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mrpenguinpants · 2 years

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Low Battery Warning - Touch Starved HCs

— If he goes too long without you by his side, he starts to get irritable and too frustrating for anyone to deal with. For the sake of everyone, please remember to recharge your battery before leaving for extended periods of time.

— Tartaglia, Kaveh, Ayato, Alhaitham, and Dottore

[Masterlist]

I JUST WANT TO WRITE WHIPPED MEN OKAY? What do you mean I have to write a part 2 for two different fics??? I'm honestly surprised I managed to finish this. Also, ALHAITHAM NATION REJOICE, YOUR BOY IS HERE AND I CAN FINALLY MAKE A BANNER. I wasn't going to write him (I'm a kaveh stan) but now that he's here...

Tartaglia

While Tartaglia is the most favored to work with compared to the other Harbingers, that's only by a very slim margin. The closest you'll get to death is when the man gets bored and randomly picks someone to fight, but they usually make it out alive. Maybe a couple weeks in the medical bay and a few broken bones but they aren't dead for the most part. He's also the youngest and therefore the most easy-going even if he's a bit childish. He's a soldier first so he knows the pain of listening to someone verbally beat you down and not having the power to do anything back. But he's still a person at the end of the day and after so many people messing up and delaying his work, he's starting to get irritated. First, it was someone spilling tea onto important documents that he just finished signing, then the Fatui agents stationed near Jueyun Karst being defeated by some no-named treasure hoarders, and then finally being held hostage in his own office because the Liyue Qixing wouldn't leave him alone. God, he slumps over his desk, he just wants to go home and see you!

By the time he finally stumbles through the door, you're already passed out on the couch. He can't blame you, it's very late into the night and he would probably be more upset if you forced yourself to stay awake just to welcome him home. But he can still pout that he was taken away from you for so long, he didn't even get to see you all day. That's borderline torture. But he supposes he can forgive you since you look so cute bundled up in his red shirt. If he happens to take a picture or two that's for his knowledge and eyes only. So he easily scoops you up into his arms, taking a couple seconds to just stand there as he basks in the comfortable weight before he takes you to bed. Just for tonight. This will be the last time work takes him away from home for so long.

It lasts for two weeks. Usually, Childe could hold himself together, he's been away for far longer, but the fact that you're right there and he can't hold you is driving him insane. By the 14th day, Childe is ready to snap his pen in half and hurl it at the next person that comes through that cursed door. He doesn't though because it's usually Ekaterina, the only one that has the balls to talk to him right now, and she deserves far more than she's paid to deal with. But he's touch-deprived and tired. Even Zhongli with his infinite amount of patience advises him to sort himself out before inviting him out to lunch next time. He tried to deal with it on his own, this isn't the first time he's felt claustrophobic, but after the fifth Hilichurl camp he doesn't feel any better which only makes his mood sour further. He might even beat Scaramouche in how short-tempered he is right now. There's heavy air wherever he goes and whatever carefree persona he usually has on is thrown out the window.

It's Zhongli who clues you into how bad Childe's demeanor has gotten, the rascal looks horrible both physically and mentally. Despite the consultant and Childe being on friendly terms, you don't really know the man that well. But he doesn't seem like the type of person to lie so you thank him for the information and make your way to the Northland Bank. To be honest, you've been feeling the effects of not seeing Childe as often as you usually do. You know his work can get so hectic that it keeps him cooped up in his office but it's been a while since you've even seen that fluff of ginger hair. He usually doesn't want you near his work considering how it might put you in danger, but if he isn't taking care of himself then what kind of partner would you be if you didn't help?

Even outside the building, you can feel the effects of what Zhongli talked about. All the agents look like they're on their last legs, there's a gloomy atmosphere surrounding the building even though the sun shines brightly across Liyue harbor, and you can vaguely hear an annoyed Harbinger scolding someone. As soon as you set foot into the building Ekaterina nearly tackles you off your feet. Desperately thanking you for coming and looking at you as if you're the Tsaritsa herself.

As soon as Ekaterina says your name, Childe whips his head around at such a speed that you're afraid his head might fling off as his eyes lock onto yours. You know Childe wouldn't hurt you, never you, but he's looking at you like he's about to devour you and you're suddenly very glad you've never been on the receiving end of his anger. He shoves the papers in his hands into the agent's chest he was probably reprimanding and marches over to where you are.

"C-Childe?" "S-Sir?"

Ekaterina mirrors the wary call of his name until he's finally in front of you and without a word, throws his arms around you. You stumble a bit under his weight but you quickly circle your arms around his back and hold on tight so you don't trip over your own feet. You can only imagine what it looks like for Ekaterina to see her stiff boss suddenly deflate in your arms. A pleased groan escapes from him as he basically lifts you off your feet just so he can hug you closer to him. You almost feel like a child's teddy bear with your legs dangling in the air trapped in a crushing hug. You know that your relationship with Childe isn't a secret but you both don't show any displays of affection, you don't even really interact in public in general, so this is pretty open for the two of you. Well, for you at least. You don't even think Childe is registering anything around him except that you're here.

"Are you okay милый?" you whisper into his ear, nuzzling into the side of his head that's nestled into your shoulder. Your snezhnaya is a little rough around the edges but from how he seems to purr you think he enjoys it nonetheless. "Although I'm happy to see you too, don't you think we should move so we aren't blocking the main entrance?"

He sleepily blinks awake and slowly starts to acknowledge that you're both very much standing at the bank's entrance with everyone shamelessly staring. He frankly looks like he doesn't care, people have working legs, they can walk around you both. But he also doesn't want anyone to find another reason to take him away when he's very comfortable.

"If you need me, don't," is the clipped order that rings out through the bank. You know he's heavily censoring what he actually wants to say but from how everyone cowers away, they can probably tell what would happen if they disobey him. They all give him a nod and a salute before he's picking you up, cradles you into your arms, and swiftly walks upstairs. With a kick of his boot, the door slams shut and he sinks into his chair, you seated pretty on his lap.

"Please never leave me, I think I might die," he groans, re-wrapping his arms tight around your waist. You can only sigh fondly as you gently run your fingers through his hair, rubbing small circles into his scalp and he melts into goo. As if you would want to leave.

Kaveh

You know Kaveh is a bit...eccentric to say the least. He always says what's on his mind and most of the time his thoughts are things he should keep to himself. Even you're not totally immune to his blunt honesty despite the fact he tries to watch how he phrases things when directed to you. He doesn't want to accidentally hurt your feelings, regardless if you know he means no harm. It's rather cute that for someone who doesn't care about what others think of him, he's a bit insecure around you. He likes you, really likes you, and he often finds himself plotting out what he's going to say hours before your lunch date with him. But as soon as you greet him with that charming smile and a brief hug, he turns into putty and whatever flowery language he conjured in his mind is swept away. The confident architect that graduated with honors is reduced to a red-faced mess of stumbling words. It doesn't help that you find it adorable enough to press a chaste kiss to his red cheek and he swears that he's going to pass out from a heat stroke.

He's both extremely glad and terribly conflicted that your love language seems to be touch. He loves it when you brush your fingers through his hair but it always lulls him into sleep so he doesn't get any work done. He loves it when you hug him tightly but then he never wants to leave so he doesn't get any work done. He loves it when you cup his cheeks and pull him into a kiss but then he goes in for seconds, then thirds, and so on that he doesn't get any work done. If he went into alchemy rather than architecture he would dedicate his life work to studying why you have the touch of an Archon that compels him so. But he didn't and now that he's drowning in debt, he really needs to concentrate and finish his work before the deadline.

So now he has the painful task of trying to find an extremely polite way of asking you to leave him alone without you taking offense and breaking up with him. He would be devastated if he couldn't see your loving gaze on him again. But the situation is dire because as soon as he sees you, all he wants to do is curl up in bed with you in his arms. Preferably forever but he'll cross that bridge when he gets there. But every time he tries to bring it up it only takes one look from you for him to stutter and wave off his words. He tries to pep talk himself and every single time he claims that this will be the day that he, very politely, pushes you off, it ends with him melting into goo and waking up the next day with all his untouched work judging him from the table.

It gets to the point that he begins to air his grievances to Alhaitham of all people. To be fair, he doesn't expect the scribe to listen to a word he says and if he did, it would only be because Kaveh needed to pay his share of the rent. But he's pleasantly surprised when you pop up with a guilty smile and that Alhaitham explained his circumstances to you. He tries to clear up the situation, he has no idea what Alhaitham said specifically but it must have been put in the worst way possible, but you take his hands and he shuts up immediately. You give him a light giggle that melts his heart and you tell him to call for you once he's completed his work.

It was the worst decision he's ever made. Second to moving in with Alhaitham. Maybe his judgment of you being an angel was a lie and you were secretly the devil from how often his thoughts were plagued by you. He could draw a circle and think of your eyes. He knows that he's smitten in your presence but he didn't expect that to double when he's suddenly alone. His only motivation is that as soon as he's finished, he'll be able to see you again. But his mind and his work bleed together and he ends up drawing your face instead of buildings and pipes.

He ends up locking himself in his studio and slowly deforming into slime with how awful he's taking care of himself. Alhaitham has to pry him from the table only for Kaveh to flop in his arms that the scribe gives up and hauls the corpse over his shoulder and makes his way to your home. Kaveh still needs to pay his share of the rent so he's not allowed to die before then.

When you opened the door you weren't expecting Alhaitham at your doorstep with Kaveh over his shoulder. He doesn't seem to want to be in this situation either because it looks like he's two seconds away from throwing your boyfriend across the room. But he manages to reign everything in front of you and quickly explains Kaveh's situation, dumping said man into your arms, and telling you to fix it. You shoot him an apologetic smile that he waves off, it's not like it's your fault, before turning around and making his way back to his own home.

"Kaveh?" you whisper gently against his ear to not startle him. It only takes him a second to register your voice before he's perking up and beaming at you. He easily shifts positions so you're in his arms instead. Twirling you around and using the momentum to tuck an arm under your knees and smoothly picking you up, somehow supporting your entire weight in one arm while the other closes the door. Sometimes you forget that Kaveh is really strong despite his lean stature. He is a claymore user after all.

"Darling! What are you doing here?" Kaveh questions while he makes himself at home. If only your living space was big enough for him to store all his work otherwise he would have moved in with you by now.

"Alhaitham mentioned that your recent commission was taking up all your time and you weren't taking care of yourself. Are you alright?" you ask, wrapping your arms around his neck to steady yourself while Kaveh takes his shoes and coat off. In these types of moments, no matter what you do or say he'll refuse to let you out of his arms. If he has to live with one arm then he'll gladly do so just so long as his other hand is wrapped around you.

"Never better," he replies with a smile. He's obviously lying given the dark circles under his pretty red eyes but the soft look he sends you is enough to tell you that right now, he's never been more comfortable. It makes you a bit flustered to have such an intense gaze on you but Kaveh is always forward with his affections and this isn't any different. With you in his arms, there's nowhere for you to run to when he tilts your chin down and brushes his lips against yours.

"Be still for me..." he whispers, the vibrations of his voice tingling against your skin as both of your eyes slowly close. Only for the moment to shatter by loud knocks on your door. You both jerk apart and turn to the disturbance with varying expressions. You're a flustered mess while Kaveh scowls as if the door offended his entire life's work. He finally sets you down on your feet and gives you a quick peck on the cheek. Before marching to the door, flinging it open, and telling the man on the other side to shoo before slamming the door in his face. Unless the world is ending, don't knock.

Ayato

To say Ayato works hard is an understatement. There are several nights when he's glued to his desk rather than resting in bed. Such are the woes of him being forever dedicated to his duties as the Yashiro Commissioner. On days when there are big events and everything needs to be perfect, he's nearly inconsolable that Thoma weighs how much he can get away with if he knocks Ayato out with a frying pan. His pondering doesn't go far because even though Ayato looks like a corpse from the lack of sleep, he'd probably knock Thoma off his feet before the housekeeper could even raise his arms. Ayaka has better luck but she's only able to drag him away for a few minutes before he points in a random direction to divert her attention before disappearing as soon as she turns back. It's just something everyone is aware of and they try their best to support Lord Kamisato. But if it starts to look really bad, like Ayato might drop dead at any second, then you're called in. The last defense and their ace up the sleeve. Not to brag or anything but you have a spotless record and you intend to keep it that way.

It only takes one word from you to have the dignified and cunning Ayato turn into a scared rabbit. His name. None of the wary calls of Lord Kamisato, a dismissal of his titles, and certainly not your affectionate terms of endearment. It always brings the temperature of the room to zero and Ayaka has to double-check that her cyro vision didn't accidentally activate. Unlike Thoma and Ayaka, you're not soft on him and you set your foot down when it comes to his extremes. One of the many reasons he fell in love with you but it's coming back to bite him now. He hates seeing you unhappy, doing anything possible to wipe that frown off your face, but when it's him that's making you so displeased he can't help but look like a scolded puppy.

It doesn't take much for you to know that Ayato has overworked himself to the breaking point again. You understand his duties mean that he's going to be riddled with work but you're his partner first and foremost. You're there to care about Ayato, not the Yashiro Commissioner. And Ayato looks like he's falling apart at the seams. Heavy eye bags, pale complexion, and his body swaying back and forth before he catches himself from falling over. It pains your heart to see him like this and yet still push himself to keep going. So you take one, two, and three steps towards him to delicately take his hand in yours, rubbing soothing circles into his palm before intertwining your fingers together.

Unlike Thoma and Ayaka, he doesn't disappear as soon as you take your eyes off him. Just stands there and stares dopily at you while you issue orders to take over his work. God, you look so attractive when you're in control. It's been a while since he's seen anything but paper and ink but did you always look this beautiful? He's so glad he's going to marry you. Maybe he can force the elders to move the ceremony date up. Everyone in the room politely ignores the fact that Ayato is saying these thoughts out loud and how red your face has gotten.

He doesn't object when you pull him out of the room with you, blindly following you wherever you happen to lead him by the hand. As long as your hand is in his, he'll follow you to the ends of the earth if you'll allow it. It's a bit comical how the dignified Yashiro Commissioner recedes into himself and crumbles away into a love-sick man just by a simple touch. At much as it makes you feel a bit shy, it's nice to know that Ayato won't try and weasel his way out of your grasp and return to his work.

If anything he clings to you like an onikabuto on a tree. You have to waddle your way to the baths with an oversized blue-haired man refusing to let go and draping himself over your back. You know he's making this as hard as possible on purpose, just do you can dote and pamper him a bit longer before he succumbs to slumber and has to return to work. It dampens his mood thinking of the future but it's quickly ushered away by the warm water poured over his head. It's fitting that his vision is hydro because he fits himself into the space you provide as you begin to scrub his hair clean.

There's something meditative about having his hair washed by your hands that no one else can replicate. It's a luxury that he only receives when he works hard enough that his arms hang uselessly at his sides and his body slumps into itself. Soft and malleable, completely willing to bend and mold in whatever shape you wish. But your hands scrub through his hair gently, rubbing all the stress out of his body and never complaining. Right now there's nothing else that matters more than being here with you and you with him.

"I'm going to rinse your hair out. Close your eyes now," you softly say and he follows your instructions. The rush of warm water is soothing to his ears although it sparks something in his memory that momentarily takes him out of this romantic moment. He reaches blindly behind him to take your hand, rubbing circles into your palm to halt your actions.

"It's just occurred to me but aren't you supposed to be on a trip to Watatsumi island?" he opens his eyes to peer up at you, his long eyelashes tipped with water droplets reminding you of just how pretty Ayato is. It's almost a good enough distraction for you to forget why exactly you're here rather than speaking with Kokomi right now. Almost.

"I was but someone had to go and work himself to death again. You need to take better care of yourself Ayato. I don't want to see Thoma running across all of Inazuma just to drag me back because you can't seem to sit still for a few seconds," your frown deepens with each sentence. Your free hand that's not in his grasp is knocking against his forehead, albeit not hard enough to cause any actual pain. He only chuckles before pulling you into the water with him until you're sitting on the edge of the bathtub. His head lay comfortably against your thighs.

"Apologies." He's not sorry at all. "When you're not beside me I have to throw myself into my work or else I may go insane."

"Oh so now all of this is my fault," you huff exasperated but he can hear the undertones of how happy that sentence makes you. "Come on, you'll catch a cold if we stay here any longer."

"Mmm, indulge me," he mumbles into your skin, his eyes closing once again with a content smile on his face. He doesn't need to see to know that you have an equally fond expression.

"Oh, so now my lord wishes to relax?"

"Only because you're here."

Alhaitham

You know that your relationship with Alhaitham is unusual to onlookers. You're both polar opposites and yet somehow stumbled into a rather healthy and committed relationship. To others, Alhaitham is a talented and intelligent man. The perfect bachelor if it wasn't for his "extraordinary sense of individualism" that he doesn't pay attention to people around him. He's notorious for being hard to get along with that not even his handsome face is enough for people to sit around for too long. Meanwhile, there's you. A wandering traveler who takes work whenever anyone needs an extra pair of hands. You're a bit well-known for accepting any job that pays well regardless of how dangerous or weird it might be. But unlike Alhaitham, you're more than happy to make conversation and you're often seen conversing with scholars from every one of the Six Darshans.

To everyone's knowledge, it's you that's the clingy one. You always have a hand around his arm or throw yourself at him shamelessly. Everyone assumes that Alhaitham tolerates it because he never pushes you off but he doesn't reciprocate affection to the degree that you do. If only those nosy scholars could see him now. Your newest job has you traveling to the Chasm to help collect and study the newly opened area. While the Chasm is close to Sumeru, a series of mysterious accidents led the entire mine to be closed. With the Liyue Qizing gradually reopening the area there's a lot of ground to cover. Alhaitham doesn't care much for the details except that this means you'll be away from him for a few years rather than a few weeks. As soon as you told him the expected date you'll return his face instantly soured. It was so cute that you couldn't help but press kisses to the corners of his mouth until they lifted. But one thing led to another and you're now trapped underneath his strong figure for the past couple of hours with no signs of him letting go. Every day you're gone equates to one minute he gets to keep you here.

