together.

Jacob confronts Paul.

"Whatever you're thinking about doing, think again."

"Or what?" Paul simply asks.

Jacob steps forward, "Stay away from her. She doesn't need to be tainted by you."

Paul steps forward as well, "Or what?" he asks again. It was one thing for him to think it in his own head, it was another thing for someone to say it directly to him.

"You will see." Jacob states and walks off.

Paul shakes his head at the younger boy, he was in for a surprise.

You come into the home with Emily, Paul stayed hoping to run into you.

"Where's Jake?" you ask Sam who was moving towards Emily.

"Billy called him to come home." he states.

"Oh." you say. Before you could fully tun your body fully around, you heard, "You're not going to stay?"

Paul looked right you, expecting an answer.

You shrug. You watch him scoot over in the sofa, leaving some room for you to clearly sit down.

You slowly walk and have a seat.

He gets comfortable and doesn't care that his arm brushed against you. To be honest, you didn't care either.

Your mind was in a daze as it constantly thought how nice it was to be around Paul.

"Did you hear me?"

You look up.

"You weren't listening?" Jacob asks with a wrench in his hand.

"Sorry." you say whispering and shaking your head a bit.

"Are you alright?" he asks.

"Yeah. I'm just distracted that's all."

Jacob sighs a bit and suggests something, "Lets walk around or something. You've been cooped up in here with me."

You chuckle and rise up. The rain had stopped, leaving the air to be humid.

You soon find out that Jacob had been taking it one day at a time.

"You wont get over her overnight but, at least it's something." you say and take his hand to comfort him.

"I know." he says.

You noticed his walking slowing down. It wasn't until you looked ahead and your heart started to work extra hard to beat.

You see Paul's eyes flicker down to you and Jacob's conjoined hands.

You loosen your grip and put your hand behind your back. Paul is amused at this and even more amused at the somewhat hurt look on Jacob's face.

"Can we help you?" Jacob asks in an irritated tone.

You give him a look to tell him to chill out.

Paul doesn't seem effected by Jacob's cruel tone, just putting his eyes back onto you.

"How are you?"

"I'm good. You?" you say back.

"Better." he answers back.

"Come on, Y/N." Jacob says as he tugs your hand. You look over your shoulder to see Paul standing, looking at you as well as you walked away.

"What was that?" you ask Jacob as distance is great.

"You can't get close with him, Y/N." he says.

"Why not?" you ask.

"He's bad news." he says.

"Jake, that's not fair. I've been getting close with everyone."

"Just. Not him, okay? Please. You trust me right?" he presses.

"Yes. I trust you." you say and you seen the relief that washed over his face.

You stuffed your hands in your pocket as you watched the waves. You had agreed to go to the beach with Seth and Leah.

Seth picks up a stick, a worm was on it.

"Look, Y/N." he says with a smile, bringing the stick closer.

You squealed a bit, the worm looked nasty.

"Seth, Jesus. Leave her alone." Leah says.

Seth directs the stick in her direction, on the verge of laughing. Leah jumps back, "Seth, I swear!"

He continues his teasing as both you and Leah run a bit to get away from Seth who held the power to make you and Leah squirm.

You bump hard into something to the point, you emit an, "Oof."

Two strong hands hold your arms up, you don't even know what the wet sand felt like. You were grateful.

You look up to see Paul's face staring down at you.

"Sorry." you say and step back as if he was flaming fire. His face flashed a quick look of pining.

You turn around seen the stick on the ground and Leah has Seth in a headlock.

"Not so funny is it?" Leah says with a smirk.

"Lee I'm sorry. Come on, you have to admit that it was funny." Seth says.

"It will be funny if I make you eat this worm." Leah says.

You felt a hot hand touch your arm to make you turn back around.

"I haven't seen you around in a while." he says.

You shrug.

"You think I have germs or something?" he asks as he follows you on a large rock to sit on.

Softly chuckling, "No."

"Then what is it?" he asks lowly, his face was nicely placed close to your face. You didn't have to look over or up much, to see his face.

"I don't know." you whisper.

"Liar." he whispered back.

"Y/N, are you eating dinner with us?" Leah calls over, both herself and Seth looked ready to leave.

"I will feed you. If you want." Paul offers to you, only you could hear.

"Um.." you say to him and call back to Leah, "Sure."

You rise up. Paul's heart drops down.

"Getting cuddly with Lahote?" Leah asks you as you and her were in the bathroom taking turns to wash hands.

"It's nothing." you say.

"Sure." she says sarcastically.

Her mother, Sue, had good cooking. You made sure to compliment it and shes flattered.

Leah persuades you to spend the night.

You go with her and Seth in the morning to Sam's for breakfast.

You notice Paul wasn't there. Jacob engulfs you into a hug. You felt the difference in the room. You couldn't put your finger on it, his absence was very noticeable.

Emily wraps a plate as the boys teased each other in the living room.

"Who's that for?"

"This was for Paul. I was going to drop it off for him." she answers.

Before you knew what you were doing, your mouth opens, "I can-" you close it back.

Emily looks to you. "What were you going to say?"

"I can drop it off... If you want." you ask in a small voice.

"Okay!" she says and gives you the directions to his home.

You left before Jacob would notice you leaving. You still took small steps as you got closer to Paul's home. Your heart pounded so hard out for your chest.

The pounds weren't louder than the bang on the door you made from your knuckles. You clutched onto the plate that was under your finger's grip.

The door opened to a mouthwatering sight.

A shirtless Paul slowly pries the plate from your hands. He takes one finger to close your slightly opened mouth.

He chuckled as you regain your common sense.

"Tell Emily I said thank you."

You nod and go to turn, a warm hand jets out to you to turn you back around.

"You don't have to tell her right at this second." he says.

He opens the door wider, silently inviting you in.

You sit at his not so big table, as he eats.

"How come you didn't come over?" you ask.

"I don't know." he says.

"Liar." you whisper. A dark chuckle forms in his throat. He looks at you for some time with an amused look.

You look down as your cheeks feel hot. You heard him whisper something else.

"Pretty."

You then feel a soft brush on your cheek. Looking, you see it was the back of his finger. You felt sure. He felt sure. You didn't know how to explain it, it felt like this moment was always meant to be.

[bitterrfruit]

already FERALLL at this assistant concept more please

omg...... i'm so sorry for this. can you tell i'm ovulating? somebody sedate me please

[he wants a word with you]

Your boss is a prick and a cunthound. You need this job. here's [part 1] for some John POV Executive John Price x EA f!Reader 18+ mdni - 2.5k words - cw: degradation, free use, maybe dubcon?

You follow Mr Price down the stuffy corporate corridor, with your swollen heart in your throat. 

What did you do wrong this time?

Was there an email you failed to send? A meeting you forgot to book? Maybe you saved a document in the wrong place. Maybe you missed one of your many deadlines. 

You watch his besuited back, broad and tall, the billow of his open jacket as he marches ahead of you with long and aggravated strides. The back of his neck burns hot and red, he digs white-knuckled fingers into the angry skin as he rubs it vigorously. 

You pass the incoming traffic of other colleagues, and you see the concern in their glare when they look at Mr Price and then at you. An unspoken apology for your imminent castigation. A silent yikes.

Fuck, he’s going to fire you. Whatever you’ve done must have been catastrophic. Did you cost him profits? Did you humiliate him in front of a client?

“Did I do something wrong?” You anxiously chirp, fearful of being too loud but not wanting him to mishear you over the sheer volume of his fury. 

He doesn’t answer you. 

Instead he comes to a sudden stop, and you almost slam into him with the keen velocity of your pursuit. 

He gestures into the open door on his left, his other hand hooked on his hip under his jacket. 

“I don’t-”

“In,” he grits, lips pursed into an admonishing line, and you do not disobey him. 

With a skip you enter the room, heart thundering in your ears, and he storms in behind you. 

The stationery supply room; cupboards and shelves, full of paper and writing utensils. Atop the counter sits a guillotine cutter, open reams of white A4, a few stray cuttings littered about. On the one bare wall is a hip-height printer, one that most often fails to work. The air is dry and powdery, thick with the clinical scent of fresh paper and ink. 

Mr Price leaves the door ajar, and he wipes down his face with an open and rigid palm. 

“What is wrong with you?” He suddenly blurts, his interrogative glare shoots straight through you. 

His eyes are wide and angry, and you shuffle on your feet, fidget with your fingers. “What did I do?” 

He only steams ahead with his reprimand - closing in on you, heavy step by heavy step, you stagger backwards on instinct. “Slobbering all over that fuckin’ pen. Christ. Are you trying to drive me crazy?” 

Your back hits the wall behind you, it pushes a puff of nervous air from your open lips. Eyes fluttering between his, you choke on any words you think to offer him. 

“I - I don’t - pen? - I didn’t-”

“What more can I do?” He growls, cranes his head to close the distance, “How far away do I have to put you?” 

You suck deep a quivering breath as you blink up at him, his head a foot above yours and his body all but trapping you where you stand. 

“I don’t understand,” you whimper. “What am I doing wrong?”

He huffs like a bull. “You’re fuckin’ killing me, love.” 

You feel your mouth water when he calls you that. It makes your cheeks glow strawberry red. 

“What can - what do you want me to do?” You ask timidly, sweetly - you want so desperately to please him. You can’t lose this job. You can’t have him disappointed in you. 

He rubs his jaw with a straining hand, his murky eyes rake from your lips and linger on the faintest bit of cleavage in the collar of your button down. 

“I want you to turn around.”

His order is uttered dark and hoarse, so low that you feel the vibrations of his voice from where you stand. 

Your lips part gently, bottom lip trembling as you swallow under his heated glower. 

But you do as you’re told. You’re a good listener, you can show him that.  You spin around awkwardly in the tight space between his heaving body and the wall, until you’re met with the cold white drywall against your nose. 

You hear his breathing turn ragged and animal, almost growling, it makes you sweat. You lift your arms cautiously, placing both palms flat on the wall, and stand on the very tips of your toes. 

His hands are on you, then, hasty bear claws comb over your ass and clutch the meat of your hips like you might slither away from him. He tugs you backwards and you rock on your toes, arch your back to meet his pelvis with your behind. 

You feel it, hard as iron and heavy as tungsten behind his straining trousers; he grinds his rigid cock against you, warning you with it, letting you feel the weight of it. He hunches forward, you feel his wiry beard against your cheek and his warm lips against your ear. 

“You proud o’ yourself?” He snarls, a bestial gurgle deep in his chest. “Proud of what you do to me?” 

Your heart buzzes with such speed that it makes you dizzy, turns you stupid. 

“I’m - uh - I’m not-”

You want to smack yourself for your inability to form a single sentence, a single word, as you feel his harsh fingers claw up the back of your thigh, catching in the sheer black nylon that clings to your feverish skin. 

“Nothing to say for yourself?” He gnars into your skin, you feel his teeth as he speaks. “‘Course not. You’re a fuckin’ airhead, aren’t you?” 

His wide paw reaches the hem of your pencil skirt, the fabric too taut to be pulled up with ease - so he clutches the back of it with both hands, grips either side of the stiff kick pleat. 

You yelp as you feel him rip your skirt apart by the seam, the tear of the fabric shrill and ear-splitting. Your head urgently spins on your neck as you shoot a glance at the open door - muted voices of others in the office travel through the gap, blissfully unaware of your indiscretion. 

“Someone might-”

Bitten off by a gasp, his angry fists grasp at your stockings where they meet at a seam that runs down the cleft of your ass. He rips that, too, hurried and ravenous; he stretches a wide hole in the thin nylon that runs in a ladder between your legs. 

“Someone might come in.” You finally find the words, moan them out in a hasty breath like he might cut you off before you can warn him. 

He hisses; “I don’t care.”

His hand forms a blade, slicing between your legs and hooking under the gusset of your knickers; you hold your breath, sucking your lip between your teeth and biting down hard enough to draw blood. His thick fingers run along your slit, goading and mean, triggering a pathetic little whimper from your throat when you don’t have the words to plead. 

They push past your lips, dipping between your sodden folds like he’s checking the temperature before venturing any deeper. You feel him grin against your neck, beard abrasive against your sensitive skin, as he lets out a low, cruel chuff of laughter. 

“Fu-hu-huck,” he chortles, mocking, and you only let out a stifled cry as he coaxes your opening with the tips of greedy fingers. “Like being told off, do you?” 

He kisses the side of your neck in a hungry and messy suck, shivering gooseflesh crawls from his bite and down your spine. He plays with your syrup between his fingers, marvelling at the quantity, the slipperiness. 

You squeak as a single finger presses against the ring of muscle at your entrance, and pushes past it - he hooks it, drags it against your slick inner wall with a pressure that makes you grind against his hand to force it further. 

��Answer me.” 

You whine in complaint before you reply as instructed. “Yes,” you croon, writhing and eager.

He obliges you and stuffs his finger deeper, two knuckles deep, and his palm is flush with your cunt.

“Mh. You do. Fuckin’ soaked, aren’t you?” He hums deeply, hoarsely, pleased. 

He pulls his finger out of you, then, and you groan in frustrated defeat. 

“Don’t fuss, love,” he grumbles. “You’ll get your fill.” 

With your head over your shoulder, you watch in your periphery as he smears his glistening fingers down his lips, under his nose - sticks them in his mouth and sucks them clean like he might savour the taste. 

“Mh,” he rasps, grins, letting the scent and flavour of your cunt fill his mouth and sinuses until it turns his shark eyes black and hungry. “Fuckin’ good.” 

You hear the leathery clinking of his belt buckle as he undoes it, the strident rip of his fly as he tears it down. A shuffle, a grunt, and his heavy cock lands against your lower back with a thump. 

You gasp, turn rigid - he runs a firm hand down your spine, rests it in the dip of your back, pushes a deeper curve in the arch. Grasps your hip and yanks it back, rams your body against his, angles your pelvis just right. 

He grabs his cock in a fist, smacks its solid against your ass like it’s a burden. 

Holds his fingers to his lips and hucks up a lump of spit, crude and dirty, you feel him smear it against your cunt as pulls your panties to the side. 

He gives no warning as he feeds his length through the hole he tore in your stockings, slides the blunt and fleshy head along your slit to coat it in the amalgam of fluids that drip from you. His tip finds its sheath, nestling between your folds and rutting against your tight opening as if to taunt you. 

With a hoarse growl he bucks his hips, his cock breaks through your entrance and rams deep into your cunt with a single thrust. It forces a wet and mewling cry from your throat, forgetting that the door to the room is open and freely accessible to anybody you work with. 

“Shh-sh-sh,” he hisses, he undoes his tie with a single hand as the other keeps your hips tight against him. 

He ruts again, somehow deeper still, and you let out a sore yelp - but he shuts you up, stifles your crying as he packs his steel-blue tie into your open mouth. Stuffs the silk fabric behind your teeth until no more will fit, and your saccharine noises are dampened into muffled whimpers. 

“Tha’s better. Fuck,” he curses through teeth. “Can barely fuckin’ fit in that little cunt of yours.”

His hand holds your throat, then, and the other controls your hip with vicious strength - and he fucks you in earnest. Fucks you hard and hostile, the round head of his cock hammers your aching cervix as if he could fuck past it. Fucks you like he’s angry, like he has been eagerly waiting for each forceful thrust - pent up since he met you, fuel only added to the flame every day that you came to work. 

The tie in your mouth is sopping wet with your keening saliva, your eyes well with tears of some twisted rapture - you want to tell him it hurts, but not to tell him to stop. 

“You take it good, don’t you? Found one fuckin’ thing you’re good at, eh?”

You whimper. You like him mean, don’t you? You like him angry. 

You spilled that tea on purpose. You deliberately missed that deadline. You talk loudly because you know it frustrates him. You suckle on that pen because you know he wishes it were his cock. 

His heavy hand clutches your wrist and pins it to the wall in front of you, and you feel light on your feet. The hole in your stockings only tears bigger with each thrust, you can hear the fabric of your pinstripe skirt rip further up the back; likewise, your cunt stretches to fit him to the hilt, the delicate skin threatening to tear as he splits you open. 

With a final rut, pounding hard into your womb, he bites down on the tendinous flesh of your neck and growls into your skin, chuffs out of his nose like a grizzly; “Fuck.”

You feel his cock twitch and surge as he pumps his come deep into you, it overflows - it dribbles down the cleft of your cunt, down your thighs, soaks into the sheer polyester of your stockings. Didn’t think, or didn’t bother to ask if you were on birth control - it doesn’t matter to him. Your cunt is as much his as your livelihood, and he’ll fill it with his come if he pleases. 

He leans his weight against you as he recharges, panting and spent, he rests his forehead against the back of your head. 

“Mh,” he huffs, “fuckin’ needed that.” 

You exhale all the air you had been holding in a breathy whine, cunt still aching and fluttering around the cock stuffed inside it, clit swollen and eager for any ounce of attention. He pays it none - only came to take, no time or interest in giving. 

He pulls his tie out of your mouth in one long rope, it drags a string of glistening saliva with it. 

“I’m-” you breathe furtively, mouth free, “I’m glad I could help.”

He pants out a laugh, deep and gravelly, places a drained kiss into your hair. 

“Help you did,” he assures you, amused and sated. “Next time I want to see all of you. Hear me?” 

“Next time?” You ask timidly. 

He pulls his cock out of you, and the spate of hot come he plugged inside comes out in a gush and soaks your already damp knickers. 

“Aye,” he grunts, tucking his semi-hard cock back into his boxers, insouciantly doing up his belt. “You’d like that, eh?”

You swallow a weary breath, push yourself from the wall and try to shimmy down what’s left of your skirt to conceal the mess he made underneath. 

“I - um,” you hesitate, embarrassed, you tuck a piece of hair that had been fucked astray behind your ear. “I would.” 

A devilish grin stretches in his lips, sharp teeth, as he loops his wet tie under his collar and does it up neatly - as neatly as he can, while it’s covered in the damp splotches of your spit. 

“‘Atta girl.” With a domineering hand he grabs your jaw, tugs your head upward and meets your lips with a single hard kiss. Smiles at you with praise. “Knew you were a slut.”

“I’m n-”

“Head home for the day, will you, love,” he orders rakishly, smoothing out his pale blue button down. “Important meeting. Can’t have any more distractions. Understood?” 

“Yes,” you comply with a simple nod. 

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Mr Price.”

“Tha’s my girl.”

[jinx-xxed]

Rainy Days

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

A/N; More dad Wriothesley because I cannot stop thinking about him 🤕 it’s been raining a lot here so it inspired me to write this :P also follows a few of my headcanons from my last dad Wrio post!

Summary; With the wet season upon Fontaine, there’s no one who enjoys it quite like your daughter.

Content; Pure fluff, girl dad Wriothesley, fem reader, husband Wriothesley, playing in the rain, sweet silly family content

Wc; 1.6k

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*

“Mama! Mama!” Marcille yells as she comes bursting through the back door. There’s mud caked on her shoes just as there always is when she plays outside, Marcille being eager to dig into the grass and dirt to find whatever new bugs wait in your backyard. It makes you think that maybe Wriothesley was right to give your daughter the nickname June bug. Just before she’s about to step onto your clean linoleum floors, Marcille stops herself and stays on the mat just like you told her to do when her shoes are dirty. Then she eagerly continues, “it’s about to storm again!”

You set down the rag you’d been using to dry the dishes, joining your daughter by the door. “Oh my, would you look at that.” You say, studying all the dark clouds that are rolling in from the horizon. They promise rain, possibly lightning and thunder too. “Sure seems like it, huh?”

The weather’s been this way for the past week or two, with Fontaine’s rainy season having fallen across the nation. It’s all cloudy skies, muddy yards, and puddles on the streets, along with the occasional howling winds and horrid thunder. It’s something you’ve easily gotten used to since you’ve always enjoyed the rain; that familiar smell right before it comes down, the cozy atmosphere whenever you’re able to curl up inside and listen to it tap against the windows and the roof. However, when you’re in the city, you can see the deep seated wariness in people’s eyes as they look up to the sky and see those heavy clouds, even though the prophecy has long since been buried. Some things never truly go away, you suppose.

Marcille, on the other hand, has taken after you with her love of the rain—the only difference is that she likes to be out in it. She’s been greatly enjoying playing outside in the weather and getting to see what worms wriggle out of the dirt to escape the flood. You’ve had to wrestle her into her rain coat every time while she claims she’s perfectly fine and definitely won’t get sick if she goes out in just her overalls, tee, and sneakers.

You hear the first few drops hit the ground before they steadily grow in number and speed and next thing you know it’s fully coming down. Marcille bounces on her toes, excitement written all over her face. “Mama! Can I go play?” She asks, struggling to hold herself back from just darting out into the downpour.

“Yes, Marci, but you know the rules, you need to get into your rain gear first.” You tell her, already digging into the closet for her cute light blue coat and frog boots. She begrudgingly lets you get her all dressed, the finishing touch being pulling the hood securely over her black and gray hair. “And remember, if there’s any thunder you come back inside.”

“I know, mama.” She groans, even as her eyes sparkle with anticipation.

“Alright, go on.” You say with a chuckle.

Marcille doesn’t need any more permission than that, immediately turning and darting out the door, flying off the steps, and into the rain. She giggles happily, spinning around in the droplets and flinging water off her sleeves. You watch her from the safety of your blissfully covered porch, instead content to just feel the nice and cool misted breeze blowing in. There’s a small smile on your face while you listen to the way she laughs and splashes about. You’re glad your daughter is such a happy kid, full of a love for life that’s changed both you and Wriothesley more than you could realize. Her joy is contagious, her fascination with every little thing refreshing. She’s one of the best things to happen to you two without a doubt.

You’re broken out of your thoughts by a hand on your back, making you jump. You look to your left and struggle to not burst out laughing at the sight of your husband.

Wriothesley’s absolutely soaked, his hair plastered to his forehead and his jacket dripping onto the porch. He smirks, clearly not too bothered by it. “Hey, sweetheart. You can laugh.”

You do just that, unable to get over the fact that he looks like a drowned dog. You pull him in despite the water drenching his clothes, brushing the hair from his face and kissing him while his hands find their familiar place on your hips. You hold his cheeks as you pull away, his skin a little cold from the rain. “Did you forget your umbrella?” You say through a giggle.

He sighs in defeat. “Yes, I did. I was too eager to come home.”

You hum. “You are back awful early. Did something happen?”

He shakes his head. “It’s more what didn’t happen. Barely any substantial paperwork, and nobody decided to cause trouble so I was… encouraged to leave early.”

You can only imagine it was probably Sigewinne and Wriothesley’s new assistants haggling him to leave the office and just go on home. You can’t complain really, you’re glad he’s been open to changing his work ethic so he can be with you and Marcille more often, so he can have things outside of the Fortress. He still handles 99% of Meropide of course, but he’s at least beginning to share a small part of the burden. It’s clearly gotten rid of some of the tension in his shoulders, even if he refuses to admit it. Both you and Sigewinne can see it clear as day, anyway.

Wriothesley kisses you again before looking to Marcille who’s crouched close to the ground, intensely watching something that’s probably without a doubt a bug. “Is she having fun?” He asks you, fondness instantly making his features soften.

You huff a laugh. “Of course she is, she’s been having a ball with this weather.” You then call, “Marci! Papa’s home!”

You giggle when your daughter’s head snaps up and you hear her gasp, little splashes following her rapid footsteps as she runs through the yard and back up the steps. She practically tackles her father’s legs, Wriothesley barely stumbling while he chuckles. He scoops her up with ease, both of them equally soaked by the rain. He brushes a stray droplet off her cheek with his thumb as she beams. “Hey, June bug. You have a good day?”

She puts her little arms around his neck and nods eagerly. “Mhm! Mama took me to the bakery today! We got something for you too, papa!”

Wriothesley’s eyes widen. “Really? You did? Thank you, princess, that’s very sweet.”

She looks triumphant, pleased at the memory of her insisting you get Wriothesley something at the bakery too—even if you were already planning on it. She took a long time deciding on something, looking through every option in the bake case. She at last settled on a vanilla teacake, proudly telling the baker, Augustine, her choice so he could pull it out for her. He played along, telling her she picked a very good one and she had grinned.

“Oh! Then we had lunch with Gracie and her mama at the sandwich place! It was so good, I wanna go again tomorrow! And, and, we went to the bookstore and got new books for me to read!” Marcille explains.

Marcille’s school is currently on their spring break, which means you’ve gotten to spend the last couple days with your daughter. It’s been nice, taking her around Fontaine and having her help you where she can with your inventor work. She’s always curious about what you’re tinkering with and you end up relenting, letting her see the less dangerous bits. It’ll be nice when Wriothesley has time off tomorrow so he can have his own day with Marcille—you know she’s been looking forward to it.

“You’ll have to show me later, June bug. Sure sounds like you had a fun day, huh?” Wriothesley asks as he sets her down, though she still clings to his pant leg. She nods again, then gazing longingly at the rain that’s still heavily falling. You already know what she’s going to ask before she even looks up at her father.

She blinks innocently at him. “Papa, will you come play with me?”

He sighs and smiles, putting a hand on her head. He’s unbelievably weak to her. “Of course, princess. Let me just get my rain coat so I don’t get even more wet, alright?”

“Yay!” Marcille beams, then darting off back into the yard and immediately jumping in whatever puddles she can find.

“Won’t you join us, my love?” Wriothesley asks you teasingly, holding out his hand to you and laughing as he watches your face scrunch with distaste at having to go out in the downpour. But despite that, you give in and take his hand anyway because otherwise you’d feel like you’re missing out on something.