No matter how much Alhaitham wishes to make you stay, even going so far as to bribe you, you eventually gather your things, press one last kiss to his lips, and leave him in his too-quiet house. He doesn't want to admit it but as soon as he closes the door he already feels lonely. But he'll learn to cope and continue with his life. He's been through more challenging obstacles and made it through. It's only two years, 3 months, 14 minutes, and 58 seconds. Alhaitham sighs and leans against the door. He's not going to make it.

Everyone else is content to whisper behind their hands about how the scribe seems to be more hostile. While Alhaitham doesn't have the most friendly personality, he's still somewhat polite until someone gives him a reason to exit the conversation. But now Alhaitham can barely get two sentences in before insulting someone. He doesn't even mean to do it on purpose, it just slips out. A girl who happens to share your eye color is met with a backhanded compliment that she should eat more fish. A man whose skin color is just a shade lighter than yours is met with an irritated scowl before he could even say anything. It's only now that people start to miss your presence because anything is better than a walking warning sign.

It only takes a few weeks for him to crack. He's not usually this starved of attention but the knowledge that he won't see you for another two years has him itching at his wrists. While on the outside there doesn't seem to be any changes, he's perfectly calm and collected, but his facade breaks when he starts making rash decisions. When he heard that his senior Kaveh needed a place to stay due to his financial situation, he offered to live with him much to everyone and his own surprise. Even Kaveh suspiciously asks why Alhaitham is being so generous. He doesn't dignify it with a proper answer, only that he better get his situation fixed within the next two years or the scribe is kicking him out.

As the second year rolls past, it's Kaveh who brings up Alhaitham's sudden mood change. He seems...excited. Kaveh chalks it up to Alhaitham being happy that Kaveh is finally moving out but that'd be kind of low even for someone like Alhaitham. As someone who cares about the arts and romance, there's a certain care in how Alhaitham cleans the house. Every systematic movement is laced with a longing gaze. His wrists are rubbed raw that Kaveh has to physically step in or he might rub so hard he reaches the bone. But above all the dangerous aura around Alhaitham is replaced with something Kaveh can only describe as restless patience.

"Honey, I'm home!" your happy voice is accompanied by the loud slam of the door crashing against the wall. Kaveh is startled by a random stranger entering their house but mostly at the term of endearment. Alhaitham only lowers his book at your voice before going back to reading. A bit rude in Kaveh's opinion but he can see the small smile that Alhaitham tries to hide behind the pages of his book. It's not like you aren't a bit devious yourself. So you retaliate by plucking the book out of his hands, taking a quick glance at his page number before placing it on the desk.

"Welcome back. I assume your job went well?" Alhaitham sighs as you kick his legs apart, plop yourself down into his lap, and rest your head against his chest. If you weren't so enthralled by the masterpiece that was Alhaitham's physique, you would have laughed at how the blond-haired man seemed to stare owlishly at the scene. His eyes almost fall out of their heads when Alhaitham doesn't push you off, doesn't throw you over his shoulder, or even make the slightest hint of being irritated or embarrassed. He just places his hands around your waist, rests his chin on your head, and sends an icy glare to which the blond-haired man scoffs before excusing himself. It's not anything different from what he usually does to onlookers although this is you and you can tell just how weary he is. How deeply he relaxes in your hold as the tension melts from his shoulders. How his eyes search over your body for any injuries that you might have gotten. It does look like you got a bit roughed up during your stay at the Chasm. Your hair is cut shorter than he remembers, you've put on some muscle, and there are a few nicks and cuts running along parts of your skin that are visible. But none of that matters because you're here. You're finally here.

"Aww, Haitham did you miss me?" you tease only to quickly eat your words when he manuever's you sideways so he can pin your back against the couch. You're hit with a sense of deja vu back to two years ago when you were about to leave for this trip.

"The next time you take a commission that lasts longer than two weeks, I'm coming with you or you're not going at all," he grumbles as he tucks himself into the crook of your neck with no signs of leaving. You laugh now but he's dead serious.

Dottore

You aren't sure when it started but at some point, you've been labeled as "Dottore's Favourite". He always seems to be the slightest bit nicer if you happen to be there, his voice a smidge less aggressive, and a lot more touchy. He's a Doctor first so he doesn't want to be contaminated by whatever bacteria people have gathered. But with you, he always seems to have a hand on you. Either harshly pinching your cheeks like a child with a crazed grin whenever you mumble something he deems stupid or pulling your arm of out its socket as he yanks you through the hallways of his lab. You act almost as his shadow, permanently glued to his feet and forced to follow wherever he goes.

You wouldn't consider yourself exceptional at your job but you did know how to listen. Perhaps it was your blatant disregard for your lack of safety since your head was always in the clouds that let you do your job with a steady hand. You don't blame your college's, it's hard to work under so much stress. If you had to do quantum physics and whatever the hell smart people do with someone who could, and would, kill you on the spot if you couldn't tell him what 3567 x 438 was on the spot, you think you could have exploded and crumbled on the spot. But you were just the ditzy receptionist who twirled a pencil on her nose more than on a paper. The only thing you were required to do was make sure Dottore was never bothered and let him know if anyone important needed his attention.

You've seen the Regrator the most compared to the rest of the Harbingers. You don't know what a banker needs from a doctor but you're not about to ask. It's not your business and you aren't paid enough to care about what your boss does. Besides, for such a handsome face his presence creeps you out which is saying something considering there's a maniacal doctor that treats human lives like numbers on a stats page. But since you are his "receptionist" you have to make conversation with him. Most of your interaction extends to him asking if the Doctor is in and you politely saying that he's out. You both pointedly ignore the loud crashes and angry yelling from one of his segments behind the closed steel door.

Once again, you don't consider yourself exceptional at your job. You're just a lousy receptionist at a place that doesn't require it and who spends all their time spinning in the office chair than doing actual work. You're just as replaceable as any grunt in this hell hole. So when Tartaglia waltzes through the doors, blinking at you with his dead fish eyes, before nodding to himself and hauling you out of your chair you can only hope that Dottore manages to remember that he has a meeting with Pantalone at noon.

You're hardly gone for an hour. Tartaglia was just bored, bored enough to come to Dottore of all people, that he happened to spot you who looked equally as bored. He just roughed you up a little before he deemed you completely useless and a horrible fighter before sending you back on your way. Seriously, if he wanted a fight he should have just picked one of the skirmishers instead of a damn receptionist. Although you may have to reconsider your position because as soon as you walk back into the lab, a girl is throwing herself at you and demanding where you've been.

You don't get the chance to answer before she's hurriedly running down twisting hallways, down the stairs, and punching in codes so complicated it looked like she was trying to make music out of them. Whatever questions you have are ignored in favor of getting you somewhere as fast as possible. It begins to make sense when you're finally shoved into a room, the girl who dragged you all this way throwing herself onto her knees and begging for forgiveness for letting you wander off.

The lab is an absolute disaster. This isn't the organized chaos you're acquainted with but the aftermath of a manic episode you're familiar with. Glass shards dripping with fluorescent liquid, research notes torn apart that flutter around the room as faux snow, and one mad doctor in the middle.

"Where have you been?"

For someone who destroyed years worth of progress, he sounds oddly calm and collected. His deep voice is firm while he fiddles with a test tube of blue liquid, watching it slosh around before placing it onto a broken table. He barely pays any mind to the girl currently on her hands and knees, forehead pressed to the ground while she glares at you to say something.

"Out," is your reply. A casual shrug of your shoulders even though the Dottore's back is to you. He's not wearing his usual white coat. That's too bad, you think it looks kinda cool. Really goes with his bird aesthetic.

"Out...out you say. Out. Out. Out," he mumbles softly, each time he say's the word "out", he taps the test tube harder onto the table. The lull in conversation only makes the pressure of the room drop lower before the tension snaps and he hurls the test tube at the girl still on her knees. It's only thanks to your reflexes that you manage to grab the collar of her uniform and throw her back just as the test tube collides with the floor, the liquid melting away the concrete where her head was. You can only give her a nudge and a look towards the door for her to scramble to her feet and flee as far away as she can. The slam of the door behind her acting as the nail in the coffin as Dottore's body seems to slump in on itself.

"Where have you been?" he asks again, running a hand through his messy hair. He sounds and looks far more tired, his fingers twitching to reach out and hold you but his pride stopping him. So you push yourself and step forward into his space, reaching your hands out to cup his face and rubbing soothing circles into his porcelain skin. He doesn't lean into your touch but he doesn't push you away either.

"Getting tossed around by Tartaglia. He came by saying he was bored and I just so happened to be there," you say absentmindedly, twirling the long lock of blue hair that hangs off the sides of his mask. He responds by snatching your wrist, squeezing hard enough until your bones creak. "Were you worried? Did you think I ran away?"

He doesn't dignify your question with a response. Simply shrugging your hands off his face before he reaches up to pinch your cheeks, a familiar cackle vibrating from his chest.

"As if you would have anywhere to go."

———

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15K notes · View notes

erwinsvow · 6 months

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an idea… rafe and shy reader having sex for the first time

everything's overwhelming with rafe, but this is particularly so. you thought you were completely ready for it, from the way you had handled everything else so well. in fact, rafe was the one taking things at the slowest pace possible, trying to make sure he didn’t pressure you into something you weren’t ready for.

you didn’t like it—thought he was trying to be something he’s not. he’s gentle with you but never like this, never to this extent. it must be a big deal then, sleeping with rafe, giving him your virginity, you finally decide, if he’s acting so differently about it.

in fact, you think you’ve been ready to give it up since you first started dating him. rafe brings it out of you, coaxes a different side of you out with gentle words and soft touches. you’re going mad over it. you can’t count the amount of times you’ve crawled into his lap at any given opportunity, anywhere the two of you are alone—his truck, the couch in your living room and at tannyhill, the hidden booth at the country club. you’re begging for it, not sure how much more obvious you can get.

you finally decide tonight’s the night—following a nice dinner with the two of you. you had spent extra long getting dressed up, a pretty white lingerie set on underneath your blue dress, all done up for rafe. finally back at tannyhill, entire body vibrating and tingling with excitement, you don’t wait another moment, crawling into rafe’s lap and kissing him hard. you take off your dress and rafe stops just for a second to take in how forward you’re being.

“hey,” he finally breathes against your lips, pulling away. “c’mon, you’re not ready for this.”

“yes i am!” you whine, impatient and horny, feeling rafe get hard underneath you. you want him to be able to do all the things you know he wants to do, want them done to you. “i am, i am-” and you lean back to kiss him, ending up pinned underneath him before long.

he knows you’re not, but he plays along. you’re so wet already he doesn’t have to do much, but he makes you cum all over his fingers anyways, hoping it’ll satiate you.

“please, rafe,” you moan against his mouth, pushing in for another needy kiss. “wan’ it inside. please.” and he does know you, knows everything about you, but even he can’t resist when you say things like that.

you watch with big eyes while he lines himself up with your wet hole, hovering over you. you think you’re so ready, that three of rafe’s fingers inside you should be comparable to what you’re about to feel, that you’re more than prepared. your eyes squeeze shut when rafe pushes inside, all the air leaving your lungs. you try to moan out but it’s more of a gasp than anything else, one that rafe swallows into a kiss.

your eyes get watery—it’s just habit. it hurts, too, because rafe is so much bigger than you expected. you bite your cheek, looking up at rafe through teary eyes and clasping a hand over your mouth—you don’t want to admit that he was right.

“c’mon kid, give it up. y’not ready for this, i know you,” rafe says, leaning in close to your ear to whisper it quietly. he’s not even half-way inside you.

“i-i can take it,” you hiccup. you hate disappointing rafe.

and it’s not that he doesn’t want to—he does, desperately so, wants to fuck you within an inch of your sanity every time you walk into a room and look at him with your shy eyes and sweet smile. he wants to break you, wants you cumming on his dick until there’s nothing left in your head, no shyness left in your heart. but he wants it when you’re ready for it, not like this.

it only takes another minute, you finally admit you’re not ready, and rafe pulls out of you. you feel like crying, terribly sad and dejected, wishing you could just be normal for rafe for once, be what he wants.

“stop,” he says, wiping away a stray tear. his arm rests over your stomach, trying to get you to lighten up. “when you’re ready for it, i’ll fuck you until you can’t think. s’just not today, kid.”

you finally agree when he says that, getting over it because you know without a doubt in your mind—rafe knows you better than you know yourself.

#omg what a lovely lovely prompt thank you babe <3 #this may not be what you were expecting #to me the very first time they have sex its too much for shy reader so it doesn't actually happen happen... but it is still the first time #i rlly wanted to write something like what you guys would expect but i really felt like this is more real of their relationship lol #anyways <3 i hope you like it!#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #shy reader

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submalevolentgrace · 2 years

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Hi! I'm very interested in attempting to write a disabled character (not for this blog, I assure, for an book I'm writing) in which the story doesn't fetishize/objectify her prosthetic limb. I'm in many writing circles and have been for a long while, but I've never seen this issue brought to light which I realise is a very important one. I have much to change in my thought process, and thank you for bringing this issue to attention.

I'm curious, and I apologise if this has been asked before, but what sort of design could you see for a functional prosthetic that doesn't go for a plainly aesthetic appearance, or is soully to please others? I do note that you said prosthetics are generally... not that helpful. So is there a way that it could be? Or do you think it would always generally be better to not use a prosthetic, as its mostly for aesthetic purposes, as you said?

I apologise if this ask is too outright or anything, and I don't mean to intrude. Thank you for your time and have a beautiful day!

okay, i want to answer this as in depth as possible, because whenever i talk about having a prosthesis, someone will always tag some variation of "#writing reference" and i do wonder what message they're taking away, and i want to get as much of my experience out as possible to maybe help shape how this is all portrayed in the future. and yeah… this is gonna be one of those rambly smg posts that the expand feature was invented for, so i'll start with the very abridged TL;DR:

if you're writing a character with an upper limb prosthesis; don't. arm amputees are unicorn level rare even compared to leg amputees, and i've never interacted with or even heard of an upper limb amputee that regularly uses a prosthesis, let alone relies on one. fiction has lied to you for the sake of cool aesthetics, don't repeat the cycle. more in depth writing advice including nuance and "but i waaaant to" will follow.

that said, grab your donning parachute and let's get started...

context for everyone involved: i am an upper limb amputee that rants a lot about how prostheses suck, i lost my right hand roughly five years ago at roughly the age of 30 after a very rough decline in health… it was pretty rough. this question is being asked in the context of a previous rant post of mine, and i checked that the ask is about an upper limb prosthesis in particular.

the situation regarding the usefulness of lower limb prostheses is totally different; i am definitely no expert, but by all accounts, prosthetic legs are incredibly useful for many people. getting a good leg can be absolutely life changing and more or less necessary for day to day life for some; mostly because infrastructure and society is just so fucking hostile to wheelchair users. being able to walk - at the cost of pressure sores and rashes and increased residual limb pain - is a preferable option to many people than being unable to fit through a doorway or in a bathroom stall or find out that the key to unlock the only elevator is in the admin office up three flights of stairs (true story).

but upper limb prostheses… see, the thing is, hands are incredibly complex organs that rely on a lot of immediate haptic feedback to work at all. hand dexterity is all about control, you need fine granular movements of the digits yes, but you also need the subtle sensations of pressure and proprioception in order to adjust your movements on the fly. i speak from experience, in the years leading up to the full loss of my hand, i was slowly losing function of it, usually swinging between numbness that made it clumsy at best, or screaming overstimulation from moving it at all resulting in unpredictable spasms… and let me tell you, a half working hand is infuriating to try and deal with. you can never know if you have a good grip on something or if it's slipping because of the wrong amount of pressure, and there's only so many smashed bottles of pickles on the floor before you give up using it all together… so amputation wasn't a great loss there, i had time to adapt.

a prosthetic hand of any kind has all of those issues and more. they're heavy and bulky, the cosmetic faux fingers or gripping claw have crude movement at best, and there's zero feedback (put a pin in this). 100% of the time you're using a prosthetic hand you have to keep your eyes on the grip and visually guesstimate whether or not the thing you're carrying is held tight enough but not too tight, that is if your "heavy duty" prosthesis can even support the weight without the servos disengaging or the wrist attachment socket just busting loose. i dropped a whippersnipper on my foot last week when my socket couldn't take the weight and i think that was the final straw in me desperately trying to prove to myself that there is a single task my prosthesis actually helps with.

this is usually where fully two handed people start talking about bleeding edge DARPA tech, and how we just need to invest more,research more, develop more. better tech, more tech, neural integration, more more more. okay i promise the writing advice is coming! for starters on tech, my experience is already with a mid-to-high end ottobock terminal device: i've got a myoelectric nerve-signal operated proportional control heavy duty greifer; about the only upgrade left for me to get would be a rotating wrist joint if i could coflex. it's not military, it's not "rockclimber that owns a prosthetic company", but it's quality tech. it still fucking sucks. secondly, that high level military tech exists primary for PR purposes so they can say they treat their discarded casualties well, "we can rebuild him, we have the technology" style. every war vet i've read about or heard from that's been gifted that high level tech also abandons it for the same reasons; it's imprecise, there's no feedback (or the haptic interface has to be fully recalibrated every time they put it on), but mostly they're more capable without one.

okay, the transhumanist ableds say (i should know, i used to be one), what if we did more ~research and development~ and got that neural feedback working? then we could have fireproof superhumanly strong robot arms to fix up everyone! here's where i take out that pin we put up before and i tell you that a class of prosthetic arms/hands already exists that has perfect proportional control, fine motor control, and physics perfect pressure feedback piped directly into the patients' existing sensory systems! they're called body-powered prostheses, and they were invented in like the 1600s. you strap a whole bunch of stuff to your arm and shoulders shoulders, and control the operation of the terminal device and elbow through cable tension by flexing your shoulders. they do take a considerable amount of training to operate - though hell i spent 18 months training to use my myo - but based on everything i've read, body-powered prostheses are the best option if you're an upper limb amputee and absolutely need a second hand for some reason.