You both put on your rain coats, his black and yours a dark blue, and you tug on your rain boots. Now shielded, you two join your daughter. Marcille squeals happily when she sees that you’ve decided to come out into the rain as well, her joy undoubtedly spreading to you once again as you match her grin.

While most are hidden inside their homes, waiting out the bad weather, the three of you embrace it. You and Marcille dance around and she asks Wriothesley to make little ice sculptures from the water, one of his secret talents he only brings out for you two. He makes tiny animals and flowers in an instant, even creating beetles and butterflies in the palms of his hands—his newest creations that took a lot of perfecting. You watch as Marcille laughs and Wriothesley smiles, and you realize that few things are better than this.

You really do love the rain.

[puckingeccedentesiast]

Summer Quam's

Description: “It’s like 500 degrees, we are not cuddling!” “But you already threw off all the blankets?!” “I don’t car- STAY ON YOUR FUCKING SIDE!”

Welcome back to thedevilrisen fic's! I am looking forward to writing the more! I think I may be a little rusty, sorry in advance!

Word Count: 1.4k

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

Distraught storm clouds rolled over the horizon, their gloomy rumbles accompanied by piercing claps of thunder as blinding flashes of lighting embellishing the cool grey and cinder coloured sky.

With them they brought warm, moist air which was just on the side of uncomfortable, when the summer storm's roll in the humidity dial permanently spins, like a compass without an identifiable magnetic force. The only hope of relief being the rain that would come, days dragged by, elongated as clouds grew larger and larger, dense and weighed down by droplet's begging to be released from their misty prison.

Movement inside the apartment was very little, dehumidifiers hummed in several different rooms, fan's purred as they fought to circulate the hot air. Still nothing changed, the uncomfortably of the night never dulled as the sparkling lights in window's dimmed into a lightless cavity.

However in your apartment, calmness was not achievable not matter what happened. Restlessness was prominent throughout the evening, the constant changing ice packs to keep cool. The refusal to eat hot foods made it very hard for Connor who was trying to make dinner and stick to his meal plan because according to him a pint of Ben and Jerry's was not an appropriate even when you were dying.

Yes. You were told you were being melodramatic and to come and help chop tomato's for the salad Connor was going to make as a compromise to not eat hot food. Thinking that the cold food would be less problematic. He was so wrong.

"Connor." you whined, for most probably the fifteenth time in a span of about five minutes.

"No, Y/N." he stated, slightly irritated, the heat creating a simmering tension that danced like a mirage. Utterly fed up with not only the heat but your complaining Connor was very much now regretting asking for your assistance. "How about you just go and get a shower or something? I'll finish up here."

You frowned slightly at his borderline begging tone, you knew for basically being a polar bear who lived in the cold the heat was not compatible for him. Knowing it would be better than risking a small, meaningless argument you agreed and meandering down the hallway, soft carpet compressing and splaying underfoot as you moved to the bathroom.

Even though it would be sensible to bathe in freezing water, you didn't, finding the cold water jarring and instead opting for a mid-warm shower instead. The water, slid down your body, cooling you off but not dropping your body temperature completely. Taking the edge off the heat but after stepping out of the shower, seeing the steam still curing up towards the fan on the bathroom ceiling which hummed, as the light gently flicked.

Not bothering to wash your hair tonight, knowing that it would be a nightmare to dry with the moisture in the air and running the hair dryer would create more heat which was not needed in the apartment.

Moving back into the hallway and venturing into the kitchen where Connor sat, left leg swinging beneath him on the bar stool. His fork stabbed at the green leaves and cooked meat in the decorative bowl his mother had sent as a gift set when you first moved in to the apartment six months ago.

"Your's is in the fridge, I wanted to keep the smoked salmon cold because I know you don't like it warm." Connor mumbled, looking down, guilt swirling in his stomach at the fact that he had snapped earlier, he didn't want to but the heat did funny things to him.

"Thank you, love." You moved, cautiously across the tiled kitchen, sighing as the grey tiles cooled the bottom of your bare feet. Opening the fridge, squinting slightly as the all-but surgical light shone out, picking the porcelain plate up off of the top of the tupperware containers in which the plate was so precariously balanced on top.

Feet pattering back across the floor as you moved to slide into the vacated chair, that Connor left after he had his food so he could shower before bed. Stabbing into the greens and listening to the crunch as the fork pierced though leaves and you brought them to your mouth. Connor's cooking was always delicious but something about the heat was altering it, or maybe the lingering tension left in the air from the tense exchange previous.

Swallowing the last mouthful food, slipping off the stool and around the counter top. Placing your hand on the corner of the bench that protrudes to stop your hip from bumping it and aiding the already blooming bruise from when you hit it previously that day, you placed the plate into the sink, gently on top of Connor's.

Almost tip-toeing down the hallway to your bedroom, you stepped inside, hand holding the door, opening it slightly before shutting it behind you. Glancing around to see Connor pulling on a pair of sleep shorts, hair still damp from his shower.

Shuffling along the carpet into the bathroom as you picked up your toothbrush, off of the charger. Uncapping the toothpaste and squeezing a blob onto your brush. Coming to life with a purr you brushed your teeth while straining to listen to what Connor was doing.

Spitting out the foamy liquid when the electric brush pulsated to signal you were done. Pulling a folded hand towel out from underneath the sink, cleaning the corner's of your mouth from the foamy remnants before hanging it to dry over the faucet.

Moving with purpose back out into the bedroom where Connor had dimmed the lights and drawn the curtains before clearly settling into bed himself. His large frame, draped in the sheets fidgeting around trying to get comfortable amidst the heat.

Walking around to your side of the bed, picking a loose fitting sleep shirt off of the floor, that you are pretty sure belonged to Connor six months ago but was somehow commandeered during a visit to his apartment in Chicago and gently pulling it over your head. Opting for just the shirt instead of sleep shorts and a shirt.

Pulling the cotton covers back from the mattress and plunking down into the gap made, swinging your feet onto the bed and tucking them under the sheets, before dragging them up your body and shuffling into a laying position, in the same place you normally lay. Close to Connor so you can feel his body heat, and more often than not. End up cuddling.

Tonight though, you hesitated as Connor could potentially be personified as a windmill. Writhing in the sheets as though they were gripping him and trying to force him somewhere against his will. Rolling over away from his flailing limbs as he flug half the sheets to the foot of the bed, in what seemed like a mad ditch attempt at getting comfortable.

Finally after a few more seconds of tossing and turning, whatever vice that was supposedly gripping him and refusing the respite of sleep let go. Settling onto his side you saw this as your perfect opportunity to snuggle in, tucking yourself under his arm allowing the weight to lull you into a floating state.

That was until he snapped, an angry and guttural sound of irritation projected towards you, "It's like five-hundred degrees, we, are not cuddling."

This made you giggle slightly, even in his anger clouded state you knew he would never mean that. Like a defensive child he pushed you across the sheets, clothes gripping as he did so.

"But Con! You already threw off all the blankets?!" You whined back, thinking that once he'd done that would have been enough, but it was not, beginning to wriggle back towards him.

"I don't car-" he cut himself off, feeling your warm skin brush against him again. "STAY ON YOUR FUCKING SIDE!"

You erupted with giggles, rolling around on your side of the bed, finding his defensiveness hilarious, accepting the fact you weren't going to get cuddles tonight and hoping the heat would die off by tomorrow.

-

Later into the night, when the clouds rolled over and the droplets fell, chasing each other down windows and dispersing the heat from the air. In the slumber that was once restless but now no more, Connor dragged you into his arms where you laid, tangled till the morning sun rose.

[a-sweeter-sin]

Thunder ~ Part 2

- George Clarke

You roll like thunder, pouring all your drinks. The party’s lit and you, my friend, half-cut when it begins. You roll like thunder, you’re tryna catch that wind…. -Lana Del Rey

College/high school George Clarke x reader

-I’m still so new to this, I don’t know how to link parts one and two, but part one should be just under this on my page…

Summary: School starts again after the holidays, but this time things don’t feel quite right. There’s this unspoken tension between the two, and it feels as if it could break at any second, George can only handle it for so long…

Her writing program was coming to a close, and so were the holidays, meaning back to reality, or the quiet, mundane, bubble that was her home town.

This writing program had been like a retreat, she was surrounded by people much like her, that challenged her and made her think on things in different ways, much more so than she had ever experienced back in school.

She came back, with a week left before school started back up, before her last year. It didn’t really feel like she was coming back to anything, the trees were still bare from the winters harsh touch, the town itself still quiet. She dragged her hefty suitcase down the familiar footpath, past the same park, the same bus stop where people just stared, glued to their phones like they were scared of being present. She felt different, not in the physical sense, or any cliché way, just more at home within her own skin.

When school started back up, the other students were louder, brasher. One girl cried during History on the first day back and no one knew what to do. She didn’t cry once, not during school, but she wrote like her chest was splintering. It felt good. Like she could channel everything she was feeling, like being scraped clean.

Back home, she stayed in her room longer than she needed to. Her mum asked if she wanted to see her friends, she had to remind her she didn’t really have any close ones here, she had a small group to sit with at lunch, she had acquaintances, people she’d sit next to in class, people who sometimes liked to talk to her in passing, but never invited her to parties.

She hadn’t expected to think about George. But she did, more than she’d like to admit.

He’d stopped speaking to her after exams. No goodbye, no text. He just slowly vanished, like they’d imagined the whole thing. She tried not to romanticise it. She told herself he was just a boy who didn’t know how to hold a mirror to himself, and she was just a girl who made him nervous by doing exactly that.

Still. She found herself walking by the rugby pitches one evening just to see if he was there. He was, standing with a group, laughing too hard at something. His voice reached her before his eyes did. And he saw her.

For a moment there was nothing.

Then he looked away.

She stood there for a few seconds longer than she should have, before then walking on. Her face scrunched up, eyes watering like they did after these times.

Later that week, they bumped into each other in the same park, the one where they’d sat and talked about everything and nothing. He was on a run, she was walking with her headphones blasting. He said “Hey,” like it was just another day. She nodded. He shifted his weight, like he wanted to say more but he didn’t know if he was allowed.

“How was your writing program?” He asked, searching for her eyes.

“Interesting, good,” She responded. “I wrote a lot.”

“That’s great,” he said, and it sounded like he meant it.

She wanted to ask him why he had disappeared. She wanted to ask if it had mattered to him at all, the walks, the silence, the things they almost let happen, the things they felt, or at least she felt. But she didn’t. She didn’t want to give him the power to confirm what she already feared.

Instead, she just said, “You look the same.”

He blinked, his eyebrows furrowed. “Is that a good thing?”

She shrugged. “It’s just a thing.”

They stood there, a while, just two people pretending they were still the versions of themselves who once had a quiet understanding. But she could see it in his eyes, the guilt, or maybe the confusion. And all she felt was tired. Not angry. Just tired of being the only one who knew how keep hold of fragile things without dropping them.

She walked away first this time. She didn’t look back.

That night, she wrote a poem about absence. About a silent longing. She didn’t name him. She didn’t have to.

-

The year had droned on, term three rolled around and George welcomed the nearing end to his college years.

They hadn’t spoken since their last encounter in the park, yet George found himself looking for her, in the halls, during lunch breaks, and in any classes they shared. He never thought he could miss someone yet be in their presence almost every day.

George didn’t plan on going to her house. He didn’t even know for sure if she still lived in the same one. But his feet carried him there anyway, on instinct, not desire. Or maybe that was the same thing now.

It was raining in that indecisive, misty way that didn’t drench you all at once, just crept in slowly, soaking your clothes. He stood tentatively across the street from her place for a good minute before doing anything. His jumper was almost soaked through, his fists scrunched and jammed inside his pockets. He felt childish, putting off something after he’d come all this way.

Then he crossed the street.

Her mum answered. He remembered her vaguely, from the times they’d spent going between each other’s houses. She had soft eyes, and a warm smile, but she seemed like the kind of woman who always knew more than she let on. She didn’t look surprised to see him.

She called upstairs to you, no judgment, nor hesitation in her voice, before slinking away leaving him shivering in the doorway.

Then came a pause. Footsteps.

Then there she was.

She looked exactly how he pictured her, which annoyed him in a way he couldn’t explain. She was wearing cozy clothes, fitting for the weather, her sleeves reached past her wrists, she tugged on them in a nervous manner, her face formed in a frown when she saw me, not a smile in sight. She folded her arms up as if to protect herself, like a barrier, like she was already bracing herself for disappointment.

“What are you doing here?”

“I don’t know,” he answered her, and it was honest.

She stepped aside against the door, allowing him inside anyway.

He followed her into the kitchen. The light was low and warm, everything too quiet, the atmosphere awkward and cracking, bursting at the seems just waiting for something to be said. She made tea without asking if he wanted any. He watched her move about like he wasn’t even there.

When the tea was done, she headed upstairs, he followed after her, the two of them entering her room. She placed the tea down at her desk, not before finding an uncluttered space, then went to close the door behind him.

“You can’t just show up out of the blue,” she said finally, breaking the silence.

“I know.”

“You didn’t even say goodbye.”

“I know”

“You ignored me. Pretended you didn’t know me around your friends.”

“I know.” He paused. “I’m sorry.”

Her eyes were squinting slightly, her voice had begun to tremble but she held her head high. She looked at him hard then.

“You’re not sorry, George. You just feel bad now because I didn’t wait around for you, didn’t chase after you like I’m sure many other girls have.”

That stung, he could feel his chest tighten. Maybe because it was true. Maybe because he wasn’t sure what he had expected her to do, write about him? Stay quiet? Disappear politely?

He didn’t answer her yet, just shifted to reach for his tea, hoping the mug might help him think of what to say, might offer him a script.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he said.

“What, be decent?” She shot back. “Not just disappear from my life for months, then expect me to welcome you back in after you show up at my door.”

He flinched, just slightly.

She sighed, and for the first time that day he saw her properly, she looked tired, not just of him, but of the whole thing, of being the one who had to say the hard part, of being the one who won’t just give in when given some form of apology.

“I liked you,” she murmured quietly. “I really did. But you made me feel like I should be embarrassed for it, or that you would be embarrassed of it.”

“I liked you too,” “I like you too,” he said, but it came out too fast, and overall, too late.

She laughed, but not in the way he loved, she laughed, bitter. “You have a funny way of showing it.”

“I was scared.”

“Of what? Your reputation, harm coming to your image?”

“Of you,” he said.

That stopped her. She blinked once, then twice, taken aback. Then she laughed again, but it wasn’t bitter this time. Just surprised.

“Of me?”

He nodded. “You saw things, I mean really saw. I’m not used to that.”

She looked down at the floor, then back up at him. For the first time in months, she wasn’t wearing armour, her wall had fallen before him.

“I could say the same, you’ve seen more of me than anyone, you know more of me.”

And maybe that was the last bit of permission he needed, or maybe it was something else entirely, something he couldn’t name but had been building inside him since that first walk home, since their first proper conversation.

He kissed her. Soft, and a little hesitant, like testing something out that you’ve only ever imagined. She kissed him back. Her hands gripped the damp fabric of his jumper like she didn’t trust him not to vanish again, and maybe she was right to.

When they eventually pulled apart, they just stood there, foreheads close, noses touching, breathing unevenly, like they’d finally surfaced something that came from deep down.

He didn’t say anything straight away.

And neither did she.

But this time, the silence felt different, like something beginning, not something breaking.

- Again this is partially based on Normal People, and I don’t usually post stuff like this… I’m not a George Clarke super fan, this is me, yet again projecting. Sorry if this bothers anyone that I used him for this little story thing. 💃🫰

[radsoldier]

you're a bad idea - Part 2

Pairing: Cairo Sweet x Dom!Fem!Reader

Summary: Y/N tries to avoid Cairo while the latter finds herself falling deeper.

Words: 1.1k

Warnings: cursing

a/n: hi guys, sorry for the eternal delay but a lot of shit happened and i'm not sure how i made it out alive but hey! i'm back! anyway, hope you enjoy :)

(poem's "did you think i was a city" by rupi kaur)

part 1

You were never one for gossip. You were simply not interested. Being the center of rumors for as long as you could remember was no fun at all so when all the stories about Cairo hit your ears you were annoyed. You didn’t really care if it was true or not, it was none of your business. But you knew she was bad news and that’s why you chose to let things cool off and tried your best to ignore her. 

You moved here to avoid drama, to start fresh or however your old therapist would like to call it. You knew you were just running away from it all. 

_______________________________________________________________________________ 

A week later, soft rain was pouring as you got off your bike, some students scrambling to get to class before getting soaked. 

You opted for lighting up a cigarette under the small roof right at the entrance. You were already late, might as well enjoy the little time you had outside of the college halls.  

Wishing you had stopped for some coffee, you started walking towards the library, not feeling like enduring another creative writing lecture. It felt like the perfect excuse to keep avoiding Cairo. And you also had to rehearse your piece for the poetry reading later today. 

“Fuck me” you thought. 

________________________________________________________________________________ 

Cairo was annoyed. No, she was outraged. You were ignoring her yet she couldn’t keep her thoughts from drifting to you. It was torture, you were pestering her mind like she had no control over it. She hated it. She hated how you seemed unfazed every time you caught her staring while she had to hold her breath as if even the smallest movement would make you disappear. She had replayed your interaction over and over in her head getting little to no answer as to why you could go from hot to cold just like that. It made no sense to her. 

That’s why when your professor asked for someone to deliver some notes on your most recent work, she volunteered to be the one doing it. 

He told her where to find you, given that he knew about your poetry reading and she began to gather all her things and started walking toward the auditorium. 

She hesitated at the slightly open door, the dim light making her unsure but the sound of your voice coming from the inside was enough to shake her doubts and stride into the room. 

“Did you think I was a city 

big enough for a weekend getaway.” you paused. 

“I am the town surrounding it 

the one you’ve never heard of 

but always pass through.” 

“There are no neon lights here 

no skyscrapers or statues 

but there is thunder 

for I make bridges tremble. 

I am not street meat, I am homemade jam 

thick enough to cut the sweetest 

thing your lips will touch.” you glanced around the room, letting the words sink in. 

“I am not police sirens 

I am the crackle of a fireplace. 

I’d burn you and you still 

couldn't take your eyes off me 

cause I’d look so beautiful doing it 

you'd blush.” Cairo was taken aback by the emotion in your voice. 

“I am not a hotel room I am home 

I am not the whiskey you want 

I am the water you need. 

Don’t come here with expectations 

and try to make a vacation out of me.” 

you finished as the few people in the room stood up, clapping. 

“You never cease to amaze me, Y/N” a young professor started. “Can’t wait to read your small piece for your assignment” he smiled like you were the only one in the room. 

Cairo watched as you exchanged pleasantries with a few peers, looking relieved when someone else took the spotlight. And then you saw her. Doe-eyed and slightly parted lips, she looked like she’d been caught doing something she shouldn’t. 

“What are you doing here, Sweet?” you spat.  

She tried to hide her disappointment at your cold demeanor but you could see the small changes in her face even if it was just for a split second. 

“Professor Brooks wanted me to give this to you” she said, gesturing towards the folder she held out. “You know, since tomorrow is the deadline and he left some corrections and notes for you” 

“Fuck” you sighed. 

Only then did she look at you, a teasing glint in her eyes, the ghost of a smile over her full lips. You took the folder from her, your hands barely touching. The moment felt charged, none of you ready to break the eye contact. It was almost like both of you were fighting to see which one would cave in first. 

You cleared your throat. 

“Thank you” 

She nodded, not saying a word before leaving the room as you stood there, still reeling from the tingling sensation you felt when your hands touched. 

‘Did she feel it too?’ you thought. 

________________________________________________________________________________ 

Cairo laid awake well past midnight. Her laptop long forgotten on the side of her bed, a cigarette on her lips. Her thoughts kept drifting towards a certain someone. 

You were right: you had burned her, yet she couldn’t take her eyes off you. 

Your eyes haunted her, that piercing stare that made her feel like she couldn’t hide from you even as you were a complete mystery to her. It was unnerving. 

She remembered how your hands moved during your reading. The same hands that held her waist and throat just a week ago. The very same hands she couldn’t stop dreaming about, doing unholy things to her. 

She kept thinking about your low, rough voice and how good it would sound moaning her name. 

God, she needed to get laid. 

It had been a while since she felt this kind of obsession over someone. Last time didn’t end well. It kind of scared her, in retrospective, the lengths she was willing to go in the past. But this time it was different, she could feel it. Or maybe it was just a stupid white lie she told herself so she could avoid the guilt that was slowly eating her up. 

That night Cairo dreamt about you. 

[madschiavelique]

omg okay y’all absolutely LOVED this post right here about young halsin x you turning to the shadow druids and meeting decades later so let me elaborate a bit about it (ps i’m in pain physically as i write this so it’s not proofread at all and very quick but i need to let some thought out)

imagine halsin and you, in his quarters, ready for interrogation. it’s night, some fireflies are coming in and out of his windows, but you’re not watching them. your eyes are planted in halsin’s.

so many questions swirl in his mind like individual drops of rain falling all at once together on calm water.

you were gone, at least that’s what he had thought for so many years. maybe you had perished after the flames, maybe you had changed of continents, maybe you had fought another battle that led you to the sour arms of death.

he never thought he was to see you again, not even in afterlife. but here you are, all tied up in front of him.

more beautiful than ever.

and you, you’re watching him in silence, hooked on his lips in expectation of whatever he might say.

he has the strength to form a sentence, trying his very best to keep it all under the “protecting the grove” argument.

“why are you here ?” he asks.

his voice changed so much. it’s much deeper, like thunder coated in honey. his voice was already the sweetest back in the days, but the new one…

“trying to prevent your grove from getting in trouble.” you answer, leaning your head back against the wood of the wall, not leaving his eyes.

he frowns, the duties of archdruid have changed him. he matured, you think, he made a man out of the snarky boy you once knew.

“from…” he says, searching his words, “troubles like you ?”

troublemaker, that was the nickname he used to give you. you’d always tried by every mean to make him look less perfect than how he used to be back in the days, and you still wondered if he had managed to remain effortlessly errorless.

you smiled, full of nostalgia at the single word, “i was your favourite kind of trouble. the one coming for you, though…”

“quit your games,” he stopped, “what are you truly here for ?”

“i told you, your grove’s about to be in danger.”

“how’s that ?” he scoffed, “you, the great deserter, coming to such a haven in search for something else to destroy ?”

halsin still had some bitterness. you had not just left him, you had been dishonest with him, betrayed your home, your friends, your circle, him.

“i did not mean to destroy the temple.” you said between clenched teeth.

“but you did it anyway.” he spat.

“because it was either see this stupid rubble go into flames or watching you die!” you snapped.

halsin’s eyes went wide, anger and surprise and confusion passing on his face and heart without transition as he looked at you with new eyes.

now, imagine that the reason why the shadow druids took you in in the first place was because of leverage, and this leverage was halsin.

imagine the poisoned words they made you drink, how they certified to you that by coming to their order you could finally top him on something and not be an eternal second of his.

that notion of being second had for a while been less and less present to the front of your mind, this simply because you were no longer in a competition with him, at least not in your mind.

but what if they had made you believe that halsin charming you until you fell for him was his own strategy to get first ? what if they had made you bitter enough about him that you had fallen for their lies ?

what if they had threatened to kill him if you were to not join them ?

should i give more loves 👁️👁️

small tags for the people that wanted to hear more about this !!

@halsinningiswinning @radioactivepidgeon @daughter-lilith @fruitymoonbeams-blog @sparrowbard @oooof-ifellforyou @girlwithadragonheart @altered-delta

[flemingsjersey]

Nightly Troubles

Warnings : mention of Astraphobia , nothing else

A/N : This is my first time writing in over five years so it might not be the best . I was bored so I decided to write a small blurb about Jeffrey . English isn't my first language so please let me know if there's any spelling mistakes . Feel free to tell me what to fix or not in my writing in case I get the motivation to write again one day .

It was a rainy night  outside of your shared apartment in Portland . Rain hit the window softly as thunder sounded in the background . 

To say you weren’t able to fall asleep would be an understatement , the thunder even if small kept you awake . 

Growing up , thunder had always been something that bothered you , too loud and too sudden that it would manage to scare you . You used to spend nights pulling all nighters or not sleeping until it died down . Even now as an adult you still felt uncomfortable whenever it happened . 

You sighed as you stared out of the window , rain was running down the window which you tried to concentrate on to help with your unease . The arms that were around your waist till now tightened slightly . You turned your head in the opposite direction to be met with the freckled face of your favourite Canadian . Her brown hair was scattered around the pillow as she snored softly . 

You hadn’t really ever got to tell Jessie that thunder was something that scared you . It wasn’t exactly something you liked to tell people , even your girlfriend. You didn’t feel ashamed by it but it was still embarrassing to confess being scared of thunder .

As much as you’d prefer watching Jess sleep, you saw a bright flash coming through the window from the corner of your eye and frowned knowing what it meant . It took a long time to happen , too long that you even thought that it wouldn’t happen but you were wrong . It happened suddenly , way louder and lasted longer than you had expected . 

You got startled ,  jumping slightly at the noise . Your breathing quickened slightly as you felt the usual discomfort begin to settle in .

Just as you were about to take Jessie’s arms off of you to go cool yourself down in the bathroom with some cold water , you felt her stirr behind you .

« Y/N…? » she asked groggily , still half asleep .