but they don't look cool and futuristic, and according to my prosthetist, most people give up on using them too. we all give up on our prostheses, no matter the type. my rehab OT was impressed i lasted the 18 months of my training. towards the end, they even asked if the clinic director could drop in to one of my sessions to see my progress; he expressed genuine amazement at me casually using my bulky robot claw to use a brush and dustpan, and made an offhanded (hah) comment about what someone can achieve "if they stick it out to the end", implying it was somewhat of a rarity for me to have done so. several years on, and yesterday i wedged the dustpan between my ankles to sweep up into it, awkward but exponentially less effort than putting my dusty robot arm on. which, by the way, is a whole thing. look up some videos, they're all awful to don. i don't actually know the official technical name of what my clinic calls a "parachute" but it's a bitch to use! have you ever tried to pull back with your arm whilst also pushing it forwards at the same time, and simultaneously lean in to and away from an external force pulling on you? that's how you get a myo socket on.

bare with me, i promise writing advice is coming, and i promise it's more than the tl;dr. but. remember when i said a half working hand is infuriating to deal with? any prosthesis, from fancy myo tech to pirate-era body powered, will only ever be half as good as a working hand, and being juuuust within capability to do something but not quite able to is maddening! but you know what works way better than a half working hand? no hand at all. using whatever residual/vestigial limb you have - whatever "stump" you have, i hate that word - is pretty much always better than trying to use a prosthesis. i can use the inside of my elbow to grip and carry things, i can use the nub of my arm to apply pressure to hold things, open doors, use a computer mouse, turn on taps and lights, if i put a glove over it i can use it to prep for cooking. i have full proprioception and pressure feedback with skin contact, i don't think i've ever dropped and broken anything from my elbow, unlike countless things slipped from my greifer - which, by the way, absolutely will start clenching as tight as it can if i get even slightly too sweaty around the electrodes, which has both broken things i'm holding and also injured me, because surprise surprise but servo operated robot claws have pinch points on them right near the "emergency disengage" lever for some reason!

but i am exponentially more capable without it on than with it. no, i'm not fully independent, i rely on housemates and loved ones to help me out with some tasks that simply just need two handed dexterity, but none of those tasks are things a prosthesis makes me able to do anyway. i used to imagine my prosthesis would be like a bra; a bit awkward and uncomfortable, but i'd wear it throughout the day because it's helpful and take it off in the evening to decompress. in reality it's actually exactly like a bra: an absolute bitch to put on one handed, unbearably uncomfortable because it never sits right, ugly af unless you're a millionaire, and absolutely useless except for the fact that i get gawked at and judged by strangers if i leave the house without it on.

and if you really want to discover how far "no hand is better than a half working hand" goes, brace yourself, and look up the patient's stories (not medical system stories) of people that have had hand transplants. the first man to receive one hated it, he was promised a return to normal function, and what he got was a nightmare worse than being one handed; he wanted it removed again but the doctors refused because it would undermine their grand achievement of the first hand transplant. the doctors and society wanted him to be fixed, they wanted him to be normal, they wanted him to be abled. they failed. they made him less able to do things, denied his autonomy, and left him with someone else's hand slowly rotting on him, prioritising the idea of "scientific progress" and "two hands good" over the physical health, mental health, and ability to function of this man.

he's not alone; every story from the patients' perspective about hand transplants that i've read goes this way, including a woman who was born quad limb different and was promised hands would improve her life, pressured into a double hand transplant, only to find herself after the surgery essentially experiencing disability for the first time ever, because she had lived her whole life getting by just fine with her 'underdeveloped' limbs, but half working hands are worse than useless. you can try to find these stories yourself, but i'm not going looking for sources on any of these cases, because if you look back through enough of my posts you'll get a glimpse of the horrors and abuses that i too was put through by doctors who prioritised trying to "fix" me at any cost, rather than providing me the best quality of life, and in turn traumatised me and left me more broken than any loss of limb on its own could. dear goddess, i promise the writing advice is coming.

so. why do upper limb prostheses exist at all? if they're so terrible and useless, what is their function? i want to borrow something someone else left in the tags of a previous rant here, from someone who i believe works in prosthetics and/or rehab, cleaned up and anonymised at their request:

"upper limb functions are wildly more complex than: 1) bear weight static, and 2) bear weight moving. but every single upper limb amputee i know has a fancy expensive prosthetic just gathering dust in the closet because there is literally nothing it can do like a few years of adjustment and if needed non-dominant hand retraining can't do. the existence of forquarter prosthetics to begin with is just kind of silly and useless and entirely to make OTHER people feel comfortable, especially considering they universally are UNcomfortable for the amputee. i hate the notion that as soon as you get the amputation the prosthetic is The Thing That Will Fix You And Make You Feel Normal again because it universally isn't! but every forequarter person i know had like this ideal of Being Fixed By Magic Prosthetic that they were then obviously wildly disappointed by and had to do yet another grieving process with, versus if the dominant narrative were just one of: yeah. it'll take time, there is no magic fix."

and i think that really nails down what the actual purpose of upper limb prostheses is: they're not for the user, they're for the sake of other people. and not just their comfort when looking at our bodies, although based on the pressure for both amputees and people born limb different to get functionless cosmetic plastic hands, there is a lot of that. but it's not just that.

i fully believe that the reason prosthetic hands exists is to comfort the fears of the two handed. "don't worry", they say, "we can fix you again. you don't have to fear becoming Disabled, you don't have to worry about adapting or your life changing. we can make you Normal™ again."

you would not believe the number of people that have approached me to shower me with pity, to tell me how horrific my life is, how they can't imagine it. people have told me, apropos of nothing, that they'd kill themselves if they lost a hand. indirectly, that my life isn't worth living. unless, of course, i happen to be wearing my cool as fuck looking robot prosthesis! then they tell me how wonderful it is, how lucky i am, how glad they are that we have the technology to fix me. that's what a prosthetic hand says, what all the happy fishing photos on limbs4life posters at the rehab clinic say: don't worry, we can fix you. that's what the bleeding edge DARPA flexi-whatever fully articulated neuro-feedback hands say: don't worry if you get IED'd while hunting civilians for us to drone bomb, if you get hurt, we will fix you, we will fix the fuck out of you, we will motherfucking adam jensen you into a cool as fuck cyborg that your son will idolise; come on boys, don't you wanna enlist just for the chance at being as cool as this? join the bomb squad for a ticket to the upgrade lottery.

and so we arrive at fiction. as much as his dialogue options protest, adam jensen loves his robot arms, they punch through walls, turn into fucking swords! they make him the most special man in the world. what would he do without them? learn to cope? grieve? practice acceptance? take up poetry? just, be disabled? there's no power fantasy for ableds in that.

in fact, can you think of a single fictional character that's an upper limb amputee that's, well, just an amputee? they all have robot arms. not realistic prostheses, not medical devices; robot arms. sleek or bulky, top of the line or broken down self built, steampunk or nanomachines or magitech automail; they're never without them. never just an amputee. never born limb different either! there's always that element of tragedy to overcome, always suffering and misery porn, always focus on the pain and the helplessness without the absolutely vital robot arm that makes them Normal and Whole. the closest amputee example i can think of is furiosa from mad max, who iirc fucking punches max in the face with her residual limb like a motherfucking badass! i can barely lean on mine wrong and she punches a guy! but she still apparently needs a dieselpunk robot hand to drive a truck, something you can do one handed so easily most drivers don't even notice they're doing it! please don't, by the way

and so many disabled fans love to point to robot armed characters as disability representation; the winter soldier, luke skywalker, edward elric, misty knight, that genderswapped furry girl from ratchet and clank, jet cowboybebop, finn the human, and yes, adam jensen…. these are all characters that someone disabled i know has told me they love because they "represent disabled bodies"…. and i know nobody wants to hear this, because i've been screamed at for saying it before, but… they do not. they are not disabled, functionally or within fiction. they are either perfectly able bodied Normal people with chrome paint on an arm, or tortured misery porn we are supposed to pity and feel lucky we're not them. sometimes both!

also you ever notice how it's basically always arms? lower limb amputations are orders of magnitude more common than upper, my prosthetist said i was probably only the 4th or 5th upper limb she'd worked with in her career, with literally hundreds of lower limb fits. but fiction doesn't seem to reflect that, huh? or any other part of the reality of disability. it's always cool as fuck robot arms, never cool as fuck wheelchairs or crutches or dialysis machines or colostomy bags. a fair few "i was blind but now i can see with Robot Eyes and also infrared and xray" around, which again, plays into that "we can fix you and make you cooler" propaganda.

by the way, up above when i was describing body powered arms, if you wondered to yourself why i went with a myoelectric one instead when i clearly believe body powered is better… yeah. i am not immune to propaganda! i too wanted to be cool as fuck. i spent years with deteriorating function in my hand for reasons that are still unknown, was misdiagnosed and medically neglected to the point that removing my hand seemed to be the only option left to offer some relief, and even that was a clusterfuck that left me worse than ever… of course i wanted to believe in the power and prestige of a cool robot arm that fiction promised me.

but fiction promises fantastical lies. and so.

we get to the writing advice portion of the novella that is this post. you asked for advice on how to write a disabled character with an upper limb prosthesis. you've read the tl;dr, you've read everything above i assume, you know i don't want you to do it. the obvious twist is that it's been writing advice all along, me trying to share my perspective on what it's like being an amp with a robot arm and how shitty it is, implying how almost any fully realised and realistic character that's missing an upper limb would give up on a prosthesis at all. you can already tell that every value judgement in me says "don't give her a prosthesis, no matter how functional or cool you make it. don't try to make the tech better to justify it, just let her be one armed, one handed. just let her be disabled, but not helpless. let her show off her elbow or underarm carry strength. let her love interest appreciate how soft and squishy her residual limb is in a moment of tenderness. let her natural disabled body be respected and valued."

but that's a personal value judgement from me, and you are the author of your own work. i know it's trite to say, but you are! even the act of deferring to someone with lived experience in the hope of doing a better job at representation is a value judgement, a good choice in my opinion, but one you needn't necessarily take. maybe you do want to write a character that has a cool as fuck unrealistic robot arm as a power fantasy, or a comfort blanket… i did.

i've been slowly writing my own probably terrible scifi epic for over a decade now, and when my arm was giving me hell back then, i'd take great comfort in this fantasy of my protagonist with her chunky robot arm, the terrible traumatic suffering of her loss, overcoming, the power and ability her advanced prosthesis gives her over others, that she alone has access to, because others are not willing to make the sacrifices required. inspiration porn. awful stuff to me now, but empowering to me then. as i grew and gained direct experience, i slowly reimagined her, rewrote her, ship of theseus'd her into an entirely new character; a reflection of me now, bitter at the whole thing, spiteful that her natural flesh arm evokes fear and distrust, but unwilling to suffer the pain and frustration of her unnatural prosthesis just to make others comfortable and respect her as "whole", however artificial that whole is. and as with the ship of theseus being two ships, once i realised the transformation, i re-added the old protagonist back in whole cloth as a separate character; proud of her robot arm and its power, but in new context, as a foil and antagonist, an in-universe military prosthesis propaganda figure to reflect how i now feel characters like her exist to us, the readers.

i'm not just sharing that as egotistical self promotion, but to highlight that, even if i sit here begging you all up and down not to write characters with robot arms for how bad and unrealistic they are; there's still something genuine and true that their inclusion can say. the great thing about the story that you're writing is that only you can write it, as they say. but i whole heartedly believe that to write to your best, you have to be aware of what you're writing and why. as tempting as it is to feel these characters form naturally in us and therefore we're averse to changing traits about them that feel organic and self evident; as authors we have omnipotent control over the text, every trait and detail is a reflection on us, so we'd sure as hell better understand why we're choosing to write a character with this trait. because anything you write without being aware of intent will take on its own meaning in the space between.

and on that note, if i don't say this, i'm leaving it to be inferred: i definitely don't want to appear to come down on the side of saying "you cannot write an amputee unless you are one", because we are rarer than single young bisexual unicorns! and it would be a tragedy if anyone read through all this and then turned away in fear, deciding to never write an amputee character (with or without robot arm) because they feel they can't do it justice… believe me, no matter what anyone says, some hack writer somewhere is going to keep writing adam jensens and winter soldiers. don't let them be the only voices in fiction! just try to do your best.

so my ultimate advice on the topic of writing a character with a prosthetic limb is to ask yourself one question in two different frameworks, and meditate on what you feel the answer is:

why does she have a prosthesis?

from a doylelist perspective as the kids say, as an author with omnipotent control, why are you choosing to write about this topic? why are you choosing to give this trait to this character? what does it say about how you view ability and disability, what makes a person normal, and what our society values? will you let her be in her natural body? or will you give her a prosthesis, force her to wear it by authorial fiat, or author her a meaningful reason to choose to? if yes, be sure you know; why did you give her a prosthesis?

and from a wastonian perspective, diegetically, inside the story, why does she choose to wear a prosthesis? what does it say about her inner character, and how she interacts with the world? how does she feel about doing it, is she prideful and loves the attention she gets, or does she resent whatever necessitates its use? how do people in this world view ability and disability, what does this society value? and above all, whatever the answer to these questions, whether or not she uses a prosthesis or is badass without one, how does she deal with the eternal freezing cold that every amputee ever feels constantly in their residual limb and why does nobody make a heat pack that fits over a nub without drafty gaps???

i can't outright tell you how to write a good upper limb amputee, but if you at least know why you're writing one and for what purpose, you're on track to write the best character that you can. that's the best advice i can give… other than, like, this whole rambly mess.

and, as a reward for reading this far, please have a very blurry cryptid photo of my cat doing his old man sit:

#prosthesis #prosthetic #disability #ableism

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pixiesfz · 7 months

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100% yes to a steph catley x child!reader series please!

only because you asked so nicely!

steph catley x child! series

plot: when Steph met sunshine

warnings: mentions of death, cancer, Steph isn't with dean atm and a sad beth mead

Steph wasn't planning on having children, at least not yet.

She was planning on finding a partner and then maybe have kids from then on like her childhood friends had done.

But one day she got a call from her agent from Arsenal to go see some of the sick kids at a local hospital with other teammates and that's when she met your sister.

Her room was the only room without hundreds of cards and only a small amount of toys she was way too old for now in her basket.

"Her parents might've cleaned it out" Beth shrugged as Steph, Viv, Stina and herself walked towards the room with a nurse who turned around at her statement.

"Just to warn you" she whispered, her smile she had dropping at the information she knew "This is Lara, her parent's died in a car accident when she was much younger, she's 16 now and suffers from brain cancer"

Steph's heart dropped at the woman's words as she looked up, catching eyes with Lara through the window that separated her room from the hallways.

"How long does she have left?" Beth asked as Viv wrapped her arm around her girlfriend, knowing this could be a soft subject for her.

"It's not looking good and with her only visitor being her sister-" "She has a sister?" Stina asked, her hands playing with her necklace "she’s a little ray of sunshine" the nurse smiled "She's gorgeous and is always putting smiles on everybody's faces when she visits"

The group started walking to Lara's room when Steph heard a childlike laugh through the doors as a little Brunette, just younger than four years old skipped through with a smile and an adult behind her.

"Nurse Cara!" she sang out, her small British accent making Steph smile before she entered Lara's room.

Compared to the other rooms she had been in it was bare but Lara seemed content as she waved to the cameraman who was shooting little things throughout the day.

"Hi Lara these are some of the players from-" "Arsenal I know" she smiled, her dimples appearing "I'm a bit of a fan" Steph laughed "Good I thought you were about to say you were a blue"

"never"

Beth sat on the end of the girl's bed "Did you watch the latest game?" she asked and Lara nodded "Congrats on your come back" she smiled and Steph thought she could see Beth's tears water.

But the room was interrupted by a knock "Sorry to interrupt" a small voice called and Steph recognized it as the little girl who had run in before.

"Hey sunshine" Lara smiled and you ran to her bed, trying to climb up before you gave up and turned to the woman who was sitting next to Lara's bed.

"Can you help me?"

Your voice soft and not at all nervous as Steph looked at you "me?" she asked and you nodded, lifting your arms up for the woman to lift you up onto your sisters bed.

"Sissy!" you squealed, crawling to your older sister who was inside her bed.

At the sight Beth got up, quickly excusing herself from the sight before her tears fell down her face, Viv and Stina following as it left Steph alone with the two girls.

"This is Steph she plays for Arsenal" Lara smiled and you looked at the TV where you would usually watch the football your sister loved so much.

"I like Chelsea" you shrugged and your sister gasped "What?" Steph exaggerated and you giggled, hiding your self into your sister's neck "Has pretty girl name" you continued to giggle.

Steph smiled sadly as she watched the two sisters get along, knowing that you didn't know how much time your sister had left, but Steph did leave with one positive thought that night.

She became a regular at the hospital, sometimes you were there and sometimes she would sit and chat with Lara, bringing her signed jerseys and telling little inside stories, Steph found some comfort in the girl and some of her younger self, especially whenever you came in.

"Lara's the best big sister ever!" you exclaim one night as Lara falls asleep "She's been sleeping a lot lately," you say after with a frown and Steph nods "She just needs some rest," she tells you as you yawned "do you need a rest too?" she asked and you nodded, climbing onto Steph's chair and getting comfortable in her lap, cuddling into her neck as she smiled.

Lara woke up to the sight of Steph holding you, a smile finding it's way to her face as she did.

She knew she didn't have much time left.

"She really likes you" Lara spoke up softly as Steph jolted, thankfully not waking you up "I didn't mean to scare you" Lara smiled and Steph laughed softly

"I remember you telling me she never met your parents properly" Steph said and Lara nodded "she was about two weeks old, my pa's dad was looking after us and they got into an accident on their way to pick us up" Lara told Steph as she nodded

"I'm all she has left" a tear escaped Lara's eye, Steph leaning over to wipe it away "I've been fighting for her but it's so exhausting I'm not sure I can anymore" Lara cried.

And that's when Steph made her first ever promise

"She'll have me."

#woso #woso x reader #woso soccer #woso community #matildas #steph catley #kid reader #steph catley x reader

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charliehoennam · 7 months

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A/N: fulfilling @j23r23's request made here. Happy reminder that requests are open!!

Summary: Alfie comes homes late at night and finds his pregnant wife sleeping on the couch and confesses his fear to his unborn child

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x F!reader

Warning: sexual connotations towards the end, language, pregnancy themes

SHARING IS CARING, SO PLEASE REBLOG

Alfie was never one to be easily scared. He had a tough upbringing and, being the man of the house to his two older sisters, Rebecca and Debora, and their divorced mother, he had to grow up fast.

His father had left before Alfie was even born, leaving his son to become the only man of the house.