« What’s going on…? ». You stared at her as she sat up in bed and her arms loosened their hold on you . You really didn’t want to bother her with this but you knew that she would press on to know why you had such a strong reaction that it woke her up.

« It’s nothing really-….Just the thunder , no big deals… » 

You said with a faint chuckle , trying to make it seem like it was just a stupid thing she shouldn’t worry about . But Jessie was Jessie so she didn’t let it pass as nothing . She stared at you with a frown for a moment before sighing and bringing her arms back around you .« Why haven’t you told me about this before ? I could have stayed awake to help you fall asleep… » 

Her words and the expression made you aware that she was upset you didn’t tell her . 

You felt guilty so you decided to finally tell her the truth .«  I guess I just thought it was a bit…childish ? I mean it’s not exactly common for someone to still be scared of thunder at my age… » 

Despite your words Jessie just chuckled and laid back down as she pulled you to her chest .

 « That’s okay . But it’s not childish really » she cupped your cheek .

« Tell me next time if something bothers you okay ? Even if you consider it childish » she said softly as she kissed your forehead . 

« I’ll stay awake until you fall asleep , I’ll protect you from the thunder » she said in a fake heroic voice that made you giggle .

« Thanks… I love you so much Jess…I don’t know what I’d do without you » you mumbled as you yawned before closing you eyes . 

Before you knew it you were fast asleep in the arms of the person you knew you could always rely on even if it was about your oldest fears .

[shadowqueenjude]

Ranking the top 10 most pathetic SJM men

10: Ithan Holstrom Come on, if you didn't think him simping for Bryce after knowing her for like 5 seconds was pathetic then idk what is. Also, him being mad about the Fendyr heir being enslaved and stealing fire sprites for revenge will never not be hilarious

9: Fenrys Moonbeam Bro was so desperate to escape Maeve that he almost killed himself. Then he had that "You'd rather my queen die than your king" line. Like bro is Aelin's dog at this point.

8. Eris Vanserra Thanks to @kateduchessofdolittle for making me see how pathetic Eris is.

-Fiancee goes to *great lengths* to get out their engagement. After all that, bro still bailed her out by dealing with her father Keir in ACOSF

- Got to be a passive little bitch to monster father

- seems to be a surrogate father to the *worst* people

- he's giving mama's boy

- his allies taunt him with another engagement and she laughs in his face too

At least he has his dogs.

7. Hunt Athalar Not sure how to explain this one. It's just the *vibes*

6. Tarquin Poor Tarquin. I felt so bad for him during that Feyre-Tarquin scene in ACOMAF (one of these days I shall write the Feyquin fanfic and rectify Feyre's mistakes here).

5. Ruhn Danaan You may be surprised Ruhn is so high up on this list. But bro, Hypaxia duped him so badly. Also, he was so desperate to get back in his sister Bryce's good books. Here are just a few examples from the book:

Ruhn bared his teeth at Maximus as the glowering vamp headed toward the golden steps. “Riso called me a few minutes ago and said you were here. With that fucking creep.” “Excuse me?” Her voice sharpened. It had nothing to do with the fact that she highly doubted the diplomatic club owner had used those terms. Riso was more the type to say, She’s with someone who might cause the dancing to cease. Which would have been Riso’s idea of Hel. Ruhn said, “Riso can’t risk tossing Tertian to the curb—he implied the prick was being handsy and you needed backup.” A purely predatory gleam entered her brother’s eyes. “Don’t you know what Tertian’s father does?” She grinned, and knew it didn’t reach her eyes. None of her smiles did these days. “I do,” she said sweetly. Ruhn shook his head in disgust. Bryce leaned forward to grab her drink, each movement controlled—if only to keep from taking the water and throwing it in his face. “Shouldn’t you be home?” Ruhn asked. “It’s a weekday. You’ve got work in six hours.” “Thanks, Mom,” she said.

She just opened the door. “If you hear anything about the Viper Queen, call me.” Ruhn stiffened, his heart thundering. “Do not provoke her.” “Bye, Ruhn.” He was desperate enough that he said, “I’ll go with you to—” “Bye.”

She flinched as Ruhn said at her ear, “You don’t need to see this.” This was another murder. Another body. Another year. A medwitch even knelt before the body, a wand buzzing with firstlight in her hands, trying to piece the corpse—the girl—back together. Ruhn tugged her away, toward the screen and open air beyond— The movement shook her loose. Snapped the droning in her ears. She yanked her body free from his grip, not caring if anyone else saw, not caring that he, as head of the Fae Aux units, had the right to be here. “Don’t fucking touch me.” Ruhn’s mouth tightened. But he looked over her shoulder to Hunt. “You’re an asshole.”

Ruhn was in the apartment lobby when Fury dropped her off. Tharion left them at the docks, saying he was going to help haul in the seized synth shipment, and Fury departed fast enough that Bryce knew she was heading out to make sure the Viper Queen didn’t abscond with any of it, either. Ruhn said nothing as they rode the elevator. But she knew Fury had told him. Summoned him here. Her friend had been messaging someone on the walk back from the docks. And she’d spied Flynn and Declan standing guard on the rooftops of her block, armed with their long-range rifles. Her brother didn’t speak until they were in the apartment, the place dark and hollow and foreign. Every piece of clothing and gear belonging to Hunt was like an asp, ready to strike. That bloodstain on the couch was the worst of all. Bryce made it halfway across the great room before she puked all over the carpet. Ruhn was instantly there, his arms and shadows around her. She could feel her sobs, hear them, but they were distant. The entire world was distant as Ruhn picked her up and carried her to the couch, keeping away from that spot where she’d yielded herself entirely to Hunt. But he made no comment about the bloodstain or any lingering scent. 4. Lucien Vanserra (or Spell-Cleaver? Vanserra sounds better)

Ah, Lucien, Lucien, Lucien. My poor baby just wants somebody to marry him. Does it get any more pathetic than "I'm a mated male now?" My man prepares for rejection every holiday without fail. He and Lucien did not exchange gifts, though the male had brought a gift for Feyre and one for his mate, who barely thanked him after opening the pearl earrings. Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing. 3. Chaol Westfall I don't think many people remember Lithaen, but Chaol was in love with her and she fucked Dorian's cousin instead. Also there was this:

Babe, ily but wtf. You ran into a different fucking dimension to save your ex-girlfriend's DOG??? Talk about pathetic. 2. Lorcan Salvaterre Bro abandoned the queen he served more loyally than any of the rest of the cadre the moment a tiny little human with witch blood showed a little cleavage and bossed him around. Bro wanted to be someone's bitch SO BAD. He RIPPED his shirts up for her periods even after she refused to even speak with him and said she hopes he's miserable and spends the rest of his life alone (and threatened to gut Rowan and Gavriel if they ever told her it was him). He swore a blood oath to his greatest enemy just to protect her and lost the will to live when she called him a monster. Absolutely fucking pathetic and we love him for it. 1. Tamlin It was a close fight to first, but nobody can beat Tamlin in the pathetic category. For one, of all the love interests we have seen, he is in possession of the least rizz. Negative rizz, actually. Lucien actually roasted him so badly for his negative rizz, and Lucien personally backed off so Tamlin and his negative rizz could rizz up Feyre. Bro sacrificed all of PRYTHIAN to keep Feyre safe, bartered with his enemy to get her back, only to have her destroy his court. Even after that, he saved her life at the Hybern camp and revived her mate. And unlike the others above, he didn't get the girl, and probably won't get any girl, actually. We could always put him up for adoption and one of the members of the fandom can take him? Maybe??? Maybe @kateduchessofdolittle will take him.

[sevenwishesonshootingstars]

The Stars in the Sky and Sunsettias on the Ground

Ok so this is just a little thing I wrote based on a post by @arn9tails. The basic idea is that somehow you ended up in Teyvat (because I’m not sure how I’d write something reverse isekai right now), but instead of everything being about your size like you’d expect, it’s all on a much larger scale. The reader character can be any age, but I’m going for late teens or early twenties, either about to finish high school or college. They’ll be around 5’5 so if you’re shorter than that (me core), congrats on getting a few inches taller. If you’re taller than that, don’t worry because everything else still would have been taller than you anyway. I don’t think there are any content warnings except that this might be a little cringe if you’re not into this kind of thing, and I’m an amateur writer, which I expect will show a lot. It also hasn’t been beta read or edited much. Oh, and some swearing.

Unfamiliar Happenings in Oddly Familiar Places

..............................................................................................................................

You didn’t even do anything. No, really. You just took a break from your research paper for a little. Yes, you were technically supposed to be typing up an overview of the results, but you’d been doing that all morning. I’ll work better after stepping away for a bit, you told yourself. So you grabbed a snack and plopped onto the couch to play a little bit of genshin. 

With your favorite character finally about to rerun, you wanted to save up as many primos as you could get before the banners switched. While it was embarrassing to admit, you had never finished Mondstadt exploration. Figuring you’d kill two birds with one stone, you decided to try to finish it up and get any primos you could from it. 

As you checked in every bush and space between the rocks, you couldn’t help feeling a little guilty for doing this instead of completing your stupid research paper. You were on break, yet you couldn’t even enjoy it thanks to that word doc waiting impatiently for you to come back. You’d never been the kind of person who could just enjoy your down time, not when you knew you weren’t being productive, not when your responsibilities were always hanging over your head like the sword of Damocles.

You opened a common chest and stared at your screen for a moment. Maybe it was immature, but you almost felt a sense of longing. You wished you could have a more simple life. I wish I could be an adventurer in Teyvat, camping out each night and searching for treasure, you thought as you resumed your search. Of course, it’s not like you didn’t realize that being an adventurer was realistically much harder than having to write an essay, but you also knew it wasn’t just the essay. It was everything. The essay, the uncertain future, the struggle to stay afloat in waters full of broken boats, and the world changing around you in ways you both couldn’t ignore and couldn’t fully process. 

Instead of acknowledging any of that, though, you simply took another bite of your snack and went to look for another chest or seelie. You were pretty sure you’d found everything in Mondstadt’s main city, or everything that you could find without a fresh pair of eyes, and decided to go to the statue that started it all. Thunder cracked outside as you selected the statue of the seven, making you jump.

The room was dark now, and it took you embarrassingly long to realize the power had gone out. The only light left in the room was the faint glow of your screen. You pulled open a curtain just enough to peek out. The rain had been sudden, so sudden that when you checked the weather app, it still claimed the sun was shining. You took a deep breath and turned away from the window. 

Looking back at your screen, you realized that somehow the internet hadn’t been affected. Sure, it was a little slow, but you were no stranger to the almost spitefully long load time for the geo symbol. Frowning, you leaned a little closer to the screen.

Bad idea, [Name]. 

At that moment, the loading screen was brighter than you’d ever seen it. You recoiled, shutting your eyes in the hopes of protecting yourself from the blinding light, but it seemed to burn through your eyelids. “What the hell?” you blurted out as you lost feeling in your body and, not even a second later, consciousness. 

A light gust of wind brushed against you, drawing you out of the depths of your sleep. You turned to your side, reaching for your blanket and grasping at nothing. Confused, you tried again. After another failed attempt, you groaned and blinked your eyes open. Seeing green leaves oh so high above you, you jolted upright. Clearly this was not your room.

You took a deep breath, trying not to panic. Was I kidnapped? Or… am I dreaming? What is going on!? Lifting yourself onto your trembling legs, you surveyed the area. You were under a huge tree, surrounded by tall grass. On the ground next to you was a large, pear shaped fruit with yellow and orange skin. In the distance you could see a familiar looking statue, glowing a light blue. 

You stumbled back, bumping into the tree. “Is that… is that one of Venti’s statues?” you mumbled to yourself, picking at your sleeve. Taking another deep breath, you slid down to sit against the tree. “Am I at Starfell Lake?” The idea was absurd, yet hard to dismiss. It was a dream come true, yet you felt like you might vomit. 

“Oh my—I’m at Starfell Lake!” you whisper-shouted to yourself in a mix of excitement and anxiety. “I’m in Mondstadt! In Genshin fucking Impact!” Hands on your face, you looked around with a new sense of awe. You were glad you were alone because you might have looked silly with your mouth open like this. But you couldn’t help it. You know you’d have to eventually figure out a way home, but for now you were going to enjoy this opportunity. Even if it was just a dream.

Even if you had to make yourself. 

You turned to the fruit next to you, a sunsettia, wanting to try it. This was when it finally hit you. In your mix of panic and excitement, you hadn’t realized that the sunsettia was as big as you were. Your mouth fell open slightly, and you stood frozen in place. “Huh?”

Sure, the fruit in the game had always been a bit.. swollen looking compared to fruit you were used to, but it was never this extreme! You walked up to it, holding your hand to the top of your head and then to the top of the fruit. Hello? This thing was huge! 

You looked around again, now realizing that the grass was all taller than you. You pinched yourself, deciding that you were ready to wake up. But all it did was make your arm hurt a little. “Oh god…” 

This wasn’t right. It wasn’t right at all. You weren’t going to pretend you hadn’t imagined this scenario a thousand times. You were literally doing it earlier! But whenever you imagined finding yourself in Teyvat, you’d always imagined everything being your size! Why wouldn’t you? What reason would you even have to think that the world would be on a completely different scale!?

But then again… what reason did you have to assume it was on the same scale either? If whole different worlds could exist, what made you so sure that they wouldn’t be on different scales from each other? You put your head in your hands and groaned. What were you supposed to do now?

..............................................................................................................................

That’s it for now, but I’ll probably continue this because I also have an idea about a language barrier in this au. I'm not sure how this will tie in to a reverse isekai thing yet, but I do want to try something with that aspect at some point. I think the reactions of characters to one of our cities for the first time, especially with this au, would be very interesting. I also might do a version of this somewhere like in the city itself or in Fontaine where it'd be a lot harder to not be noticed quickly because of how many people there are.

Here's a height chart thing I made real quick so it might not be 100% accurate. I thought this was bigger because of how big sunsettias are, but for a person that's very, very small. So yeah, this is how big us Earthlings are in Teyvat in this au sorry guys

little nightmares ahh heights

illustration

[shiorimakibawrites]

Stormy Weather (Daredevil fic)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader

Word Count: 726

Summary: It was a dark and stormy night when Matt returns home with a surprising rescue.

Warnings: Referenced missing child, referenced animal abuse, character experiencing mild hypothermia.

Once again, this for Mandy's Sweater Weather Writing Challenge since that prompt list has really inspired the muses. In this case, the prompt is "Get inside, you're all wet."

Tagging @she-likesorchids because this was inspired by her challenge and prompt list as well as @bellaxgiornata since you seem to be having a rough day (week) and it sounded like you needed some fluff.

Stormy Weather

by Shiori_Makiba

You were worried.

Granted you were always a little worried about Matt while he was out. Being Daredevil, after all, was dangerous. But right now you were feeling especially worried.

An hour ago, it had started to rain. No big deal, you had thought. It wasn’t the first time it had rained while Matt was out. It wouldn’t be the last. Besides, it was just a little drizzle and the suit was fairly water resistant.

It hadn’t stayed a drizzle for long. It had grown and grown until it was storm. A bad one. Rain was pounding down on the roof like a drum while the howling wind rattled the windows. Lightning raced across the skies, chased by deafening roars of thunder. So far the power has holding it but it had flickered more than once.

And Matt still wasn’t home. He had never stayed out in weather like this for so long. It was too dangerous. He had told you once that big thunderstorms didn’t play well with his senses. So why wasn’t he home?

You paced and fretted as scenario after scenario played across your mind, each one each worse than the last.

The storm was so loud that it took you a minute to realize that thumping sound you were hearing wasn’t part of it. Once you did, you also realized where it was coming from. The roof access door.

You raced up the stairs. And discovered that the door got stuck when it was this wet. It took considerable amount of force and a lot of swearing to get it unstuck. And standing there in the pouring rain was Matt, his arms filled . . .

“Are those kittens?” you asked, shocked.

“Yes,” he said. While part of you wanted to know what he was doing with an armload of kittens, the rest of your mind had more pressing concerns. Like the fact that he looked thoroughly soaked and was probably freezing.

“Get inside, you’re all wet,” you said, moving to the side so he could get by. Which he did, immediately heading down the stairs and toward the bathroom. You followed, trying to avoid stepping in the puddles of water he left his wake with your sock-clad feet.

Through he was shivering and his teeth were chattering, Matt was more concerned with the kittens’ welfare than his own. Which didn’t surprise you at all. Deep inside the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen was made out of marshmallow fluff. And in fairness to Matt, their little meows were rather heartbreaking.

Only your promise to tend to the kittens got Matt to start removing his wet suit in favor of warm, dry clothes. While he did, he explained how he had found them. When the weather had turned nasty, he had started to head home but heard a set of parents frantically calling for their son, a toddler who had somehow managed to get himself out of their apartment. Matt had found the little boy hiding behind a dumpster. Who, at first, was too frightened of the storm to come out but eventually Matt managed to coax him out and get him back to his parents, cold and wet but otherwise unharmed.

Given the lightning, Matt had opted to make most of the trip home on the ground. And in alley not far from his apartment, he found the kittens. Who had been literally thrown away in the dumpster. Normally he would take them to the one of the shelters or vet clinics he knew was open at night but given the weather, he opted to take them home instead. You knew the rest.

Half an hour later found you and Matt were curled up on the couch under a blanket, sipping apple cider while the five kittens slept in a nest of blankets and your heating pad on the coffee table. In the morning, you would take the kittens to the shelter or contact your friend who did cat fostering to see if she knew anyone who could take them.

You tried to feel disappointed about that. It was hard. They were so cute and so small, it was hard not to fall in love with them. But there was no way Matt would agree to keep five cats . . .

But surely you could talk him into one . . .

End Note

In the US, apple cider usually means the non-alcoholic version and is called hard cider when its not. In this case, served warm and sweetened with honey to help Matty recover from his mild hypothermia.

It is not recommended to give alcohol or caffeine to someone with hypothermia.

[tc-doherty]

Book One | Chapter Twenty

Index | First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Tag list: @bloodlessheirbyjacques @magefaery @did-i-do-this-write @marrowwife

@muddshadow @outpost51 @full-on-sam @bluberimufim

@unclear-contributions @talesfromtheunknowable @guessillcallitart @flowerprose

@ashirisu @xarrixii @the-letterbox-archives

(ask to be added)

They passed a little more time together that morning, alternating between practicing and simply talking until Felisjyta looked up and said, "It looks like that rain is blowing in. We better get inside if we don't want to get soaked to the skin."

Patrice looked up as well. A mass of dark clouds was coming towards them at a fast pace, threatening to cover the sun and bring rain. By the time she looked back down, the two knights were already well on their way to being packed up.

"How do you move so fast?"

"Practice. Here, you can carry the basket. Errys and I will take the swords."

As the first dull rumble of thunder rolled through the air, the three women hurried back to the summer palace.

They almost made it in time. Despite being only a short distance away, they were forced to keep to twisting paths and could not travel in a straight line without destroying valuable property. The storm had no such constraints. A few fat drops of water caught them going in through the door. Errys laughed.

"Just in time anyway. At this point we should still have plenty of time to get ready before they call us down for lunch. None of us can turn up like this."

Patrice looked down at her outfit, now covered with bits of grass and wet patches where the rain had hit. "No, I suppose not."

A much louder rumble of thunder covered the end of her sentence, followed by a blinding flash of lightning and more thunder. The storm had reached them in full. The hallways took on a dark and dusty quality as the storm covered all the light from the sun, leaving a few pre-lit candles as their only source of light.

Felisjyta whistled softly. "You often get big storms like this?"

"I've heard it's not uncommon in this area, but we don't see much of it in the city," Errys said. She looked down at her own dirty, rain spattered tunic and britches. "I have enough work to do on my own, I'll see you two at lunch."

"I suppose she's right. We ought to get cleaned up."

Patrice nodded. "I suppose so. Can you see well enough with this little light?"

"You offering to take me back to my room?" Felisjyta grinned. "I don't think I need it, but I wouldn't mind the company." She offered her arm and, as she had done so often lately, Patrice took it.

"I almost like it better this way," Patrice said as they moved through the dark hallways. There was no one about except them and the cat, who padded along silently behind. Dark and empty, the summer palace almost reminded of her home – the ruined castle which had once been connected to her mother's tower. It was long since given back over to nature, but in her early days there had been more of it left standing and she used to often play within the derelict building.

"It makes me feel like I'm in one of the stories Elaine told so many of," Felisjyta said. "Any moment I think we'll see an unhappy ghost." A flash of lightning came just as she finished her sentence – a very timely addition from the storm. The rain pounded against the windows.

"If the rain comes so fast, the storm should not last long, I would think."

"You'd be surprised. Oh, this is me. I'll see you at lunch, Patrice." Felisjyta let herself into her own suite.

Patrice looked down at the cat, who had quickly moved up to take the knight's place. "I suppose our only option is going back and letting Maria fuss over us."

He meowed at her.

"You seem unbothered by the storm as well," she said to him as they walked. "I suppose they teach you that, when they teach you everything else."

He purred, though whether in response or just at the sound of her voice, Patrice couldn't tell.

Maria was predictably dismayed at the state of her outfit, but resigned to it at the same time. "I don't know why you find it necessary to do all that unladylike fighting and such anyway, Lady Patrice," she grumbled. "You've had the life of a noble offered to you on a silver platter, and you insist on making it difficult for yourself anyway."

Patrice shook her head. "I suppose to you it seems a wonderfully fulfilling life, but for me I'd rather do something interesting."

Maria sighed but ceased to argue about the matter.

Although she was once again being forced into a bliaut, at least the process of getting cleaned up and ready was actually somewhat relaxing. Patrice could hear the rain hitting the windows, and for once the natural sounds were loud enough to cover up the ever present sound of human life.

Today's gown was a shade of deep maroon that played well against her skin and hair – Patrice was beginning to get a sense of such things, in spite of herself. Like the one from the previous day, it was simple. It only had some slight embellishment at the edges done in gold thread and glass beads. The jewelry Maria picked was similarly simple – gold chains, then gold bangles, and a few strands of gold cord to braid into her hair as it was plaited and tucked up.

"Everything will be inside today, on account of the rain. A dress like this should be enough."

"It's more than enough for me."

"I know, I know." Maria made shooing motions with her hands. "Now off with you. If you can find something to keep you entertained until lunch, I can start cleaning in here."

Patrice wasn't entirely sure why she needed to be out of the room for Maria to clean it, but she shrugged. "I'm sure I can find something."

What she found first was the library, with its rows upon rows upon rows of books. Dragons had their own system of writing, still Patrice knew that there were dragons who were great lovers of human books, who turned each delicate page with a single claw, or who would shapeshift only to go into town and buy more books. She did not trust herself with books, given how wildly her body temperature varied. The sight of the library, however, made her wish that she could sit down and read some of them for herself.

The second thing she found was the music room, and Lady Katerina, who sat on the windowsill watching the rain with the same intensity to which she devoted everything. The girl turned around guiltily when Patrice opened the door, but her face brightened when she saw who had arrived.

"Lady Patrice!" Katerina jumped down from the window and dipped into a quick curtsy. "Did you come to play music?"

Patrice smiled. "Lady Katerina." She inclined her head towards the younger girl. "I am unfamiliar with human instruments. I was merely looking for some form of amusement before lunch."

"I'm supposed to be practicing right now, but I hate it! I'd rather be out in the garden like you were earlier." She mimicked a few sword attacks, including the clacking sound of sword on wooden sword. “That's amazing! Just like a knight!"

A quick glance out the window showed Patrice that it did indeed look straight out in the direction of the grotto they had been in. She took a seat on a bench next to one of the larger instruments. "Do you study fighting as well?"

Katerina scowled and crossed her arms, her attitude decidedly at odds with the delicate pink bliaut she wore. She shook her head with an angry vehemence that caused a few strands of fine blonde hair to dislodge. "No! Even though I've asked, and asked, and asked. Maybe if I was a dragon, I would get to say what I want to do, and no one can stop me."

Patrice paused. In Katerina, she saw something of herself – something too wild to be constrained to court fashions and rules. But she did not know how such things worked with human families. Among dragons, things were simpler and parents rarely stood in the way of what their hatchlings wanted.

Katerina wasn't bothered by Patrice's silence. She slouched back against the window and began kicking her feet back and forth. "They say I'm not old enough, but everyone knows that if you start young you can learn much better. Or even if I can't fight, maybe I could at least learn interesting things! Emilia and Vincent get to learn whatever they want, and Joan is going to be in charge of all the judges so she gets to stay behind and study crimes and the law. Why do only I have to sit here and learn pointless stupid things like music and embroidery?"

Patrice nodded. She could certainly sympathize with that! "Have you tried doing things without asking your parents?"

The girl just gaped at her.

Patrice continued, "There are books, plenty of them, you can read about knights and battles and fighting on your own. There are many knights and squires around your own castle, have you spoken to any of them? Perhaps one would be willing to train you, even if not officially. That is what a dragon would do."

Katerina grinned suddenly. "If I don't tell them, they can't stop me!" She said, understanding instantly what Patrice implied.

Patrice wasn't sure if Katerina had never thought of it, or she simply had been unwilling to act on it without the sort of tacit approval that Patrice had just given her. "It would be hard work," she cautioned. "Being a knight would be hard work even if that's all you were to study."

"I'm not afraid of work," said Katerina. "I would rather do that than…this." She waved her hand around to indicate the entire music room. "Maybe I can join you in the garden tomorrow morning. Do you think I can?"

Patrice shrugged. "It is not my business to stop you from such a course."