Sure, his mother was quite the mama bear herself. But there had always been resentment from Alfie towards his unacquainted father for leaving his mother to fend for her children on her own.

Alfie vowed that, if he ever became a father, he would support and help the mother of his child however he could, no matter how unconventional.

You felt like the luckiest woman in the world to be married to him. Alfie was nothing like most men. Most men would participate very little in these affairs, believing them to be limited only to women, but not Alfie. And if anyone dissed him for it, he'll tell those cowards to fuck right off because he wouldn't leave you alone in one of the most painful moments of your life.

It wasn't very common for you either. Part of you was so worried about just having him present for the birth. You worried he wouldn't want to go anywhere near you after it - obviously after you've healed - or have another child.

"Love, after the war I've seen, there is no amount of blood that can scare me away. Now, I won't pry if you don't want me to, of course. I'll respect whatever boundaries you have. But I would like to be there to hold your hand at the very least," he'd say.

He was hellbent on getting you all the best doctors and only the most experienced midwives to assist with pregnancy and the labor.

He didn't avoid making love to you because you were pregnant. It surprisingly turned him him on, made him certain about getting a baby back into you as soon as he could.

Every night, he came home to you with your favorite sweet and treated you to a warm bath together entitled to a foot rub and back rub just before bed.

Every afternoon, he'd meet you exactly at 3 when the weather wasn't too sunny or cold for a walk around the square or the block.

Every morning, once it became harder for you to bend over, he'd kneel down every time to get your heels on for you and compliment how beautiful you looked.

Regardless of the arguments you'd have, he was always consistent with his help. It didn't matter how he felt, he put his feelings aside as he reminded himself that they were nothing compared to the human growing in your body.

Your unborn child had reminded him of his sisters struggles during their terms. Crying over their husbands' affairs, neglected and alone, desperately wondering how they would raise the child. He was only a boy at the time, but he made sure to remember their names.

Once older and stronger, he tracked down all the men responsible for breaking his sisters' hearts and punished them with a beat-down they'd never forget. He considered offing them, but he figured the very least they could do is provide financial support. So, before they could even speak right or breathe through a healed nose, he put them into jobs his contacts proposed especially to him in order to keep a close on them.

That was simply Alfie's nature. Protective and vengeful.

Despite barely having to lift a finger for anything ever since Alfie hired an entire team to assist you, your body still felt exhausted and heavy from the weight of the growing baby in your belly.

You found yourself sat on the couch with Cyril snoring peacefully at your feet, warmed by the crackling fireplace before you.

You wanted to lie in your bed and rest your swollen feet in the comfortable warmth of your cotton linens, but Alfie still wasn't home. You worried when he got home late.

It took one look at the winding wooden stairs to convince you to swing your legs up on the couch, stretching them over the plush cushions.

Closing the heavy book in your hand, you tucked it snug between your side and the back of the couch for a quick shut-eye.

When Alfie arrived home, he tried to be as quiet as possible. He wasn't sure if you'd gone to bed, but he did know you had trouble sleeping without him. Your limited sleep positions were nothing as comfortable as snuggling up to his side.

Locking the door, he hung up his coat and hat. Just before he could make it to the first step of the stairs, he heard Cyril's snoring coming from the living room. That's when he noticed the light radiating from the fireplace, dancing against your skin as you slept soundly.

He stood in the door watching you for a moment, basking in the image of your sleeping frame. The warmth of the fireplace could not compete with of that which spread through his chest.

Alfie smiled to himself as he gazed upon you, his eyes admiring every crevice and hair on your face. The line of your nose, the eyelashes you'd bat at him, the shape of your lips and the faint curve of your smile lines. He loved knowing he'd been the main cause of those particularly.

But, as his gaze moved down to your protruding belly, he was reminded how close the day was. He wondered how the months flew by so fast.

He felt like he had so much time to prepare for fatherhood, but he felt just as hopeless as when you first told him about the baby.

Stepping into the living room, he walked over quietly to join Cyril on the floor in front of the couch.

He stared into the fireplace as cyril shifted to rest his head on Alfie's lap - his laziest greeting yet.

Alfie sat on one side, leaving his opposite leg bent to rest his arm over his knee. Your belly was just inches away.

Moving his gaze back your clothed bump, he sighed heavily.

"You know, I never met my father, right," he whispered to the unborn child. "I think it's wise you know that now, 'fore you come out. Didn't have one growing up, see? So I 'avent got the slightest idea of how to be one."

Lured from your nap by Alfie's voice, you slowly blinked your eyes open. Although Alfie's head of hair was all you saw, you realized he wasn't talking to you and he couldn't see you were awake.

Eavesdropping wasn't very polite, but you couldn't help yourself. You didn't want to stop him, but hearing him to the baby in you was quite heartwarming so you decided to let Alfie have a bonding moment of his own.

"Truth is you got me downright scared," he continued. "Even after months, I still am downright terrified and you ain't even 'ere yet... I know it's a lot to ask, yeah, especially since you're still in there, blissfully unaware of the horrors of the world. But I give you my word I'll try my best to be the best for you and your mum. I hope you can understand that even when you decide to hate me whenever I give you an earful. Though I doubt I can do it. Think your mum will have to sort you out," he mumbled with a playful smirk. "I'll try my best for you, yeah? I just hope it's enough."

Alife's smirk faded as she gazed at your belly. He felt pathetic, venting to an unborn child as if that would solve all his problems. Alfie hated admitted, and he would never admit it to anyone but you, but he was terrified of becoming a father.

You didn't blame him; you had your own fears as well, so you could understand why this precious and fragile life had him so frightened.

He still hadn't noticed you were awake or that you had heard his confession. Until you lifted a hand to stroke the hair on the back of his head.

" 'eard all that, did ya?"

He didn't exactly blush, but he did feel warmth racing around his face with embarrassment.

"You're going to be a great father, Alfie" you answered. "I know you're scared. I'm scared too. But as long as we're together and we have each other, we can get through anything."

"Yeah, I know, love," Alfie nodded and sighed. He hated talking about his emotions, even if it was to the only person he could trust blindly. "I just don't want to be a disappointment like my father, if you could even call 'im that much."

"You won't be, and I'll tell you why. You're nothing like him," you smiled, carding your fingers through his brown locks. "You're a good man, Alf. I know you do what you have to do out there, but what matters to me is the man you are in here. And in here, you're a good man. And I wouldn't want to be carrying anyone's child. I'm honored to be the mother of our babe."

"You really mean that?" he smiled trying to look over his shoulder at you, as far as his neck - and age - allowed.

"Every word. You're worried enough to ask your sisters and the midwives for help, Alf. Not many men care to even worry about that sorta thing."

"I'm not like most men," he smirked feeling a sense of pride. "How'd you know about that though?"

"Becca told me you been meeting her for tea every week for advice."

"I fucking knew it. I knew she'd blabber off to you," he chuckled shyly.

"It's nothing to ashamed of, love. I actually find your level of concern and willingness to help in whichever way extremely attractive," you smirked stroking the sensitive skin on his neck with your finger.

"Do you now?" He grinned mischievously knowing exactly where this was headed. One of the perks that came with your pregnancy, in the later stages of it, was the sharp peak of sexual desires.

There were no more worries about you getting pregnant - too late for that now - and seeing your belly swollen, with his child that he put inside you, only made him wish he could put more and more.

"I think I like where this is headed."

#alfie solomons #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons x you #alfie solomons x y/n #alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons fic #tom hardy #peaky blinders

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laneywrld · 5 months

Text

alienated | Lewis Hamilton

one shot

word count: 8.6k

warnings: angst

you've been on that spaceship all alone.

You and Lewis had been separated for three months, which, if you think about is very long when you compare it to the amount of time you spent apart when you were together.

For four years, you and Lewis were inseparable, never spending more than a week apart. But that was then, and this is now, with three months of separation stretching out before you.

The two of you separated for one straightforward reason: You were the only person present in the relationship. Between his silence and your overthinking, it became a mess in the end.

Leaving Lewis was a heart-wrenching decision. The man you once believed would be your future husband, the man you were once engaged to, was now a distant memory.

As you reflect on the past, you realize how much you had been neglected. This realization strengthens your resolve and affirms your decision to leave, reminding you of your worth.

You weren’t sure if Lewis loved you. He didn't communicate with you, show you any affection, or pay you any attention. He didn't put time aside for you. It was hell being in a one-sided relationship.

It began to be exhausting putting in all the effort and trying to get him to see you because lately, you hadn't felt that.

It was a painful realization. Lewis, the man you loved, was slowly but surely draining you. His presence no longer brought you joy or adoration; it made you miserable. You felt like a ghost, unseen and unappreciated.

But even then, you gave him the benefit of the doubt. He'd had a hard season, was constantly stressed, and life wasn't going as planned. So, one more try: you would halt your efforts for one week while he was away in Miami.

It was a test, really, to see if he was still putting in the effort, a plan meant to expose whether he even thought about you or remotely cared. If he could go a week without you in any form, he didn't deserve you or appreciate you. That would be obvious. Or he would notice, and he'd get his act together. But a part of you lacked faith in the latter option. In the end, his actions would give you an answer to the question you've had for a while.

Would you want to stay with someone like that? Someone who's okay without you or, worse, doesn’t even notice your change?

May fifth, the day of the race, would mark your fourth anniversary, and while he would be away, you were still curious to see what he had planned or if he remembered at all.

Lewis left on Wednesday. It wasn't like your old send-offs. There were no passionate moments in bed, him leaving you something to remember him by or even your classic bye-bye brunches. He rolled his bags from your shared home while you were still deep in your slumber.

You awoke to an empty, cold house.

You spent that day alone, with Roscoe, of course. Spending the next two days cuddled up to your fur baby and taking him on exciting new adventures. You nearly slipped up and sent Lewis many pictures and videos of you and Roscoe plenty of times, only to remember your end goal and lock your phone with a sigh.

When Friday came around, and Lewis still hadn't so much as sent you a single text, you had an inkling of what you'd have to do come Sunday.

It was almost as if Roscoe could sense your turmoil; in return, he was extra clingy. He followed you everywhere, lying at your feet on the couch, snuggled into your side in bed, and even sitting patiently at your feet as you sat on the toilet. You could only sigh as you revel in the time you had with him. He was your good boy, your first child. The thought of missing him was nearly enough for you to call off your intentions, but then your therapist's words rang through your mind like a harsh reminder.

"Sometimes, you have to sacrifice your relationship with another for the sake of one; I know it might be hard to think about losing your friends and your little guy if you do find it's time to leave him, but in the end, your job is to save yourself. Never feel guilty for thinking of yourself for once. You'll always love them, yeah? He'll remember how much you loved him, and you'll miss him; he'll miss you. But how long can you survive in that relationship?"

You remember spending that entire session crying over how much you'd miss Roscoe as you contemplated the cons of leaving your relationship.

In the end, your job is to save yourself.

On Saturday, you stayed awake even when your eyes begged you to close them. You kept your phone tucked beside you, and your eyes dropped as the clock hit twelve.

Every year before that, Lewis celebrated your love immediately. For three hours, you waited for something as simple as a text or a post—something to acknowledge you. After a while, your exhaustion won, and you succumbed to your tiredness.

You tried not to get your hopes up when you awoke in the morning, your anniversary day. You felt like an idiot as you turned over your phone, and there was nothing from Lewis. Your expectations were still very much high, which is why you scrambled from the bed and rushed to the front door. Your intent to see if there were any florals delivered to your doorstep proved pointless as you swung open the door, and the only delivery had been your Amazon package.

With a disappointing sigh, you snatched it from the porch and called for Roscoe. You slipped on your Birkenstocks, leading him outside to relieve himself. You sat on the patio, bonnet on and nightgown pooling around you as you watched Roscoe run around in the yard.

It was becoming real then.

You stayed outside for an hour, playing around with Roscoe, chasing him, him chasing you, and even tossing his ball until you decided it was time to take action.

You hauled Roscoe into the home, giving him fresh water and food as you connected to the speaker and blasted your music.

Your impending decision wasn't so much impending anymore. You knew what you needed to do; sooner was better than later.

It was one in the afternoon, and if he hadn't shown any signs of acknowledgment at that time, you knew it wouldn't come.

A small portion of you wanted to cry, burst into tears, and scream because of how hurt you were. But the dominant part of you was just angry. Lewis would learn his lesson; he'd miss you, and you'd make sure he felt it.

You wanted him to miss you like you missed him. He'd find himself craving your random calls and appreciating your silly texts. He'd crave your warm embrace again, and he'd want to die without your unique smile and your loving eyes.

He'd want everything he had taken for granted because that is precisely what he had done. He made you feel alone, even when he was there. You were the shadow lurking in your home — the distant body in your shared bed.

You deserved someone who always told you he loved you, always hugged you, and never left without a kiss. You deserve a man who talks to you about everything, who cares about how your day went and how you feel. You shouldn't give everything and get nothing; you don't deserve that.

You've been nothing but superb to him. You always showed up for him when it mattered, embraced him when he was down or even when he was happy, cooked meals for him when he was home and made every dinner special for him. You asked him about his day every day, and you listened.

Lewis couldn't say the same, and he wouldn't be able to. And that was the straw on the camel's back. You refused to give that level of love to a man who wouldn't reciprocate it. You didn't care how much you loved him; that was a level of disrespect and negligence you weren't willing to tolerate.

You weren't raised to accept the bare minimum, which was precisely what he gave you.

That was your moment of realization as you packed your bags. Lewis was due back Tuesday night, so you had the remainder of Sunday and Monday to gather your belongings and make your furtive exit.

Lewis made P7; you knew this because as you separated your belongings from his, you had the race streaming on the TV mounted in your room.

On Twitter, you saw him later that night out partying, and that only angered you for approximately ten minutes before you were only feeling disappointed in the man. You'd never been good at the art of detachment until then.

Suddenly, you weren't angry or furious with Lewis anymore; you felt content with your decision as you zipped up your last suitcase and taped up the last of your boxes.

As night fell and night arrived, you lay in your shared bed for the last time, Roscoe's head on your tummy as he snored. Your hand caressed his head in gentle rubs, and you sigh.

When the clock hits twelve and your anniversary officially passes, you feel like an idiot for even having faith in the man.

First thing in the morning, the driveway was filled with moving trucks and workers. You sat patiently on the couch as you waited for Anthony to arrive. When the sun begins to set, and the loading is done, you see headlights beam through the windows.

The door opens and closes softly, and there they stand, Anthony and Nicholas with glum faces.

"Are you sure, love?" Anthony whispers as he approaches you. He looks so distressed that you can only nod back at him. He sits beside you, taking one of your hands in his.

"As long as you are sure." And you break down into a fit of tears as Lewis' father comforts you, even as you leave his son. Nicholas takes the spot beside you, his hand rubbing your shoulder to comfort you.

"You gave him time and chances," Anthony hums, his free hand rubbing circles on your back. "I love my son, and I love you just as much; we will always love you."

Nicholas hums in agreement. "Still going to be our family."

You know you must leave before you allow your love for his family to deter you. So you take one last shaky breath, standing to your feet, where Roscoe waits patiently. You squat down, tears falling from your eyes and soaking into his fur.

"I love you, buddy. So much, you're my good boy." You whisper, kissing his head over and over.

You stand again, looking at Anthony and Nicholas one last time and pulling them into separate hugs. "Thank you." You whisper out and pass the keys over and instructions on properly caring for Roscoe, even if they will only have him for less than a day.

"I'll be waiting to talk to you again," Anthony announces, and you nod.

"Don't tell him?" you request. I've left him a letter upstairs; I'd like him to find out on my terms.

They nod, and you trek through the house and out of the front doors to what used to be the home you planned on spending the rest of your life in.

As you close the door, you hear Roscoe's incessant whines and scratches against it, and you sob all over again as you continue your journey to your car.

In the end, your job is to save yourself.

You weren't selfish for choosing yourself, especially over a person whose life you're choosing to walk out of because you didn't feel as if you belonged in it anymore. You didn't belong in that house anymore, in that relationship. You didn't belong with Lewis. It was a harsh and painful reality. But change is unbearable, and from change comes growth. And that growth can also be painful. But nothing would ever compare to the pain of staying stuck somewhere you don't belong. Nothing would ever hurt you more than loving a man more than he loved you.

You always preached about "when you know, you know." You've always felt it, that gut feeling that it was time for something new. You were great at knowing when to move on and let go and acknowledging when those shifts needed to be addressed. You loved to say out with the old and in with the new. The point is that you never struggled with trusting the process of life until life told you that you weren't meant for Lewis.

This was the first time that you doubted the imminent change. This change meant that you were fleeing from your love. As you backed out of the driveway, your vision blurred by burning tears; you could only cry as you mourned the love you once had. But this was all for a greater purpose, the purpose of you finding joy in life again because you sure have felt drained of it.

Tuesday came and went, and as night fell, Lewis pulled into the driveway. Given the closed four-car garage, he did not find it suspicious that your car was missing. He grunted as he pulled his suitcase from the trunk and eased up the steps and into his foyer.

He isn't immediately greeted by Roscoe or your arms wrapping around him, and he squints when he sees how dark and cold it is inside the home.

That put him on edge.

You always liked a warm glow emitting through the home, so a dim lamp was always on to illuminate the open floor plan. At night, you liked the home to be slightly warm, like a spring breeze, yet there was an icy chill running through it.

He calls out your name as he settles his bags by the door. He even calls Roscoe, and when he hears nothing, he sets a fast pace up the stairs.

"Babe!"

No response.

When Lewis reaches the second level, he immediately heads to your guys' room. When he hits the light switch, he suddenly becomes aware of how cold and barren the room looks and feels.

You're not snuggled into the middle of the bed like he usually finds you; his pillow isn't locked in your arms and held to your chest. You're not there.

Your small trinkets are no longer scattered around the room, and he rushes to the closet; none of your belongings are there. Lewis feels his heart rate accelerate as fear creeps into his body.

He turns to face the bed again, and when he sees your nightstand, he rushes over; your ring sits in the same velvet box he proposed to you with, and a piece of paper is lying underneath it. He snatches them both up, his mind reeling, and suddenly, he feels like he could throw up.

I've made a decision that was hard for me in the beginning and became clearer as the days went on. I've gotten comfortable with the bare minimum. It's been my normal for a while. I'm choosing to evolve, grow, and learn to accept what I deserve. It'd be more challenging for me to stay with you than it would be for me to leave you. I've realized that. I couldn't handle it anymore. It was the same routine; you never noticed me or acknowledged me. I've tried to address this issue, and it's done nothing; you've done nothing but give me baseless promises. I can no longer stick around for a relationship where I've been the only one present. No matter how much I love you. And I really did love you, with everything in me. I should’ve never allowed myself to get comfortable with how you neglected and fell out of love with me. I've chosen you repeatedly, but this time, I must choose me; I have to, Lewis. Happy anniversary.

Your dad has Roscoe.

Lewis squeezes his eyes shut and clutches his chest with a firm grip. His body quivers as he slumps onto the ground, his back against the bed frame. Lewis wasn't new to panic attacks, especially with all of the stress he took on from his job. But this was his first time having to suffer through one without you.

The world seemed to close in on Lewis, a suffocating weight pressing down on his chest as his heart raced uncontrollably. His breath came in short, shallow gasps, each inhalation a struggle against the invisible hands that seemed to be squeezing the air from his lungs.

His vision blurred, the edges of his sight becoming hazy and indistinct as panic tightened its grip. Thoughts raced through his mind like a whirlwind, a cacophony of fears and anxieties swirling around him, threatening to engulf him in their dark embrace.

Desperately, he tried to ground himself, to find some semblance of stability amidst the chaos. He focused on his breath, trying to slow the frantic rhythm of his heart. But each attempt felt like grasping at smoke, his efforts slipping through his fingers like sand.

His body trembled with the intensity of his panic, a cold sweat breaking out across his skin as waves of nausea washed over him. It was as if he were trapped in a nightmare from which there was no escape, a relentless onslaught of terror that threatened to consume him whole.

And yet, somewhere deep within him, a flicker of resilience remained. Despite the overwhelming darkness that threatened to engulf him, he clung to the hope that this too shall pass, that he would emerge from the storm-battered but unbowed. But this hope came to him as visions of you.

In the midst of the chaos swirling around him, Lewis found himself grasping desperately for something, anything, to anchor him to reality. And amidst the turmoil, your memories came flooding back like a beacon of light cutting through the darkness.

He closed his eyes, allowing himself to be enveloped by the warmth of those memories. The sound of your laughter echoed in his mind, a melody that calmed the frantic rhythm of his heart. He remembered the way your smile could light up even the darkest of days, the way your touch could banish the shadows of doubt and fear.

With each breath, he summoned forth another memory, another moment shared between you two. The way you would lose yourselves in the conversation for hours on end, the way you would always know just what to say to ease his troubled mind.

It was as if you were there with him, a comforting presence in the midst of the storm. And with each memory, each recollection of your time together, the panic began to recede, like a tide slowly ebbing away from the shore.

In those moments, surrounded by the echoes of your love, Lewis found the strength to carry on and learn to breathe again. Though you were no longer by his side, your memory was a lifeline, a reminder that even in the darkest of times, love endures. And with that realization, he took a deep breath, the weight of the world lifting ever so slightly from his shoulders as he found solace in the embrace of their shared past.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the tide began to recede. His breaths grew steadier, the racing of his heart gradually slowing to a more manageable pace. The world around him began to regain its focus, the blurred edges sharpening into clarity once more.

As Lewis rereads your letter, a torrent of emotions overwhelms him, but solace is elusive. Instead, a heavyweight settles in his chest, burdened with the weight of misery and guilt.

Your words, filled with love and longing, only serve to magnify his pain. With each sentence, the guilt gnaws at him, a relentless voice whispering accusations in his ear. He replays the moments leading up to your departure, dissecting his actions and words, searching for where he went wrong.

The memories of your time together, once a source of comfort, now feel like daggers piercing his heart. Each moment of happiness is tainted by the knowledge of your absence, a constant reminder of his failure to hold onto what he cherished most.

As tears blur his vision, Lewis finds himself consumed by remorse. He wishes he could turn back time, rewrite the script, and undo the mistakes that led to this moment. But the past is immutable, and he is left to grapple with the consequences of his actions.

In the depths of his misery, Lewis feels utterly alone, adrift in a sea of regret and self-recrimination. He longs for a reprieve from the agony that threatens to consume him, but it remains elusive, just out of reach.

And yet, amidst the darkness, a flicker of hope remains. Deep down, Lewis knows that redemption is possible and that forgiveness can be found even in the darkest of times. But for now, he must navigate the storm of his emotions, clinging to the hope that one day, he will find peace once more. That you loved him enough to give him one more chance.

In the quiet moments of the day, when the hustle and bustle of life subsides, you find yourself grappling with a sense of emptiness that lingers despite your efforts to embrace change. Three months have passed since you made the difficult decision to leave Lewis behind, and while you've tried to convince yourself that it was for the best, a part of you still aches for what was lost.

Life has moved on, as it always does, and you've thrown yourself into new experiences and opportunities, hoping to fill the void left by Lewis' absence. But no matter how hard you try, there's a lingering sense of incompleteness that tugs at your heartstrings, a yearning for the familiarity and comfort of what once was.

In the midst of laughter and celebration, there are moments when you find yourself lost in thought, your mind wandering back to the memories you shared with Lewis. The sound of his laughter, the warmth of his embrace – they haunt you like ghosts, reminders of a love that once burned bright but has since faded into the recesses of memory.

You've tried to convince yourself that you've moved on, that you're better off without him, but deep down, you know the truth. Life may be different now, but it's not necessarily better. There's a void within you that no amount of change or distraction can fill, a longing for something – or someone – that you can't quite shake.

And so, as you navigate the complexities of life without Lewis by your side, you're left to confront the uncomfortable truth that sometimes, embracing change isn't enough to heal the wounds of the past. Despite your best efforts to move forward, a part of you will always be tethered to the love you left behind.

In the wake of leaving Lewis and embarking on a new chapter of life, there's a profound sense of loss that lingers within you. While you navigate the complexities of change and try to come to terms with the absence of Lewis, there's another absence that weighs heavily on your heart – the absence of your beloved canine companion, Roscoe.

Roscoe was more than just a pet; he was a faithful friend, a source of unconditional love and companionship through the highs and lows of life. His wagging behind and eager eyes greeted you each day, offering comfort and solace in moments of joy and sorrow alike.

In the quiet moments when the world slows down, and the noise fades away, you find yourself missing Roscoe more than ever. The memory of his warm presence, the feel of his fur beneath your fingertips, it all comes flooding back with a bittersweet intensity that catches you off guard.

You long to hear the sound of his paws padding across the floor, to feel the weight of his body nestled against yours as you curl up on the couch together. The emptiness left by his absence is palpable, a silent reminder of the void that he once filled in your life.

And yet, despite the pain of separation, there's a deep sense of gratitude for the time you shared with Roscoe. The memories you created together are a testament to the bond you shared, a bond that transcends time and distance.

As you navigate the complexities of life without Lewis by your side, you find yourself missing your tiny makeshift family, his family included.

Losing Lewis also meant losing the connection you had with his family, a connection that had become a source of warmth and acceptance in your life, especially given the complexities of your own family dynamics.

Growing up, your relationship with your family had always been strained, marked by misunderstandings and distance. But with Lewis' family, you found a sense of belonging that had eluded you for so long. Their laughter filled the air with joy, a stark contrast to the somber silence that often hung over your own family gatherings.

They embraced you as one of their own, welcoming you into their home and their hearts. Losing them in the separation felt like losing a piece of yourself, a painful reminder of the fragility of the connections we forge in life.

In the quiet moments when the ache of separation threatened to overwhelm you, you found yourself yearning for the familiar comforts of their presence. Their voices, their hugs – they were precious memories that you held onto tightly, like fragile treasures in the depths of your soul.

As you navigated the aftermath of the separation, you couldn't help but mourn the loss of not only Lewis but also his family. Their absence left a void in your heart, a sense of loss that weighed heavily on your spirit.

Leaving Lewis meant that you lost everything.

As you reflect on your decision to leave Lewis, the memories of his distance weigh heavily on your heart. It felt like you were carrying the weight of the relationship alone, like a lone traveler traversing a vast expanse of loneliness.

The moments of connection that once filled your days together had become increasingly rare, replaced by silence and a growing sense of isolation. It seemed as though you were the only one putting in the effort to keep the relationship alive while Lewis drifted further and further away, lost in his own thoughts and concerns.

You longed for the closeness and intimacy that had once defined your relationship, but it felt like an impossible dream, a mirage shimmering on the horizon, always just out of reach. No matter how hard you tried to bridge the gap between you, it seemed to widen with each passing day until it felt like you were living in two separate worlds.

In the end, you made the difficult decision to walk away, not because you stopped loving Lewis but because you couldn't bear the loneliness of being the only one fighting for the relationship. It was a choice born out of self-preservation, a refusal to sacrifice your own happiness and well-being for the sake of a love that had long since grown cold.

And now, as you navigate the aftermath of the separation, you can't help but wonder if things could have been different if there was anything you could have done to save what was lost. But deep down, you know that sometimes, letting go is the only way to find the happiness and fulfillment you deserve. So you go about your day, cozied up on the couch in your cozy apartment, still missing Lewis but very much understanding of your decision.

As Lewis sits alone in his room, his phone is clutched tightly in his hand, and he can't shake the feeling of desperation that washes over him. He's tried everything – calling, texting, even reaching out through social media – but all his attempts to contact you have been met with silence.

Each unanswered call and unanswered message feels like a dagger to his heart, a painful reminder of your absence and the uncertainty that now looms over his life. He wonders what he could have done differently to prevent this rift from forming between you.

His mind races with questions, each one more torturous than the last. Was there someone else, or was it simply a case of drifting apart, with two souls heading in different directions? He refused to believe that because he loved you more than life, he still does.

The lack of closure gnaws at him, a relentless ache that refuses to be quelled. He longs to hear your voice, to see your face, to have just a moment of connection with you again. But no matter how hard he tries, you remain elusive, like a ghost slipping through his fingers.

In the depths of his despair, Lewis clings to the hope that someday, somehow, he'll find a way to reach you, to break through the walls that separate you and bridge the chasm that now divides your lives.

As you step out for your first date since leaving Lewis, a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbles within you. It feels like a tentative step forward, a chance to explore new possibilities and rediscover a sense of joy and companionship. Chris seemed nice, and he was attentive to you, something you hadn’t felt in a while.

But as you arrive at the restaurant, the atmosphere suddenly shifts, a sense of unease settling over you like a heavy cloak. The flash of cameras blinds you momentarily as paparazzi swarm around, their lenses trained on you like predators stalking their prey.

Caught off guard, you freeze in place, your heart pounding in your chest as you struggle to comprehend what's happening. How did they find you? And more importantly, how will Lewis react when he sees the headlines splashed across the tabloids?

The date itself fades into the background as you're engulfed by a whirlwind of anxiety and fear. Thoughts race through your mind, each one more terrifying than the last. Will Lewis think you've moved on too quickly? Will he feel betrayed by your decision to start dating again?

As the paparazzi continue to snap away, you feel exposed, vulnerable, as if your every move is being scrutinized and judged by the world at large. It's a stark reminder of the price of fame, the invasive nature of public scrutiny that leaves you feeling like a prisoner in your own life.

But still, your biggest concern was how Lewis would handle it.

He wasn't okay.

As Lewis catches wind of your date through the relentless paparazzi coverage, a storm of emotions rages within him. Jealousy, misery, and anger collide in a tumultuous whirlwind, threatening to engulf him in their tempestuous embrace.

The thought of you with another man fills him with a sense of unbearable longing and regret. He's missed you, more than he ever thought possible, and the idea of you moving on without him cuts him to the core. How could you be okay living without him, when every moment without you feels like a lifetime of emptiness?

In his mind, he replays the memories of your time together, each one a painful reminder of what he's lost. He wonders if he could have done things differently or if he could have been the partner you needed him to be. But now, it feels like too little, too late, as he watches helplessly from the sidelines as you move on with your life.

The bitterness of jealousy twists in his gut, fueling his anger and resentment. He wants to lash out, scream, and shout and make you understand the depth of his pain. But beneath the anger lies a deeper sadness, a profound sense of loss that threatens to consume him whole.

As Lewis grapples with his conflicting emotions, he's left to confront the harsh reality of your absence and the painful realization that he may have lost you forever. But he refuses to give up on you.

As Lewis observes the subtle ways you've been avoiding him, a mix of frustration and longing wells up within him. It's become increasingly clear that you're actively steering clear of any situation where you might cross paths, and while part of him understands, another part can't help but feel hurt by your apparent avoidance.

He's noticed your absence at mutual friend gatherings, the empty space where you used to stand, and it feels like a painful reminder of the void left by your departure. Each missed opportunity to reconnect only serves to deepen his sense of loss, leaving him to wonder if you'll ever be willing to face him again.

But amidst the disappointment, there's a glimmer of hope – your unwavering commitment to attending his brother's birthday celebration. It's a small gesture, but one that speaks volumes to Lewis. Despite the distance between you, despite the pain of separation, you're still willing to show up for his family, to be there for them in their moments of celebration.

In that realization, Lewis finds a sense of solace, a reminder that maybe, just maybe, there's still hope for reconciliation. He knows that healing takes time and that wounds need time to mend, but seeing you make an effort to be there for his family gives him hope that maybe, someday, you'll find a way to bridge the gap between you and find your way back to each other.

"She's going to be here?"

Nicholas nods cautiously, "Yeah, but Lewis, you have to let her be, okay?"

"What are you talking about? She's my fiance?"

"But she's not." Nicholas interrupts.

"And she hasn't been for half a year."

The words dawn on Lewis, and they make his heartache in a festering way, yet he can't help but feel comfort in knowing that for the first time, he'd be able to see you again, face to face.

As you step into Nicholas' birthday party, a knot forms in the pit of your stomach, a tangible manifestation of the nervousness that courses through your veins. You know Lewis will be there, and the thought of facing him again fills you with a sense of apprehension and uncertainty.

Your heart races as you scan the crowded room, searching for any sign of him. Each familiar face you encounter sends a jolt of anxiety coursing through you, and you can't help but feel a pang of guilt for the way you've been avoiding him.

Determined to keep your distance, you slip through the crowd like a ghost, carefully avoiding any areas where you suspect Lewis might be lurking. You plaster on a smile and engage in polite conversation with the other partygoers, but your mind is elsewhere, consumed by thoughts of the man you're desperately trying to avoid.

As the night wears on, the tension in the air becomes palpable, a silent undercurrent that threatens to pull you under. You steal furtive glances around the room, half-hoping to catch sight of Lewis and half-dreading the inevitable confrontation that awaits.

But as the hours pass and the party begins to wind down, you realize with a sense of relief that you've managed to make it through most of the evening without crossing paths with him.

The knot in your stomach loosens ever so slightly, and you allow yourself to breathe a small sigh of relief.

That is, until you see him.

As Lewis scans the room, his gaze inevitably falls upon you, blending seamlessly into the crowd. There's a longing in his eyes as he watches you from afar, a silent ache that tugs at his heartstrings with each passing moment.

He can't help but notice the way you move with a grace that belies the nervousness he knows must be churning within you. Despite your attempts to blend in, there's an undeniable magnetism about you that draws his gaze like a moth to a flame.

Memories of your time together flood his mind, a montage of moments both joyous and bittersweet. He recalls the way your laughter filled the room, the warmth of your smile, and the way your eyes sparkled with mischief when you were up to no good.

But beneath the surface, there's a sense of sadness, a yearning for the connection that once bound them together. He longs to reach out to you, to bridge the gap that now separates you, but he knows that now is not the time nor the place.

With a heavy heart, Lewis watches from a distance, his eyes lingering on you like a silent prayer. He knows that healing takes time, that wounds need time to mend, but deep down, he can't help but hope that maybe, just maybe, there's still a chance for reconciliation, an opportunity to find your way back to each other once more.

As your eyes lock with Lewis's across the pulsating dance floor, a surge of panic propels you into action. Without a second thought, you pivot on your heel and dart through the crowd, your heart hammering in your chest like a wild drumbeat.

Every fiber of your being screams for escape as you push your way toward the exit, the urgency of your flight drowning out the thumping bass of the music. But even amidst the chaos, you can feel Lewis's gaze burning into your back, his presence a heavy weight that follows you like a shadow.

With each step, your pace quickens, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as you try to put as much distance as possible between yourself and the man you once loved. But no matter how fast you run, you can't outrun the memories that haunt you or the longing that lingers in your heart.

And then, just as you reach the sanctuary of the exit, you feel a hand grasp your arm, pulling you to a sudden stop. You turn to face Lewis, his eyes searching yours with a desperate intensity that leaves you reeling.

In that moment, you're paralyzed, caught between the urge to flee and the desire to confront the emotions that swirl between you. But before you can make a decision, Lewis's voice breaks through the chaos, a whisper of longing that sends a shiver down your spine.

With a sense of inevitability, you realize that there's no escaping the truth – no matter how hard you try to run, the bond between you and Lewis refuses to be broken. And as he reaches out to you, his desperation palpable, you know that you can't ignore the pull of fate any longer.

"Baby, please, let me talk to you."

As you finally turn to face Lewis, the sight of him stops you dead in your tracks. His eyes, usually so full of life and vitality, now seem dulled with a sorrow that cuts you to the core. They glisten with unshed tears, twinkling in the dim light of the club, and his fluttery eyelashes betray the vulnerability that lies beneath his stoic exterior.

At that moment, he looks like a kicked puppy, abandoned and alone, and you can't help but feel a pang of guilt for the pain you've caused him. His expression is a silent plea for understanding, for forgiveness, and it tugs at your heartstrings with a force you can't ignore.

Despite your best efforts to steel yourself against his gaze, you find yourself crumbling under the weight of his sorrow. The walls you've built around your heart begin to crumble, and all you can see is the hurt reflected in his eyes.

With a heavy sigh, you reach out to him, your fingers trembling as they brush against his cheek. In that moment, you realize that you can't bear to see him hurting like this, that despite the pain of the past, your love for him still lingers like a ghost, refusing to be silenced.

You turn, allowing his grip on your arm to remain as you continue out the door. You are in a dark alley, he's still looking at you with that same miserable pout lodged onto his face.