Whatever reply Katerina was about to make was swallowed up by the sound of the bell. She sighed. "Lunch is ready."

"We can go together," Patrice said.

The younger girl brightened at that. "And we can sit next to each other!"

Lunch ended up being a slightly trying affair. Patrice did not mind Katarina's company or even her enthusiasm, for the most part, but that was not to say that it did not get tiring after a while. Katerina could chatter on endlessly when she had a mind to, and neither the food nor her mother's admonishments were sufficient to head her off.

To keep her occupied, Patrice found herself talking a great deal about her mother and the tower in which she had once lived, and was surprised to find that her grief was not as strong as it had been a mere three weeks ago. Somehow in all this fuss with humans and their customs, she had actually begun to heal, and she hadn't even realized it when it started happening.

This disturbed her enough that she reached almost involuntarily for the spirit stone Felisjyta had given her. By now it was worn smooth and much smaller than it had been, but it still comforted her. If this was a human tradition, and she was half human herself, surely she was neither forgetting her mother nor abandoning her grief too slowly.

It was after the meal that things became more interesting. The queen stood up, and silence fell over the table. "Due to the weather," she said, and gestured to the windows, through which could be seen the fact that the storm had not abated in its ferocity, "we have arranged for a number of indoor amusements. If you would follow us to the salon, we may begin."

One by one the nobles stood up from the table and waited for their ruler to lead the way. She, in turn, waited for her husband to stand and give her his arm before she left the dining room and began the short trip through the halls towards the salon.

The salon itself had been well decked to handle a passel of bored nobles. A fire crackled merrily in the hearth, combating the slight chill the storm had brought. A kettle hung in the fire, keeping warm a drink for those attending. The couches, lounges, and chairs which ringed the room were each supplied with a small pillow and a warm blanket, and every candle was lit. Overall, the room was bright and cheery and a good counterpart to the storm darkened countryside outside the palace walls. To Patrice it seemed a little overmuch for such a simple summer storm, but she could not deny that it also looked cozy and inviting.

"Let's get one of those couches together,” Felisjyta said.

"Yes, let's."

Felisjyta led Patrice around the outside of the room, to a comfortable looking couch near the window. Here there was no need to wait formally for the queen and king-consort to sit; the other guests were already seating themselves. Felisjyta and Patrice settled onto their chosen spot and waited for what came next.

"No need to squabble over a seat next to the fire when I have you," Felisjyta said with a chuckle.

"It's especially convenient in the winter," Patrice agreed.

"Patrice-" Felisjyta began to say. She was interrupted by the queen turning to face the room.

"Today we plan to dedicate to the arts," said the queen. This was no throne room or grand ballroom, no fine setting to give the queen the appropriate grandeur. Her conservative bliaut of brown silk was nothing compared to the elaborately bedecked gowns she had worn in New Iber, and the veil over her hair was only unembellished white lace.

Even so, Patrice would've been able to pick the queen out at a distance. There was something different in the way she held herself, some inherent self-assurance that came from being queen. Patrice realized with some surprise that the queen would still be the same in a castle or a cow field. She made the room seem grand, rather than the other way around.

The queen continued on, unaware of Patrice's intense scrutiny. "I know we have some wonderful reciters and storytellers among us this summer, along with musicians and singers. It is only fair for each person to contribute something to the day's entertainment, starting with my lord husband."

The king-consort stood and cleared his throat. The queen took her place on the couch they shared, leaving the floor to him alone. He smiled at the gathered guests. He did not have his wife's same appearance of royalty, but instead an attitude that made each of them feel as if they were close personal friends. Certainly some of the people present were, but Patrice was not, and the charisma of the royal couple fascinated her. But not half so much as the king's voice when he began to speak. It was deep and pleasant, perfect for storytelling.

Of course she had been around them before, but that was always in much more of a group setting where multiple people were interacting with each other. Those hadn't been the right kind of settings to actually examine the royal couple. For now she put her examinations aside and settled back on the couch to listen.

"Be still, and I shall recite for you the ballad of Dame Joan, from whom I am descended." He launched into the tale with little delay.

Over the afternoon, Patrice heard all manner of stories and songs, all different ways that humans had of entertaining one another. Not all of the guests had the same sort of presence as the queen or king-consort, but Patrice listened to each act politely and with honest interest.

Felisjyta told one of her ghost stories, as she seemed to love to do. Katerina was rather put out by being forced to play the harp for the guests, though she clearly had a talent of sorts for it. Errys recited a poem of great length and formality and managed to stand in the same pose for the entire thing – a feat that met with great approval from the nobles as the proper way to recite a poem of that nature.

A few more poems and shorter stories flew by after that, and suddenly everyone was staring at Patrice. She stood and moved to the front of the room with great dignity, though she didn't have the faintest idea what she was going to say. None of the stories she knew came easily to her in the human tongue. They were strange, too soft, with their bite taken out of them. They would not soar as they should, crippled by the Runerian language, and she did not particularly want to reduce them to such lows.

She stood at the front of the room thinking rapidly before coming to a solution. "I cannot tell you the stories of my people," she said, "for they will lose something in the translation to your tongue. But I will sing one of our songs for you."

The song she sang was a love song, although not the kind of love that humans seemed to prize. It was a love song dedicated to harsh mountains and deep forests, to open skies, and to freedom. It was a relief to speak a language that fit well in her mouth. The words of the song flowed from her, not like bird song or trickling water as in human music, but like lava from the belly of the earth. Dragons never lost their fangs or their fire.

Although it was a love song, for Patrice it was also a song of homesickness. And although none of the humans could've possibly understood the subject matter, when she looked at Felisjyta she seemed to see a flicker of the same longing that she felt. But perhaps she was imagining it, after all, she already knew how much Felisjyta wanted to go home.

She bowed when she was done, because it seemed appropriate, and walked back to her seat without a backwards glance. The slightly scattered applause did not bother her, though others had received more acclaim. Although she was happy to be able to sing a song she knew, doing it in front of others was a completely different matter. She was just happy to have it over with.

"It's nice to speak your own language." She gave Felisjyta a small smile, then turned to face the front of the room where Johan's father had taken his place.

Index | First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

[dogicrimsonofficial]

-- My friends were slightly curious about Howler and I got bit by creative writing bug. All must suffer with me now. --

A flash of light in the depths of Twelves Wood would normally be something worth investigating, but the raging storm and thunder made anyone who bothered to notice to rethink that plan. All the better - for a body was flung from the said flash, colliding with the wet, muddy ground with a heavy thud. That would’ve been rather hard to explain even on the best of days, but right now Howler was dealing with… a lot. 

Rain was a foreign concept, water from the skies that stung with their chill - every droplet like a dull needle that dispersed upon contact, harsh, far harsher than the equally cruel yet softer snow of Garlemald. 

And yet this new marvel was not enough to break them out of the bubbling pit of dread pooling in their guts - threatening to boil over and spill along with the tears, already paralyzing the young elezen who had managed to get on to their knees.

They were gone. 

Howlers kin, family, friends, mentors - they were gone. Every single one, taken by the rot and decay, by death and winter incarnate that had slowly dug her fingers into every seam, every crack, forcing a way in and strangling them to death one by one. 

A last ditch effort by all of them to send Howler had succeeded, and now- 

- now Howler was alone. 

How far back? How far back had they sent the elezen? Was their parents still alive? Their uncles and aunts? Did their aunt still have her leg? Were some still hunting down people who would later on turn into allies, friends, family?

But… They weren’t. They were not Howlers friends and family. 

The realization hit like the thunder far above - illuminating the ugly truth Howler would have to come to terms with. Sure, the people here - they were versions of those they had left behind. From a time before the winter. Before the rot. Before things went so horribly wrong. 

But they were not the people that had trained Howler. Who had loved them. Who had shared meals, who had hurt them without meaning to, who had brought them a new arm when old one was lost to the rot, who told them stories and held their hand and told them to be strong. 

These would not be the hands that had held them, nor the voices that gave them strength.

Howler was the last one left of that cursed time who’d remember a thing. 

They should be back there. With their family and friends. Sure, it would mean their end as well - but surely, surely, surely it was better than being alone.

Howler should’ve fallen with them. 

The rain showed its cruelty once more - washing away the last shreds of warmth Howler had felt from the hug before being pushed into the unpredictable timestream. The last sensation of the hand ruffling their hair. Drowning out the voice that told them to give them the hunt they so yearned. Blurring the image of a face - that which for a fleeting second, had mouthed an apology.  

Cold, metallic, mechanical fingers dug into the mud, the different kind of chill climbing up the limb and into the connective tissue - and yet it wasn’t enough to quell the pain, regret, anger, fear nor despair. Those overwhelming feelings they had suppressed their entire life came out at full force in the form of a guttural yell, nothing short of an animalistic howl.

It all poured out, swept up in the torrent of winds and rain, the roar of thunder above - a moment’s lapse that normally wouldn’t be allowed. But for a moment, they had to. 

They had survived and despite the origin of their name, for a moment, they wished they hadn’t.

[bonesxbows]

Windy Old Weather (Shay Cormac x Reader)

Masterlist

A severe storm catches you and Shay off guard and you're forced to face your fears. Luckily he's there to keep you safe and comfort you through your anxiety.

(WARNINGS) - panic attack/anxiety attack behaviors described - thunderstorms - fear of thunderstorms

We recently had some pretty bad storms where I live and they scared the fuck out of me, I ended up having one of the worst panic attacks I've ever experienced. Me and my family are all okay but it was still hella scary, so I decided to write something about it. It took a couple of tries to get it right and I'm still not completely satisfied with it, but it's good enough for what I wanted it to be. Hopefully, it can help someone else who shares my fears. Comments and reblogs are much appreciated :)

Banners by @strangergraphics

Your feet slapped against the wet wooden boards of the docks outside of Fort Arsenal, rain thrashing around you and the wind screaming in your ears. Shay was close behind you, using a hand to shield his face from the assault of water being thrown at him, otherwise it was impossible to keep his eyes forward. He placed a hand on your back, urging you to keep moving as he ushered you towards the safety of his home. The rest of the crew would find their own shelter in the outer buildings, his main concern was you right now. There was no time to secure the Morrigan besides dropping anchor and tying one of her mooring lines to the dock. The storm had shown up abruptly, out of nowhere turning the once blue sky into an abysmal darkness, the rain and wind turning visibility to nothing. Shay counted his blessings that they hadn’t been that far from the Fort when the sky had turned sour, though he guessed his self-made luck had something to do with it. 

The two of you ran across the yard as fast as your legs could carry you, making it to the front door of the house just as a crack of lightning rang throughout the sky. You stood there panting and dripping water as Shay closed the door behind him. He moved over to the fireplace, tossing a few logs in and starting a spark. A warm orange glow soon filled the house, causing you to inch closer towards the heat, the cold being chased from your bones slowly as the warmth seeped in instead. Shay let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, he could finally relax a little and let down his guard now that the two of you were somewhere safe and warm. 

He turned to you and placed an arm around your shoulders, gently pulling you closer towards the fire. You had wrapped your arms around yourself, partly from the cold and partly to calm yourself down. You leaned into Shay, relishing his touch and body heat even though his clothes were still soaked. You began to shake, your teeth chattering. 

“Is the fire not warm enough, love?” he asked you, turning you to face him so he could rub his hands up and down your arms in an attempt to warm you up more.

“No Shay, it's alright. Thank you,” you told him, still shaking despite feeling the warmth radiating into your clothes and skin. Another boom of thunder and lightning shook the sky, illuminating the window panes with an eerie blue light. It made you jump and you started to panic uncontrollably, your breaths coming out shallow and fast-paced. Trying to get your heart rate to slow down was becoming impossible. It didn't take Shay more than a few seconds to figure out what was wrong. 

“Is it the storm? Does it scare you?” he asked. But before you could answer the two of you heard a loud splintering crack resound outside. You both turned to peek out the window towards the sound. One of the trees in the courtyard now lay sliced in two, its top now nothing more than a bundle of branches on the ground, its stump a ragged knife pointed up towards the sky. You instinctively covered your mouth with a hand to stifle a cry, though that didn’t stop your eyes from overflowing as tears began to flood your face. You turned back around and rushed into Shay’s arms, burying your head into his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you firmly against him. The rain had caused his usual comforting smell to turn into a scent of wet gunpowder and spoiled whiskey but you didn’t mind. You were too frightened to care. 

“It’s just a storm, love. You’re okay,” he told you, running his fingers through your still-wet hair. 

“Make it stop Shay.” you cried into his chest, your voice slightly muffled from the layers of leather. You pawed at the back of his jacket, trying to find something, anything, to ground yourself with. 

“I’m right here. You’re safe, I swear. I won’t let anything happen to you.” he reassured you, though you stayed clinging to him. 