"You left me," He whispers.

As Lewis's voice trembles with emotion, his words pierce through the barrier you've erected around your heart. The sincerity in his apology is palpable, each syllable weighted with the regret of past mistakes. You can't help but feel a tug at your own heartstrings, a flicker of empathy for the pain he's endured.

"And I don't blame you, I was shit to you. I've been struggling more than I care to admit," Lewis confesses, his voice heavy with the weight of his words.

"The season has been relentless, and the constant setbacks with my car... it's been a mental battle I haven't been winning."

He pauses, searching for the right words to convey the depth of his anguish. "I know I haven't been myself lately, and I've taken that out on you. I'm sorry, truly. I never meant to hurt you, but I let my frustrations get the best of me."

There's a vulnerability in his voice as he lays bare his struggles, a raw honesty that cuts through the silence between you. "I see now how my actions have affected you, and it breaks my heart. You didn't deserve to bear the brunt of my pain, and I'm sorry for not being there for you when you needed me."

His gaze meets yours, pleading for understanding and forgiveness. "I'm trying to work through this, to find my way back to myself so that I can be better for you. I want to be better for you."

His admission hits you like a wave, washing away the bitterness and resentment that had taken root within you. It's as if a weight has been lifted from your shoulders, the burden of hurt and anger finally dissipating in the face of his vulnerability.

With a heavy sigh, you meet his gaze, seeing the turmoil reflected in his eyes. In that moment, you realize that despite the pain of the past, the love you once shared still lingers between you, a flicker of hope in the darkness of your regrets.

And as Lewis continues to pour out his heart, expressing his remorse for the loneliness you felt in the relationship, you find yourself nodding in understanding. You know all too well the toll that suffering in silence can take, and you can't fault him for wanting to shield you from his own pain.

In the quiet of the moment, you find solace in the shared acknowledgment of your struggles, a silent understanding that binds you together even as you stand on opposite sides of the divide. And as you reach out to him, offering a tentative embrace, he physically brightens as if you have taken the sun and held it right above him.

"I need you to know," Lewis begins, his voice laced with a raw vulnerability, "how miserable I've been without you. Your absence... it's been like a gaping hole in my chest, a constant reminder of what I've lost."

His words tremble with the weight of his emotions as he continues, "I've missed you more than I ever thought possible. Every moment without you felt like an eternity, and the emptiness of your absence was impossible to ignore."

"I know I've made mistakes, pushed you away when I should have pulled you closer," he admits, his voice thick with regret. "But please understand, it was never because I stopped loving you. If anything, it was because I loved you too much and didn't know how to cope with the pain of making you feel as miserable as I was, but in the end, that is exactly what I ended up doing."

Lewis's gaze meets yours, pleading for understanding and forgiveness. "I can't change the past, but I'm willing to do whatever it takes to make things right. Please, give me a chance to show you how much you mean to me, how lost I am without you by my side."

As Lewis pours his heart out, his words piercing through the walls you've built around your own heart, you feel a lump form in your throat. A single tear escapes, tracing a path down your cheek as you struggle to contain the flood of emotions welling up inside you.

His vulnerability is a mirror to your own, and in that moment, you realize just how much you've missed him, how much you've longed to hear those words spoken from his lips. With a trembling breath, you close the distance between you, your heart pounding in your chest as you lean in to kiss him.

The touch of his lips against yours is like coming home, a familiar warmth that envelops you in a cocoon of love and longing. In that fleeting moment, everything else fades away – the pain of the past, the uncertainty of the future – leaving only the two of you reunited at last in a tender embrace.

As you melt into each other, the weight of the world falls away, replaced by the sweet promise of a new beginning. And as you pull back, breathless and teary-eyed, you know that no matter what challenges lie ahead, you'll face them together, hand in hand, forever bound by the unbreakable bond of love.

"Lewis," you begin, your voice soft but firm, "I need you to promise me something. I need you to promise that you'll open up to me next time, that you won't keep your struggles bottled up inside."

Tears still glisten in your eyes as you speak, but there's a determination in your voice that wasn't there before.

"That's how it works in relationships, you know? We're supposed to be there for each other through the good times and the bad. And I want to be there for you, always."

You reach out, taking his hand in yours, offering a reassuring squeeze.

"I love you, Lewis, and I care about how you feel. I don't want you to ever feel like you have to internalize your emotions like you have to suffer alone. I want to walk through them with you, hand in hand."

A small smile tugs at the corners of your lips as you continue, "If we're going to make this work if we're going to have a future together, that has to change. We have to be able to lean on each other, share our burdens, and lighten each other's load. Can you promise me that, Lewis? Can you promise to let me in?"

"I promise I'll try," Lewis responds, his voice tinged with sincerity and determination. "I know I haven't been the best at opening up, at letting you in, but I want to change that. I want to be more vulnerable with you, to share my struggles and my fears."

He reaches out, gently wiping away the tears that still linger on your cheeks.

"I love you more than anything, and I don't want to lose you again. If that means being more open and honest about how I'm feeling, then I'll do whatever it takes."

A small smile plays at the corners of his lips as he continues, "You've always been there for me, even when I didn't deserve it. And I want to be there for you, too, to be the partner you deserve."

With a final squeeze of your hand, he leans in to press a tender kiss to your forehead. "Together, we can get through anything. I believe that with all my heart."

As Lewis holds your hand, his thumb tracing absentminded patterns over your skin, he can't help but notice the absence of the familiar weight of your ring. His heart clenches painfully in his chest at the realization, a sharp pang of regret shooting through him like a bolt of lightning.

"I-I'm sorry," he stammers, his voice thick with emotion. "I can't help but notice... your finger, it's bare." The words catch in his throat, choked with the weight of his own guilt and remorse.

His grip tightens ever so slightly as if trying to hold onto you, to keep you from slipping away. "It pains me to see you without it," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know I'm the reason you took it off, and I hate myself for it."

Tears gather in his eyes as he meets your gaze, his own filled with a mix of sorrow and longing. "I miss the way it sparkled on your finger, a constant reminder of the love we shared. I miss us, and I'm so sorry for everything."

With a gentle squeeze of Lewis's hand, you offer him a reassuring smile, your eyes soft with affection. "I missed you too, Lewis," you admit, your voice tinged with sincerity. "And I still love you, all the same."

You can feel the tension in his grip ease slightly at your words, a flicker of hope lighting up his eyes. "As for the ring," you continue, a playful twinkle dancing in your gaze, "I suppose you'll have to put it back on my finger when we get home, won't you? Can't have everyone thinking I'm single, now can we?"

The corners of Lewis's lips quirk up into a hesitant smile at your jest, the heaviness in his heart beginning to lift. "I'd like that," he murmurs, his voice filled with warmth and affection. "I'd like that very much." And in that moment, you know that no matter what challenges lie ahead, you'll face them together, hand in hand, forever bound by the unbreakable bond of love.

Lewis's eyes widen in disbelief as your words sink in, a glimmer of hope flickering to life in their depths. "You'll come home?" he repeats, his voice trembling with a mixture of disbelief and longing.

A rush of emotions floods through him – relief, gratitude, and a profound sense of joy that threatens to overwhelm him.

A smile spreads across his face, lighting up his features with an infectious warmth. "Roscoe will be so thrilled to have you back, and so will I," he adds, his voice filled with genuine happiness. "I've missed you more than words can say, and I can't wait to have you home again where you belong. Losing you has been hard on all of us," Lewis confesses, his voice tinged with sorrow. "But seeing how miserable Roscoe has been without you at home... it breaks my heart."

He pauses, his gaze drifting to the floor as he struggles to find the right words to express the depth of his concern. "He's been moping around, refusing to eat, just waiting by the door for you to come back. It's like he knows you're not coming back, and it's killing me to see him like this."

You can hear the pain in his voice, the weight of his worry pressing down on him like a heavy burden. "I know he's just a dog, but he's family to us," he continues, his voice cracking with emotion. "And I hate that he's suffering because of me, because of my mistakes. I'm happy that you're coming back."

"I've missed you more than words can say, and I can't wait to have you home again where you belong."

With a sense of renewed hope and determination, Lewis pulls you into a tight embrace, holding you close as if afraid you might vanish into thin air. In that moment, surrounded by his love and warmth, you know that coming home was the right choice and that together, you can weather any storm that comes your way.

As Lewis's arms envelop you in a warm embrace, a sense of clarity washes over you like a cleansing wave. In his embrace, surrounded by his love and warmth, you realize that the change you needed wasn't leaving him but instead learning to communicate with him all over again.

The weight of your decision to leave lifts from your shoulders, replaced by a newfound sense of lightness and freedom. You see now that leaving him only made you miserable, that true happiness lies in facing your challenges together, hand in hand.

With Lewis by your side, you feel stronger, more resilient, and ready to tackle whatever obstacles life throws your way. You understand that change isn't always easy, but it's necessary for growth and renewal.

In this moment, surrounded by his love and support, you know that change is indeed good and that together, you can navigate the twists and turns of life's journey with grace and resilience. And as you bask in the warmth of his embrace, you feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the opportunity to start anew, to rebuild your relationship from the ground up, stronger and more resilient than ever before.

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why do I love writing angst? why is every draft I have depressing?

#lewis hamilton imagine #black reader #lewis hamilton #poc reader #lewis hamilton x black reader #black reader friendly #formula 1 #f1 #sir lewis hamilton

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cosmic-waves7 · 1 year

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hello! can you do mori from (ohshc) with a small s/o ty!

Note: omg this is my first time writing for him, I wanna rewatch ohshc so badddd but my stupid brain refuses to watch anything twice ever .

You. Are just so. Tiny.

You're the perfect height for him, the cuteness is too much.

Obviously you wouldn't get all that from looking at his face, you'd have more luck understanding hieroglyphics than you'd have from picking apart Mori's emotions by facial expressions alone.

But god he can barely contain himself from how precious you look.

He needs to carry you everywhere.

And when I say everywhere. I mean it.

You've nearly forgotten what it feels like to walk the school halls honestly.

Mori is a very naturally stoic personality, it's the first thing you learn when you meet him but he is so overwhelmingly protective when it comes to you.

It comes with the little things of course, constantly needing to have you either on his back or be touching you in some way.

Quietly asking if you're okay or if you need anything an ungodly amount of times per day.

naturally due to your body proportions, your hands are considerably smaller than his so his fingers just completely swallow yours up when your out strolling on school grounds or the city. Only the tips of your fingers peeking through his large hands.

Comparing hand sizes just reaffirms his need to shelter you from the world.

Omg cup his face at least once pls, he'll die.

If you don't stop him he'll feed you himself during lunch time.

He doesn't view you as childish or incapable it's just that he's so used to taking care of Honey-Senpai in this way.

And you don't really have the heart to stop him.

Speaking of honey senpai, you both are currently competing in the Mori-climbing Olympics.

First one to manage to sit on his shoulders while he walks with you both wins.

He'll snatch you up from the twins the moment they start teasing you and leaning on you to emphasize your height.

"But Moriiiii-senpai, that's not fair!"

"Yeah, Hikaru's right, give her back!"

More whining ensues.

He'll just turn away scoffing and grumbling while placing a soothing hand down your back even if you were giggling at their antics.

He might just get a scoliosis diagnosis from how often he's having to lean down to give you his full attention, he hangs onto your every word.

Wouldn't want you to think he doesn't care now, would we ?

break his back babe, he couldn't care less.

He'll swoon if you pull him down by his school uniform tie. <3

The amount of times you've been picked up by the scruff of your neck is concerning.

But to balance it all out, he's kissing your knuckles and smoothing out your hair lovingly :3

At this point you're convinced overpowering you through height is his kink or Smth but Ur not really complaining.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#headcannons #anime #fiction #fluff #ohshc #ohshc x reader #mori senpai #mori senpi x reader #ohshc anime #ouran high school host club x reader #ouran x reader #ouran mori #mori x reader

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bellarkeselection · 8 months

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Halstead’s Favorite Duo

Anonymous request - Can you do a Jay Halstead x reader, where they are married and she is part of the K-9 unit? Maybe they called her in or something to help chase down a suspect.

My boots hit the ground as fast as I could to keep up with my first best friend for I wish I could say my whole life. Yet I have only known this dog since I joined the K-9 unit that works with the Chicago Police Department. My German shepherd dog ran forward on the heels of the man that was running from us. The man we were after was a drug cartel that they had been hunting for months. “Ryder! Attack.” I commanded him before he launched himself through the glass store window.

The guy we were chasing tried to run to the back of the store but he tripped over a shopping cart giving Ryder the opportunity to tackle him to the ground. Stepping over the broken window glass I draw my gun from my belt pointing it at the guy. “Y/n, Ryder! Are you guys okay?”

“We’re fine, Jay. Ryder ain’t too bad at his job. Ryder, come here.” I smiled seeing my husband coming around the corner lowering his gun when he saw the situation.

Ryder snarled at the guy on the ground keeping his tail still when we were out in the field. Otherwise he would let it actually wag when he was happy. Jay bent down on a knee after putting his gun away, grabbing the guy off the floor and handcuffing him. “You’re under arrest for smuggling drugs across the border. Take him back to the station.” He handed him off to one of the other local officers.

“You did good, boy.” Dropping down on a knee in front of my dog he started moving his tail wagging it since it was just me and Jay alone with him. “So how much paperwork does this leave you with tonight. I can order take out if you want if you’ll be home later.”

He shakes his head walking back to one of the squad cars having me and Ryder following his heels like we did every morning when we all had to leave the apartment. “Hailey said she would take care of it. I actually had something else in mind.”

“Oh really. Care to share what you had in mind?” I smirked knowing that he wouldn’t give it up even if I asked the question but I did it anyway.

Jay sent me a glare. “It didn’t work on our first date and it still won’t work now.” I nudged him and he chuckled before Ryder barked signaling that he wanted into our conversation.

“That means he doesn’t want to be left out of whatever mystery thing you have planned. And you agreed to take me in every way that includes my doggy.” I responded to him.

Jay and I had gotten married a few years ago. I had just been promoted to chief of my unit. Vioet was the man to help me get it after he had seen my history with Ryder and the amount of cases we helped crack down compared to the other k-9 unit members. Jay opened the door letting my dog jump into the backseat shutting the door once he was in. We both got in the car and removed our bullet proof vests and he started the drive looking my way a few times. “Do you remember the day we met?”

“Of course I do. I got injured on an assignment and the doctors at the hospital your brother Will works at wouldn’t let Ryder inside my room. So he started losing it and breaking things. If it wasn’t for you I was sure Ryder would have bit Will’s leg.” I snorted running a hand down my face thinking back on that night.

Jay smiled, shaking his head. “Yeah but he and I have the same goal to protect you…and love you.”

“So where are we going exactly? I mean it’s kind of strange that you are asking about the day we met. We’re already married. What else could we possibly do?” I shifted in my seat bouncing up and down with the tension of waiting.

Jay didn’t stop the car for another few minutes, parking the car outside of a house that was painted a light blue on the outside and it had a gray roof. He let Ryder out of the backseat first before coming over to my side and helping me out. “The surprise is that this place is now ours.”

“Are you serious, Jay!” I gasped covering my mouth with my hands spinning around to face him since he was standing behind me.

He slipped the keys in my hands. “It’s our. I am not lying to you. I got it all set up a few weeks ago. That way we aren’t cramped in an apartment and this gives Ryder a space to run when he wants to.”

“I love you.” I smiled, wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing him slowly.

Ryder barks running towards the front door just as Jay wraps his arms around my waist tugging me closer to deepen the kiss until he breaks it not being able to hold in his chuckle. “I love you too…and Ryder seems to approve.”

Comments really appreciated ❤️

#jay halstead masterlist #jay halstead x reader #jay halstead x reader masterlist #jay halstead #k-9 unit #chicago pd #chicago pd x reader #chicago pd fanfic #chicago pd fic #military dogs #military dog #ask box is open for anything #comments really appreciated

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thedomesticanthropologist · 9 months

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Astarion never felt full. Vampires tend not to, unending blood thirst being a well known aspect of their condition, but he wasn't JUST hungry due to his condition

He was starved. Then, through "food", he was tortured.

You cannot die from being starved when you are undead. Starvation cannot kill a corpse. We see this in his year of isolation. We see this in the 7000 Spawn locked in the dungeons without a drop of blood fed to a single one of them since their capture.

What Astarion WAS fed, was putrid rats and bugs. Lets stsrt with the rats. Putrid.

"Putrid" refers to something that is decomposed, rotten, or emitting a foul and unpleasant odor. It is often used to describe decaying organic matter or anything that has undergone significant deterioration.

This would have taken effort to produce on Cazadors part. Rats are easy to come by, with his labyrinthine temple beneath an expansive estate. To gather a rat is an easy thing. He has many servants. To gather a putrid, rotten animal is another. This would require gathering the animals via trap, letting them rot for days, and then providing them to Astarion. They could have been caught in droves, or a few at a time and laid out in the kitchens or pantries or within the closets to be gathered as a treat-meets-torment for the Spawn, but it required FORETHOUGHT and TIME. Animals do not /rot/ in a day.

Then there is bugs. The type of bug you'd expect to find within the kennels of the mansion would be your fairly typical selection of Ants, Spiders, Beetles, Flies, Silverfish, Mosquitoes, Centipedes, Cockroaches.

Each of these has up to a few MICRO LITRES of blood, which would be accessed by biting them and sucking on their entire corpse until you've got what you can get out of them. the amount of blood in these small insects is typically not enough for a human to taste. Vampire Spawn? Hard to say.

The feeding of these creatures to Cazadors Spawn would be for the purpose of torture alone, in my opinion. There is no way that they would provide relief or sustenance in any meaningful way. The rats, depending on their freshness (which I would argue was sometimes more or less fresh depending on when it was caught) would be the primary source of "reward/hunger suppression", and the bugs something eaten due to sheer desperation.

Let's look at rats and decomp now!

The blood of a decomposing rat undergoes changes as part of the decomposition process. Initially, bacterial and enzymatic activity breaks down the blood, and its nutritional content diminishes. The precise timing can vary based on environmental conditions, such as temperature and humidity.

As decomposition progresses, the breakdown of organic matter continues, and any remaining nutrients in the blood become less accessible and less nutritious. It's challenging to pinpoint an exact timeframe, as it depends on various factors influencing the decomposition rate.