At some point he scooped you up into his arms, picking you up and carrying you to an armchair near the still roaring fireplace. He held you in his lap, letting you nestle your head in between his neck and the collar of his jacket. Eventually, the wind stopped howling and you stopped shaking but Shay never made a move to let go of you. He could feel your breath on his skin, your breathing slowly but surely returning to normal, as he continued to rake his hands through your hair soothingly. 

“Sorry…” you whispered into his ear, a little embarrassed that a storm had spooked you so easily. You had faced greater threats by Shay’s side and come out on top, yet one little storm had turned you into a sniveling childish mess. You had always had a fear of storms but living aboard the Morrigan didn’t leave much room for silly fears. But the abruptness of this one had startled you, unburying your anxiety that you had spent years covering up in a matter of minutes. 

“It’s alright, love. We’re all scared of something. Next time a storm comes we won’t be caught off guard like that. I’ll protect you.” he kept his voice low and soft, his accent coating his words like molasses. You truly did believe him. Now that he was aware of your fears he made a mental note to steer clear of situations that would spark your panic attacks. You still felt ashamed but you knew Shay would never belittle you, even over a fear of thunderstorms. When one of his hands found its way to your chin you let him guide your face out of the crook of his neck to where he could see you. You looked at him and there was a small smile on his lips, his puppy dog-like brown eyes gleaming with unconditional love. He used the pad of his thumb to gently wipe away any leftover tears under your eyes, placing a soft kiss on your forehead afterward. You couldn't help but return his smile with one of your own. 

[quasarwake]

Caught on a Wing

Also readable on Ao3! Comment if you like it .)

Jay is a 20+ year old man with little love in his family life and few ambitions outside of his writing. What happens when he's kidnapped by a giant alien jet?

2400+ words, Starscream/Original Human oc No set universe/lean on IDW and Armada vibes, if he sounds like Prime Starscream it's only because that's the iteration I saw most recently

The unease was getting to him as he walked about the warship- and Jay had to acknowledge that he was lost.

It was so much like how he'd imagined that liminal space to be- was it a coping mechanism to liken the ship to the Backrooms? There was something about the quiet halls and high walls that clawed at Jay's chest, no hum from engines, no skittering of pests like rodents or insects, lighting dim and cool in colour, a space made for beings so much taller than he. It all felt so /empty, so thunderously loud in its silence, his footsteps sounding like intermittent rain drops on metal.

He gripped himself, his breath coming out in a cloudy puff as he shivered in the cool air.

He was the only organic being on this ship and every cell in his body screamed at the knowledge of it.

He opened his mouth- to what, call out? He hadn't seen a 'con in the ship in over two hours.

And at last, the dread started to set in.

"Hello...?"

Hello? Hello? His voice echoing softly down the hall, then swallowed up by the space itself.

Then nothing, again.

Jay shivered, tugging his coat tightly around him.

And the dread began to creep in, dully cold fingers wrapping slowly around his rib-cage.

He had to turn around, right? Maybe he could retrace his steps- but every bit of hallway looked the /same to him, no clear markers and no way to navigate back.

...would anyone even come looking for him?

It was only so recently that he had been captured by the Decepticon known as Starscream- hard to keep track of in days and with insomnia exacerbated by barely-handled anxiety attacks. He figured it was at least three days, with how... grubby, he was starting to feel.

The giant robot hadn't seemed to notice, but really, Jay hadn't been able to gauge anything from him- the only time he'd gotten to see him was the brief encounter where he'd been given a series of toiletries, convenience store food and... blessedly, several packs of bottled water.

Jay licked his lips. Water would be nice about now. Why had he gone walking without any? Why was he being kept on this alien ship? He'd been told barebones information, and given just enough supplies to not feel entirely disgusting as a captive. Starscream had been called away before he could learn more. He hadn't seen Starscream since, about... two days ago, now.

He felt his stomach clench, and thought of home. Would he even be in a better position, back there? He had been jobless, nearly homeless but for the... generosity, of his parents. His parents, that mocked, harassed him for rent he couldn't give, that bruised him and threatened him with the streets with any disagreement to his name, his identity, his mental health-

He didn't feel like an adult back home. He didn't feel like a person at home. And he doubted he would've been able to grab a proper meal there, either.

At least he hadn't been hurt. Yet.

Deep in the doom spiral, Jay didn't hear anything around him change until he spoke.

"What are you doing so close to the medbay, human?"

That rasp- he hadn't heard it in days, but it still felt like a claw dragging down his spine. Starscream, standing at what, four times his height? Looming over him in his reds and blues and greys. Jay could feel that plunge of anxiety as that giant hand reached down, backed into the wall to keep away from that reach-

And to his surprise, the creature backed off, head tilting in an oh-so /human expression of confusion.

"Well?" It demanded, though not loudly. Starscream seemed to understand that volume wasn't necessary for Jay's attention. Jay managed to find his words.

"...I didn't realise where I was," he managed not to stammer and felt impressed with himself. "I was actually trying to go back. To my uh. Spot. That is."

He didn't know what he could say around this thing- home had always been walking on eggshells, ready for a bomb to drop at a word or even a wrong motion- and he felt his hackles rise as that hand lowered again. However, it opened, palm-up, as if offering this time- and when Jay hesitated, he could again see such a human seeming expression, glowing red eyes rolling in that metal face, as if just impatient with him, not angry.

"Get on," he was hissed at softly. "I'll take you back to my quarters."

Jay swallowed. Was it really any worse than what he had dealt with back home? Climbing aboard, he sat in Starscream's hand and drew his legs in close, felt the slight rush of vertigo as he was lifted, carried off. He couldn't help but notice the literal guns mounted on his shoulders, missiles seeming to find a resting place in the armor- was it even armor?

"You can't just go wandering off on your own like that."

Was he getting scolded?

"There are bots around here that wouldn't hesitate to give you something to worry about- or worse. And I didn't invest time and energy into retrieving myself a pet only to have it killed within a few solar cycles."

Jay gritted his teeth. "PET?!" It was out before he could stop it, the shrill sound out before he clapped both hands over his mouth. Starscream stopped walking, eyes narrowing down at Jay.

"Is there something wrong with the idea of being my pet?" The tone was incredulous. "You will be cared for- this planet will fall to Decepticon rule any day now, and only so many of you will be selected for such a privilege."

A clawed hand pressed to the wall, blue metal glinting as a lit panel flashed beneath it. The wall slid open, revealing the same room Jay had managed to slip out of hours before.

He tried not to focus on how warm the hand that carefully held him was. If he unballed himself, he could probably hang his legs off the palm- if the idea of it didn't make his stomach do absolute flips. Alien invaders. It figured, really.

"And ah, what made me so... 'worthy'?" he asked. It probably wasn't the best idea. But he had to know.

"The hair is a start," came the reply, and Jay reached up to touch his brightly dyed hair. "I enjoy the colouration. I supposed it is artificial, though- I'll have to find you products to maintain it."

"I- wh- th. Thanks?"

What?

How did this alien even know?

But did it make him glad to use the colours he had.

"Is that really it though? I mean..."

He thought back to the day he had been snatched away- one of those rare moments of outside freedom, a little money scrounged up for a bus out of town, as much as that meant for him.

He had known it was only temporary, and soon he would return to the house that was not a home. For the moment, he found himself wandering the state forest, taking in the time to himself for what it was. For a long while, he wondered to himself...

What if he didn't return?

Let the forest take him, one way or another?

He had nothing, and no-one. And he was tired of feeling like that.

He was tired of feeling like nothing happened in his life, until a literal jet that wasn't a jet landed in front of him, stated its name, rank, and affiliation, and scooped him up into a canopy to withstand the horror of g-force rocking his body for the first time in his life. What a way to feel the hands of the Gods pushing and pulling at you.

It had taken some hours to recover from the ordeal of having his organs and entire body withstand that, and Jay was simply glad he hadn't thrown up inside the shapeshifting robot monster.

"I'd just... expected that something like you would have a real selection process, or something. You just... grab the first human that you saw that you liked?"

Starscream's glowing eyes rolled. Uncannily human.

"Does it matter why you were chosen?" He scowled down at Jay, who was realising just how close he had been brought to his face. "You haven't raised much complaint." And now that scowl shifted into a sneer. "Nowhere to return to, is it?"

And truthfully? No. For all Jay knew this creature grabbed him because it thought he was wild in the woods. And he doubted his parents would care if their very adult son 'ran away'.

"...probably not," he mumbled. "...but you're saying... you want me here?"

Gusts of air vented from what Jay had thought was a helmet, ruffling his clothes around him. And he was set down, finding himself in a larger nest of blankets and... clothes? Than he had been given before. There were even some cushions, and... was he in shipping container? It was sitting on the corner of a table or desk, laying open with jagged edges along what would have been the top- as though it had been peeled off.

"I go through all of the trouble of finding so many human supplies for you, and you think you're not wanted here. I should be insulted."

Jay watched as wings flicked, wondering if it was a sign of annoyance, or something more...

Amused?

The way red eyes glinted was throwing him off.

Jay really hoped that smile was human-analogous.

"Our medic is looking into the other biological needs of your kind, out of a general curiosity. He will come by later to ascertain your... hygienic needs. I figured that this would be enough for now."

Jay lay dumbly in his pile, and felt a twinge of wonder when Starscream looked away, his sneer... softening, if his eyes weren't mistaken.

But there was that flash of anxiety- of the potential of this being an act.

"I plan to stock up for your food needs for the long term. So be sure to discuss with him exactly what you'll need, I don't have time to be making multiple trips."

Slowly, Jay nodded, pulling a cushion close to him and holding it.

"...okay," he managed, too tired and worn from his walk to feel defiant. And he wondered how the giant being could be so quiet, barely making noise as he stepped back to the desk. Blue metal settled on the edge, fingertips hooking like talons along the edge of Jay's container.

This time, he couldn't really read the expression on Starscream's face. It was hard with any human face.

But the way the vents around his face flushed warm air, it nearly sounded like a sigh, to Jay.

"...I thought you would be louder. More violent."

Jay curled up tightly on himself, looking away from that red-eyed stare.

"Is that what you wanted? A loud, violent pet?"

"No," the reply was fast. "But I'm not interested in having a pet that just lays about doing nothing. If that's all you plan to do, I can always return you..."

"No no no!"

Holy shit there was that spike in anxiety- and it wasn't really until then that Jay knew-

He couldn't go back. Whatever Hell he was currently in already seemed so much more appealing than returning home.

Could he die?

Probably. Actually it seemed fairly likely.

But what about back home?

Just as likely, for genuinely less comfortable reasons.

"I've... just been tired, okay? I've never been in a jet before, and I have no idea what's going on. I can stay here, um..."

He looked around the inside of his... habitat. He'd seen pictures online of people that had made these things into genuinely comfortable resting spaces- and it was large enough to tell him that Starscream... had actually put in some work to making him... comfortable.

He wasn't being contained. He didn't have a lid or a lead.

"...you said your... medic? Will talk to me later? I've got what I need for now. Though, um..."

Could he ask for anything? Was that allowed?

How could he phrase it, then?

"...if you want me to do stuff, are you able to get me things to do?"

Annoyance. That was a clear flash on the face of the alien being- and Jay felt his stomach plunge into anxiety, cold like an icy bullet to his gut.

"I'll think about it," he stated cooly, before lifting his hand, straightening himself upright. "But know I'm not interested in a boring pet. So consider it..."

A moment, as if he was struggling with his words.

"...considered."

And in that moment, Jay realised-

There was a charlatan in there.

A liar.

But not in a way he felt he couldn't... trust. It was a familiar kind of bluster that he himself at parties had affected-

Having to act on a level of heightened self-importance that made one the center of attention. On a hope that their words held more power than any physical might.

And he was hearing that tone, that energy and that vibe, from a giant alien robot monster.

Huh.

For now, this was something he knew he could work with. Words as weapons- they were his tools.

At last, he felt he found his footing, he found himself feeling strangely less alone.

And he smile, pouring as much warmth as he could physically could into it.

"Consider your consideration considerably considered~"

And now was the moment- the expectation of a strike, his wordplay never so appreciated at home.

Instead, Starscream snickered, a flush of warmth flooding Jay's body at the sadistic sound of it.

At the way he felt giddy, rather than fearful of it.

"Oooh, so you can be entertaining." He rapped his knuckles on the desk, and Jay could feel the quake of it through his container. He started moving away, making his way back towards the door. "Save that for me for later, yes? I'll be looking forward to some fun with you eventually."

Fun??

He didn't want to wonder about that, but if Jay could play court jester and have that be enough...

He'd had to do worse for less, really.

"...I'll, uh, try."

Starscream looked over his shoulder at him, that smirk settling itself back onto his features- before becoming stern.

"...don't leave without me again," he warned, his rasping voice ending with a growl.

Jay didn't want to wonder at the warmth that that tone had sent through him. He only nodded, and watched as Starscream left him again, the original silence feeling lonelier than before.

But with the faint hope of future warmth.