This means that if served a particularly rotten rat, Astarion could very well face the reality of its poisoned, rotten blood providing him with NOTHING beyond disgusting flavor. Keeping in mind this is all based on guesswork about how Vampire Spawn can obtain what they need to sustain themselves based on nutrition alone, when there's evidence its also *life force* that they absorb from their victims, which also would not be available in a dead victim/animal

And then suddenly, after 200 years of this, 200 years of having to fuck the food he cannot have, pressing his face against flesh that throbs and POUNDS underneath his touch from him administering pleasure that sets his targets hearts to THUDDING, veins pushing litres of sustenance through them in ways he would be incredibly attuned to but unable to access,

After 200 years of rotten, unsustainable dead blood

He's free. Surrounded by living animals- that boar, which he drained dry in one night, for example. Total blood volume of a swine (couldn't get boar on Google, but it's comparative) is 60 ml/kg or 6.0 % of total body weight. The average weight being from 60kg-100kg depending on sex and size. So let's say he drained a 75kg boar.

That means the night he snuck off, he exanguinated (completely drained) an animal of roughly 9 POUNDS OF BLOOD

Impressive

Let's go to the Bear, now. Cave bears are actually extinct, so I'm gonna go with grizzly bear but feel free to do your own math. He took down between 130kg-270kg of bear depending on its sex. Let's say 200kg for ease. As roughly 6%-8% of any mammal is its blood, I'm gonna use the Boar 6% from before to average the blood Astarion would have drank.

Total in pounds: 26.455

HE DRANK

26 POUNDS OF BLOOD FROM ONE ANIMAL IN ONE NIGHT

All my research on these numbers is from Google and a calculator so forgive me if I'm off. But I'd say this is evidence of binging after starvation, as well as solid evidence that Vampires absorb blood differently than humans drinking fluids, so I'd HAVE to assume it evaporates within him or is consumed in its entirety and converted to energy magically cause there's NO way a body could absorb all of that and just "get drunk"

Anyways thanks for coming to my Ted Talk about vampires, Astarion, starvation, and blood volumes in your average mammal. 🫡

#baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #cazador szarr #vampire spawn #vampires

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v3nusxsky · 21 days

Note

So I'm asking as me as not anon only because I'm sure you know it's me from my comment, but also still want to be anon after this paragraph (if that makes sense) ❤️

I literally am obsessed with your writing, it is so freaking good I could just curl up and re read everything you've posted (and I may have done that, ngl) especially for Larissa. That woman has an absolute chokehold on me.

Is there any chance you could do a lactation/breeding/mommy/shapeshifting dick with dom Larissa and sub r, and can the r be a short masc with short hair?

You are amazing in every way and lovely beyond compare!

Breed me mommy 18+

*authors note~ wrote this with a massive headache after my first long distance drive so I apologise if it’s bad! This is for all my people who have massive crushes on Larissa Weems coupled with a huge breeding kink. On my knees for the 6 foot 3 goddess Larissa Weems*

Trigger warnings~ breeding kink, lactation kink, mommy kink, shapeshifting cock and ability to lactate, dom Larissa/ sub masc, dirty talk, oral sex, praise kink, soft dominant, thigh riding, slight choking, missionary, doggy, oral fixation, hints of emotional sub after the act

Prompt~ see ask^^^

•••••••Banner is coming soon•••••••••

It was your idea to watch The Devil Wears Prada with your lover Larissa Weems. Your intent was to create a calming atmosphere for her after a long stressful day. A nice meal, some cuddles while you watch the film and then head to bed together. Peaceful. Happy. It started all going to plan, your beautiful candlelight dinner that just so happened to be the exact favourite dish of your lover. The wine was plentiful and the conversation flowed effortlessly.

“I’ll take good care of you. I promise” you murmured to the principal as she delicately folded her long legs to sit on the sofa with you before patting her hardly clothed thigh twice. A silent command. “Let mommy hold you tonight darling” she whispered before shifting your pliant body onto her lap and pressing play on the already set up film.

It all started innocently. Her slender fingers trailing over your clothed arms, legs and stomach. Every time you’d tilt your head to catch her obvious teasing acts she would be laser focused on the screen. But slowly Larissa had more on her mind. She couldn’t help but press her ruby lips to the column of your throat as you chuckled. The way your pulse beat against her gentle kisses caused her to smile in your skin. It’s just never been easy for her to keep her hands for herself when you’re in the same room as she is. Let alone sat on her lap, so innocently nibbling on your lip as you fought to concentrate. She’d be your undoing, that much she knew, but how much of her obvious teasing you could take wasn’t.

It wasn’t long before you began to absentmindedly search to find purchase on Larissa’s wrists and guide them where you desperately needed them. Only she wasn’t done yet, pulling her hands from you as you whined unhappily. “Behave darling” she tutted as if you were a disobedient puppy, “Mommys trying to watch this.”

How long was this damn film? You couldn’t help but curse yourself for not picking a shorter film. So just about the half way point you snapped, turning yourself around in her lap to attack her lips with desperate sloppy kisses. Instantly, she reciprocated with just the right amount of enthusiasm to subconsciously encourage your growing arousal. Before you knew it, you were tugging at the pins holding her beautiful in place as your hips began to grind downward. “God darling, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted you to be a mess in my lap. Such a sweet thing for me” she praised happily before moving her hands to grip your hips hard enough to leave marks.

Larissa was known for her passion and patience. But here and now she was most definitely not a patient woman. As soon as your arousal began to seep through your shorts onto her stockings she lost control. Effortlessly scooping you up into her arms, carrying you into your shared room as your lips battled for a dominance you didn’t truly want. Being tossed around by your older lover was something you’d never get bored of. The way she tossed you on the bed like you weighed no more than a pillow was such a turn on.

Squirming on the bed you allowed Larissa to strip you bare minus your sports bra, knowing how it helped you feel more masculine in these moments before stepping back and admiring your beautiful self. Subconsciously, you began to curl up into yourself, effectively hiding your body from her only to be reprimanded, “don’t be embarrassed darling. God you turn me on so much my love. I just need to be inside you now. To touch you now. Can mommy touch you? Please baby?” You stuttered in mild shock “I-inside me?” You’ve spoke about your future and likes/ dislikes and what you would like to explore together, and apparently tonight was the night for her to try and shift. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to watch you be a good slut and take mommys cock. Every. Single. Inch.”

“Please mommy, just touch me please I don’t care how” you whimpered reaching out to pull her to you and free her from her dress. Her beautiful tits on display along with a now very generous member trying to strain from her lace panties. “You wanna help take this off darling? They are rather uncomfortable” she mumbled before stealing a couple of kisses that lingered a touch too long. Eagerly manoeuvring your body closer to her and your shaky hands reached to her waist to tug at the lace and accidentally resulted in tearing it from the shifters body. “That was so fucking hot darling” she gasped as you tried to wriggle closer.

“Wanna taste mommy” doe eyes looked up at the principal and you tried to tug her new appendage closer to your mouth. Her manicured hand helped guide her shaft to your awaiting lips. “I’ll be gentle love, remember you can tap out” was all she managed to get out before you happily sucked the head of her cock into your mouth. It took some adjusting and working to find a rhythm. It was taking all her restraint to not harshly fuck into your warmth. If this was how your sweet mouth felt then your other hole would be heavenly. With a tug to your hair she pulled you off her dick with a little whine of protest coming from you. Clearly this would be something she needs to work on her stamina for.

“Your turn darling” she murmured before pushing you back on the bed and attacking your body with nips and kisses. “Wann feel you inside me please mommy” you pleaded innocently. “I don’t want to hurt you love” she started only to be cut off with your frantic begging, “I want you to fuck me mommy. Please. Please let me feel you.”

“I’ll be gentle” she stated as a matter of fact before lining herself up with your soaking cunt and slowly pushing in. There was a sting in some places and a stretch in others but when she sunk into you to the hilt you couldn’t help the ungodly loud moan that ripped itself from your throat. “You sound so pretty darling, tell me when I can move” Larissa murmured using the height difference to her advantage to smother your neck in pretty little marks. Hers.

“Move, please god mommy move” you whined encouraging her to finally give you what you wanted. The first few thrusts of her hips were slow and gentle. Experimental. Loving how snug you wrapped around her. The feeling of her cock stroking your inner walls was most definitely become addictive. “Fuck, darling we have to change positions. You’re gonna make me cum” Larissa groaned trying to convince herself to pull out of your warmth.

It was now you were thanking whatever god existed that your lover could shift her anatomy, meaning she could lift you whenever she felt like. “On your knees” she gravely whispered, her fingers gripping tightly into your hips as she helped you position yourself. Like a starving woman she immediately began to work herself into your pussy and picking up her pace and accuracy of her thrusts. Getting the angle just right to hit your G spot.

“Want to cum in you darling. Let mommy cum inside your pretty pussy darling? Oh god you’d look so beautiful all swollen and pregnant for me. Please darling I won’t last too long if you keep squeezing me like that” she moaned without thinking. “Mommy please, please, I need more. Please want to feel it mommy. Want to be mommy’s forever” you mewled, your hands clawing at any skin you could reach as she pleaded you to come with her. To be so good for her and take all her cum. Stilling with the sheer amount of sticky goods that were filling your womb up to the brim as your walls spasamed around her dick, milking her of everything she was offering.

It was in the blissful moments where Larissa had shifted her anatomy back to normal and gathered you into her embrace, that you began to process what she’d said. “Mommy?” You muttered still thick in your subspace, “do you really want to have a baby with me?” Silence was all that filled the room before she pressed a sweet kiss to your head and replied honestly, “of course my darling. I love you so much and would love to start a family with you if you want to? I didn’t realise just how much I’d want to get you pregnant until that moment. God, you’d be the best mother in the world. In fact you would look so gorgeous pregnant that I might just have to keep you pregnant forever.” Little did Larissa know that night you spent crying and planning to try for a family, that she’d already succeeded on the first baby.

“I love you so much darling” she mumbled as you finally settled down for the night, your fuzzy head resting on her bare breasts. You couldn’t help but tease her perky nipples by blowing cool air on them before sucking them into your lips on instinct. “Mine” you mumbled contentedly as your light suckling continued. “All yours baby, all yours. Just your mommy darling” she reassured running her hands through your short hair and scratching soothingly at your scalp until your suckles stopped. Indicating you’d finally sipped off to sleep.

Word count~ 1594

#anon answered #v3nusxsky answers #fanfic #anon requested #larissa weems #principal larissa weems #larissa weems x reader #larissa x you #dom larissa #larissa smut #larissa x reader #larissa x y/n #weems smut #principal weems x reader #larrisa weems #principle weems #weems x reader #principal weems #weems

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liveontelevision · 5 months

Note

If I don't get more to that babysitter story soon I might just go into full withdrawals.

Well shit here you go bbg

Exams are mostly over which means I can suffer more! :)

This is definitely gonna be a multi-part series at this point, and I am working on part 3 already so - ya

Disclaimer: This is my personal interpretation of the characters from Hazbin Hotel. I respect the canon storyline and characters, but this fic will stray from it a decent amount.

Enjoy this very angsty mildly smutty

(This series is complete! All parts are listed on my master list and are linked below!)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6

Suffer Pt. 2 | Lucifer x Reader

Things didn't exactly get easier for you after your stupid dalliance with Lucifer. Obviously, you lost your job. But you were a nanny, you lived in the manor. And now you have to find new housing somewhere else in Hell. You haven't been out on the streets in years, and protection was essentially guaranteed as a royal staff member, so it was definitely.. a change of pace. Getting some tips from your previous coworkers who lived outside the manor, you did your best to weave through the murderous streets to find some sort of safety.

“Hello? Anyone home?” The apartment you entered was located in a ratty-looking motel that sat in the middle of a more secluded area in Pentagram City. No matter how dirty, it did seem a little safer considering the distance between other sinners. Scanning the apartment, considering no one answered to your previous call, you hesitantly stepped through the door. An imp you used to work with at the hotel advised you to take some sort of protection out there. He handed you an incredibly sleek pistol. It was tiny, even compared to the size of your smaller hands. It was easy to slip in and out of the little holster on your outer thigh. Scoffing at the idea of needing to shoot anyone, you accepted it humbly. Just to be safe.

Looking out a busted window, surrounded by broken glass, you saw the demon who must've lived here. A twisted corpse, covered in splatters of blood and dirt. A long angelic spear, still standing, sits firmly in the center of their chest, a collection of other stab wounds littered across the rest of the body. Fuck. You knew about exterminations, everyone did. It was always a solemn day back at the manor, but you’ve never witnessed its actual afflictions. You stumbled backward, tripping over some random debris and falling to the floor, your heart pounding heavily in your chest. The fear you felt, the sharp pain in your palms where the glass shards had pierced you, it was all too much. Struggling to your knees, you crawl to the wall, leaning back against it with a thud. A sudden paranoia that someone may hear any noise you made, kept your breathing shallow. You pulled your knees to your chest, sitting in the dark room entirely alone. You wished you weren't alone. You wished he was here.

The last extermination day was about three months ago, so you knew the place hadn't been touched in at least that long. And as gruesome as it may sound, you now had a place to stay in the meantime. But, what are you supposed to do now? You were sure there weren't any families in Hell looking for a babysitter.. You could do little things, like mending clothes, cooking, and cleaning, but.. None of those skills were strong enough to get you into anything remotely as comfortable as being a royal nanny. Cell Phones were a thing at this time, but you never had a reason to have one before, so that’d be something you have to work for. You were essentially starting from scratch, as if you had just arrived in Hell.

You had to take to the streets. Walking nervously, with one hand on your little emergency weapon, you peeked into stores to see who might be hiring. Surprisingly, a quaint little bakery was just around the corner. Stepping inside, the little bell notifies the black-eyed woman standing at the counter. After a quick conversation, and browsing some of the baked goods, it finally clicked that you had walked straight into cannibal town without realizing. But.. It was surprisingly nice. The woman said she did need help in the kitchen, and while the image of cleaning blood and bones off baking pans made you shiver, it could've been worse.

With some hard work and absolute dumb luck, you managed to become a customer favorite. There were some close calls, gentlemen would always get a whiff of your scent before kissing your hand as a greeting, and sometimes you would even feel their teeth graze across your knuckles. The owner was such a lovely woman, despite also being a cannibal, she would swat at any unwanted advances and scold anyone who dared to taste her “best worker”. After a couple months, you were able to pretty up your inherited apartment, and it finally felt like somewhere you could call home.

And a few months after that, you would actually consider yourself in a good place. Bringing some homey decor into your new place, you had the urge to bring a few friends by. The only issue was, you didn't have friends. You were close to the owner, but she was.. Old fashioned. And customers were just that; customers. You were getting antsy though. You rummaged through the small duffle you took with you from the Morningstar residence and found a mildly appealing outfit. Looking at yourself in the mirror, you let out a dissatisfied hum. With one fell swoop, you took the bottom of your skirt and tore it fully around your legs. The dress that normally flowed sweetly to your calves, now flounced to your thighs. With one more spin, where you saw a little too much under your skirt, you decided that this would definitely get you some friends.

Oh, and how right you were. You made many “friends”. You played every card in the book, using dozens of excuses to bring home any demon who showed interest. You were careful about it, you could handle yourself, after all. You were finally getting the attention you deserved. But.. it wasn't from him. Each time you’d walk to work you’d see a flier or a billboard with the king of Hell’s grinning face on it. It churned your stomach each time.

At this point, after some soul-searching, you decided on one thing. This was all Lucifer’s fault. How dare he smile at you the way he did. How could he constantly keep you company, making you wonder why you were even hired as a nanny? How could he so easily touch you without getting as nervous as you did? How could he kiss you the way he did, then call it a mistake? He did nothing to defend you. But these demons in your bed each night? They would do anything for just a taste of you and had no problem admitting that.

After finally appeasing your physical needs, you stopped pursuing demons. It’s been a few years since you've settled in, and now you look back at some of your hookups with a cringe. That was progress, right? Admitting it was just a phase?

Your traveling hands told you otherwise. At night, especially after a long shift where your mind was too tired to think straight, your hands would trail down the center of your stomach. You could never explain what got you in this state, but somewhere in the back of your mind, you had to know. Taking no time, with your exhaustion quick to take over, you rubbed small circles across your still-clothed cunt. You held your blanket to your mouth to muffle any noises. You picked up the speed.

“Nng.. L-Lucifer..” You moaned out softly, your blanket slipping out of your clenched fist. A swell of pleasure caused you to arch your back into your hand, still playing with your overstimulated cunt. After letting yourself calm down, you simply sit with tired eyes, looking at the ceiling with a visible glare. Well, shit.

—

“U-Uh.. Lillith, my love, don’t you think we should -” A quick glare back at the nervous king caused him to shut his mouth.

“Get yourself cleaned up, darling. Then, we’ll figure everything out.” She sounded far too calm for his liking, but once he turned to a mirror in a nearby vanity, he choked on any response he might have. He was covered in your lipstick. Fuck, he loved being covered in your lipstick. Quickly shaking the thought out of his head, he went off to clean up his face. Splashing water onto his face and neck, he let out a heavy sigh, refusing to look into his reflection. Even he’s ashamed to look into his eyes after what he’s done.

After folding his coat and draping it over a nearby chair, he carefully approached Lillith, who had sat down gracefully at the edge of their shared bed. She was holding up some papers with a purple haze, and with a flick of her wrist, she dropped certain ones into a nearby portal. Lucifer gathered the courage to sit next to his wife. He still kept a good distance, twisting his ring around his finger as a nervous fidget.

“What do you think of this one, dear?” Leaning in close to him, Lillith presents a piece of paper that she had just been looking at. A sudden chill ran down his spine, scanning the sheet. A picture of a homely demon, looking absolutely ancient, was clipped to piles of papers with references, experiences, and skills. Overall, if this were a normal situation, she would be a perfect fit to take care of Charlie. But so soon? He didn't want to bring that up. Hey! Can’t you keep the demon, who you just caught me sucking on, for a little while longer? That’s ridiculous.

“W-Well, sure, I’m sure Charlie would love her.. Great choice.. Love.” He was always quick to tell her or give her whatever would make her happy. He owed her that after all. After dragging her to the pits of Hell that he created.

“Hm! Well, that’s settled. I suggest you head to the other room for the night, you must understand how I’m feeling after what I saw.” She sounds absolutely heartless. Not in a way that comes off as cruel, just in the way she barely seems affected by something that weighs on his mind so heavily. Either way, he nodded and left their bedroom.

No servants came to help him get ready for bed, as they usually do. Which isn't an issue, he wasn't completely incompetent. But it did leave him alone for the first time in centuries. Really, when was the last time he had been alone in a room for longer than a few minutes? He tried to not get caught up in the thought, shifting under the covers of the bed. It felt new. It felt unused.

Maybe it was the discomfort of sleeping in a bed that hadn't been touched for who knows how long, but Lucifer spent most of the night tossing and turning. How could he sleep with his mind so full of regret? But then, what was he regretting exactly? Was it the cheating on the one woman who's been by him through everything? Or was he regretting not saying something to you sooner? Not shutting the door when he had the chance? Regretting letting you go without a fight?

At some point in the night, he shot up, a sweating mess. He was still exhausted, even with the notion that he had just woken up from some night terror. Finally catching his breath, he slumps back down, shifting into some other sleeping position. With that one motion, he felt the stiffening problem in his shorts. Fuck. It wasn't there the whole night, but he knew exactly why it was here now. He laid on his back, spreading his knees a bit to gain better access to his aching groin. With the same goal of getting it over with, so he could go back to sleep, he palmed at his shorts before releasing his throbbing cock. Even if he convinced himself that this was just to help him get back to sleep, he couldn't prevent picturing you as he started to toy with himself

If you could see him in this state, you'd go mad. The image of him letting out soft whimpers to no one and pumping his own shaft, wishing his hand was your own.

With a speedy resolve, Lucifer pulls away his hand. Already disgusted with himself for essentially sending you to the streets to fend for yourself, he cleaned himself up before continuing to lay in the unfamiliar bed. The rest of the night was spent staring at the ceiling. It was all so.. Empty. He was so used to hearing the soft breathing of someone sleeping beside him, the comfort of being able to just turn his head and know he wasn't alone. He didn’t exactly miss the smell, but he could recognize the difference. The fragrance of whatever Lillith would use on her hair or skin, right before she would sleep, was gone. There was still a lingering scent, though. He couldn't quite place his finger on it. A sudden flash of your flushed appearance, ringing with an anticipation he hadn't seen in years, formed in his mind. He could have covered you in love bites and bruises right that instant - Oh. That must be it; He was smelling you. His senses were overwhelmed. By you.

“Sire! Breakfast!” A hasty knock at the bedroom door sent him sitting up quickly. He was still groggy since it didn't feel like he fell asleep at all. A random servant let themselves in, a tray of assorted breakfast pickings sitting heavily in their hands as they glided quickly to place it over his lap. He didn't normally have breakfast in bed. A surprise usually viewed as a treat, felt morbid to him. He usually had breakfast with..

With a heavy sigh, he dismisses the imp and pushes the tray off his lap. Who could have an appetite after everything that went on the night before?

As the days started to pass, Lillith eventually started acting like nothing had changed. Your replacement was quick to start working. Lucifer got along with her fine and Charlie seemed to like her plenty. Could this really be swept under the rug? Was a little kiss not worth a serious discussion after all these years? Apparently so. Neither of the royals brought it up to each other after that. They were actually fighting less than before - that is - Lucifer didn't feel it fair to try and rebuttal any of her arguments. And.. that’s the end of it. Just a fling that occurred on a restless night. Just a sinner making another sinful mistake, and the king of Hell creating more problems. There wasn't any more to it.

—

Extermination Day was fast approaching. This wasn't your first, but it was definitely jarring compared to how you handled it at the Morningstar Manor. You boarded up your windows, tore apart curtains, and generally made your hand-me-down apartment seem abandoned. No point in looking for sinners in an empty building, right? You were surprisingly calm, considering the circumstances, you brought a damned book to read while hiding in the safest area of your home. You didn't think much of it, Not until the screams began.

The battle cries became increasingly louder. The exorcists were quick to get to work, spreading their attacks through the most heavily populated areas first. The shouting and sobbing of other demons suddenly registered in your mind. You're terrified. It's easy for sinners to take their position for granted during their first year. You died on Earth, but here you are in Hell. You die in Hell, you regenerate, so you can continue your eternal punishment. But this extermination? It finally clicked in your mind that this could be it. This could be your end and you have no idea what would happen to you afterwards. Was there anything beyond Hell? Your spiraling thoughts were brought to a halt when some of the expertly nailed boards on your windows went flying across the room. You were safely tucked away in a closet, it wasn't closed, just ajar. You hoped that little detail would keep it clear that no demon would be stupid enough to hide in an open closet. You heard rustling, some things breaking, then breathing. She was so close to the closet, that you could hear her breathing. As she reached for the doorknob and you prepared for the worst, you could hear a command coming from outside. The exorcist left through your window in one fell swoop. You had no idea if that was the end of the extermination or if you had only managed to avoid one angel.

Gripping your knees to your chest, only prolonging your struggling breathing, you hoped for one thing. Your mind went spinning, as it does on occasion; After rough days or when certain guests weren't treating you very well, you would wish for help. In your fantasies, a knight in shining armor would come in, kick down the door, and save the day. He would whisk you off your feet and you'd have your happy ending. But today, extermination day, you wanted nothing more than for Lucifer to hold you. Not to save you, defend you from dangers, or play the hero, but to embrace you. Keep you close to his chest and tell you everything was going to be okay, and that you'll look back on this later and laugh. That you'll always be safe as long as you're with him.

Why did you have to ruin it? Things were so good before. You were safe, technically wealthy, and had a friend. A real friend who would help pick up your work if you ever felt the slightest overwhelmed, someone who would support and praise you, someone who would make you laugh. And you were too horned up to consider you could lose all of it.

A sharp pain running down your back forces you awake. Taking the time to recognize your surroundings, you recall crying yourself to sleep in the cramped safe haven you made for yourself. At least it worked. You're still here. Despite everything, you're still here. Taking your time, you stretched your stiff body and examined the damage to your home. It was in absolute shambles. The sight of the busted window made your blood run cold, just imagining an exorcist exploring your personal space. You took a mental note of everything you still had and carefully sat at the edge of your bed, your sheets littered with shards of window glass. This has to stop. You need some kind of respite again, you can't survive like this anymore.

—

You were embarrassed. It felt so strange going somewhere and admitting you need help, that was always a struggle for you. But to crawl to the establishment ran by Charlie? The toddler you raised? It would be near impossible to admit defeat to her. But you were shunned by the rest of the royal family, and quickly discovered you can't make it just living alone as a demon. There's only one other option. Heaven. You supposed it was time to give Redemption a shot. What else do you have to lose?

You hesitate to knock on the door once you're greeted with the signs hanging all over the front of the building. Homemade flyers and banners decorate the walls, saying things like Sinners Welcome!, Escape Redemption!, Ascend to the Heavens!, but the most important one was Free Housing! You knock so lightly on the door, that you have to do it again. It swung open -

You aren't exactly shocked by her appearance, she's been displayed on the news and you've seen her commercials a few times, but you still felt a stabbing pain in your chest. It was from a combination of nerves and.. was that pride? To see this little girl, you helped raise for a moment, as a grown woman who was pursuing her dreams?

She immediately bombarded you with questions and greetings. She still had that energy, didn't she?

"This is the lobby! And over here is the bar, if you drink, and here is -” You started to tune out her voice, still smiling and nodding when she looked at you. Taking in your surroundings, you would at least smile at the other demons you'd make eye contact with. You recognized Angel Dust, obviously a celebrity in Hell, but the rest were strangers to you. Emphasis on strange.

Finally appearing from the shadows, you did actually recognize the so-called radio demon. He would frequently come into your bakery with the overlord of Cannibal Town, Rosie. You'd serve them, which was not normally a service you'd provide, but your boss insisted. He seemed nice enough from those interactions, you saw no reason to fear him. Yet. He was kind enough to stop you and Charlie to chat.

"Ah, a familiar face!" He greeted you by taking up your hand and placing a light kiss on your knuckles, immediately sending shivers down your spine. "Pleasure to see you, again, dear." He spoke into your hand. "Quit the pleasure~" Your hand still held to his lips, he looked up to meet your eyes. With a nervous chuckle and a nod, you pull your hand away, almost pushing Charlie to move on. You didn't want him to see your flustered face.

"So.. How's your dad been?" You idiot. Why would you ask that? You didn't want to know the answer.

"Oh! Um.. That's a weird question - We don't talk much, he's doing important things you know, considering he's the king and all, but uh..good! Pretty sure he's.. good..." Her nervous reactions were just like her father's, but you didn't have time to dwell on that. You knew Lillith had disappeared, everyone did. You wondered what happened. You wondered what it would be like if you were still in the manor with them. If Lucifer would treat you differently with Lillith gone.. Stop.

“Well, I used to work at the manor, actually.. erm.. Do you recognize me..? By any chance?" Charlie's face gleamed with excitement as she took your hands into hers. You were hopeful for a second.

"That is so cool! I haven't been home in ages.. so I'm not sure I remember you but - wow, we have so much to talk about!" She let out an excited squeal that left you smiling nervously. She didn't recognize you. That was fair, you only knew her when she was young, but you thought.. maybe...

Aging in Hell worked differently. While Charlie had truly grown, you've looked the same for multiple decades. You almost hoped that would trigger something in her mind.. thinking about it, you'd love to reconnect with her. But you can't. You can't look at her without seeing him. Maybe her not recognizing you is the best for now.

You settled into the hotel pretty quickly, and considering your housekeeping skills, the rest of the staff and residents seemed to warm up to you, asking for help with little things like mending or baking. You also helped Charlie with anything you could. She had a lot of questions about what her childhood home was like before she came along, and you had to do your best to dance around the important details.

As you were fixing up a skirt for Angel, one that was torn straight in half, your head was suddenly with radio static. A shadowy figure appeared in front of you. With Alastor looking down at you, he was much more intimidating. Doesn't stop the fact that he made you blush like crazy.

"Alastor. What's up?" You turned your head back down to continue your sewing, trying to keep a cool facade, then felt the seat next to you dip slightly.

"A little birdy told me you have an.. interesting past. Sounds like you have quite the history with the royal family, correct?" You hesitantly nod.

"I'd love to hear some stories if you have anything.. juicy." He definitely learned that word from Rosie. You chuckled at the sound of such a modern word warped with static. You gave him the same details you would tell Charlie, vague and definitely not juicy.

As you spoke and sewed at the same time, you ended up jabbing your finger with the needle. With a disappointed groan, you squeezed your finger, letting the blood drop grow. A quick reaction, Alastor lightly took a grasp of your wrist and brought your finger to his lips. With just a single swipe of his tongue, he wiped the blood clean. You tried your best to act disgusted, he was a cannibal after all, but your face was still heating up.

“O-Ookay.. thank you, I suppose..? Anyway..” You took a moment to shake any inappropriate thoughts from your head before returning to your stories. Alastor simply sat and nodded, occasionally letting out a little chortle at something you tried to joke about. "It was definitely a cushy job, I mean, you get free housing as a nanny, protection, food and - "

"A nanny, hmm?" Fuck. You quickly dropped what you were doing to face him. "Alastor, please don't say anything to Charlie. She doesn't even remember me since I had to leave when she was young, and I.. I want to keep it that way, okay? Keep this between us? Please?" You were begging. You had a great relationship with Charlie right now, there was no point bringing up the past. Or the mistakes you've made. You didn't see his smile grow, but it definitely did.

"Not a problem, my dear! I'm not one to blab.. since you asked so nicely." He looked at his clawed fingers as if they were neatly painted nails. You let out a sigh of relief, shakily reaching for your little sewing project in your lap to proceed where you left off.

"Thanks. I owe you one." You had no idea what you did, but apparently, that was enough for him. Enough to signal a deal. You officially owed Alastor a favor, and you had no idea what that could entail.

—

“Okay, everyone! My dad agreed to come and see what I'm - what we - are doing here! This could really help the hotel, so we are going to pretty it up and make it as welcoming as we can!” Charlie stood on the previously used trust-fall stage as she spoke.

“We’ve got one hour, people! Let’s get going!” The command from Vaggie, only made you sweat more. You stood in the small crowd of recently made friends, suddenly shrinking where you stood. You had no idea what Lucifer had been up to these past years. He definitely wasn't making any public appearances and Charlie rarely talked about him, so you just assumed he wasn't interested in her little project. It was shocking to you at first, that the gentle father you used to know had barely even spoken to her in almost a decade.

But that's beside the point. He was coming to the hotel. Stepping off the stage as the crowd dispersed, Charlie came directly to you. She held onto both your hands, before shining a giddy smile your way.

“Isn’t it exciting? Maybe he’ll recognize you! It’ll be like a little reunion!” You simply smiled and nodded, before quickly stepping away. Charlie started directing people, nicely, to start cleaning things up and creating banners and other decorations. A familiar static ran through your core as you hit the top of the stairs, ready to hide wherever you could.

You groaned, “Alastor, I just need to get out of here, please don’t bug me right now.” He was quick to block your path, placing a hand on his chest as if he were wounded.

“How cruel of you, I simply want to chat! I’m just wondering how you’re doing, dear.” His voice was sweet, but it still put you on edge. You waved him off and kept walking.

“Don’t give me that shit, I know you don't really care.” You rolled your eyes as he continued to walk with you, occasionally brushing his side against yours with his strides. Alastor was becoming close to you over these past few months, even getting a little touchy at times. You definitely didn't mind it. You considered making some kind of move, but the idea of that failing made you cringe.

“Goodness, how rude you are today! Aren’t you excited to see your old employer? Or.. are you nervous?” He knew what he was doing. You did your best to hide your anxious reaction, but he saw right through it.

“M-Maybe a little nervous. There, are you happy now? I don’t want to see him, I’m not ready - “ You muffled a frustrated groan into your hands, stopping in place

“Not a problem, my dear! Why don’t you stick with me today? I would hate to see you in such a state of despair - ” Liar. “ - just think about it.” You nod your head, but you were pretty sure you wouldn't be leaving your room for the rest of the day.

“Good girl.” With a quick pat on your head and a flicker of the lights, Alastor disappeared from sight. Your whole body shivered as you stepped into your room.

—

You recognized his voice immediately, even from your room. it didn't help that he was practically shouting. You were sitting in your bed, your back against the headboard and your knees pulled tightly to your chest. You would grab a book, or maybe the phone you finally managed to buy, but you didn't. You sat with tears flowing down your cheeks. You weren’t sad, exactly, but your body had no idea how to process your emotions right now.

Luckily, a loud crash snapped you out of your frozen state, forcing you to carefully leave your room. You couldn't hear his voice anymore, just a loud ruckus, people screaming and gunshots. You assumed someone had broken down the wall, again, probably looking for another fight. That probably means he left, right? Taking your time, you carefully peek your head around the stairwell, letting out a shaky sigh of relief.

No sign of Lucifer. Starting to descend the stairs, a giant portal opens mere feet away from you. Charlie and Lucifer return, his gigantic wings fluttering close as they embrace. You only realized the severity of the situation after appreciating his wings that you’ve never really seen this close before. They were beautiful - Focus.

As they discussed finally setting up Charlie’s meeting, she finally caught a glance of you just beginning to climb the stairs.

“Oh, Dad! I almost forgot! There was so much going on, I didn't get to show you our other guest!” She speedily approached you as she spoke, grabbing your hand and pulling you back down the stairs.

“She said she used to work at home! Isn't that cool?” Placing both her hands on your shoulders, you were essentially held captive.

“Oh! OH! Ahh.. hm! That is - That is definitely.. Interesting! Fun little fact there, isn't it?” His laughter became increasingly nervous and his cheeks became redder, as he tugged at the collar of his shirt to let the cool air of the room hit his suddenly heated skin.

“B-Been awhile, huh?? Long time no see! What are you up to? Today? These.. days..?” Charlie’s excitement only grew, shaking you a bit by your shoulders.

“You remember each other? That’s awesome! Maybe you two can catch up sometime! Were you close? She talks about how much she loved working there all the time!” Charlie’s words did little to fill the gaps. He had no idea why you were here, what you had told her - his eyes met yours finally, begging for the answer. What did you tell her?

Charlie’s one-sided conversation became a ringing in your ears, as she finally released you. You were only brought back by a hand placed delicately on the small of your back. In the back of your mind, you hoped it was Lucifer’s. That made you wince. Finally looking at its source you met Alastor’s eyes. He did say he would keep you company if you decided to come to the lobby. A sudden question popped into your head. Did Lucifer ever apologize? With Alastor's support, a surge of confidence gave you the strength to respond.

“We weren't that close, Charlie. I mean, we could catch up. If he wants to that is.” You leaned into Alastor's touch as you spoke, another decision you'll question later. In that moment, you wanted to treat him like shit. You wanted him to feel the way you did when you were sent away without a fight.

He seemed to shrink in place, his eye twitching when he let his gaze roam from your body up to Alastor’s, which was connected so sweetly by a gentle hold.

“Yeeaah! MAybe - “ His voice cracked, “ Welp! If you’re here - I know where to find you, I’ll uh.. Keep in touch..?” He did his best to send charlie a nervous smile, who was giving an enthusiastic thumbs up to him from behind you.

“Weren't you just leaving, Your Highness?” Alastor’s voice went crackly as he spoke, his hand snaking completely around your waist. He gave a nervous goodbye, before vanishing in a red smoke. Something strange happened just then. Before he left - he looked scared. But you still felt good doing what you did.

You blinked your eyes as if you had just been broken out of a trance. Looking around the silent room, you met Alastor’s eyes again, before quickly pulling yourself away from his grasp.

“I-I guess you did what you promised.. so.. Thank you?” letting out an awkward chuckle, you made your way back up the stairs. What came over you? Did you really want him to suffer? You had a chance to try and repair things, to ask why he did what he did. There's no way he'd try to reach out now. Right?

—

Hope y'all are liking the direction this is going, i know its getting a lil intense

I'm getting your requests btw! I'm loving the prompts I'm seeing, so I'll work on them as soon as I can! :)

!Taglist (A lot of you asked to be in the tag list, so if I missed you, please let me know!)

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