#(And that no-one gets boiling water thrown in their face)

[completeoveranalysis]

[3]

I really just want to appreciate the grumpy little cat on Watanuki’s apron. 

Also those last two panels are such a relatable mood. Like when you find your cat on the kitchen bench. Except for Watanuki it’s obviously because his your boyfriend is CHEWING TOO LOUDLY??

WATANUKI YOU HAVE THE EARS OF AN ANGEL HOW DO YOU EVEN HEAR THAT FROM THE NEXT ROOM OVER

I can’t even put my finger on exactly what delights me so much about this but it might just be everything. That Kohane is friends with Doumeki now. That she can just ask him around when she wants to. That he obviously comes without even telling Watanuki. That Watanuki will instantly stop complaining if Kohane says she wanted it. That perhaps Watanuki didn’t even know Doumeki was here yet, BUT COULD HEAR THE CRUNCHING AND JUST K N E W IT WAS HIM. 

There’s a lot to love here.

[targaryen-dynasty]

STEAM THAT LINGERS.

Aemond Targaryen x twin sister!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT—MDNI; canon typical incest/targcest (brother/sister), p in v, bathtub sex, jealousy

WORDS: 3.2 K

NOTES: Thanks for betaing this, @sylasthegrim 🤍

❗️𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

Your mind has been a mess for the past moon's turn, and you have the man you’ve entrusted with all your secrets for all of your life to thank for that.

Although Aemond is your twin brother and it’s a fairly common tradition of your House, you had never expected to marry him, for you always knew that you both are not more than paws to your mother and grandsire to secure Aegon’s claim to the throne.

But when Aemond was betrothed to Floris Baratheon to tie the Stormlands to your side of the family, you couldn’t deny the tinge of jealousy you felt – especially because you still waited for any form of acknowledgement of your betrothal offer from Cregan Stark.

So, the last thing you expect when you step into your apartments late into the night, after spending your evening in Helaena’s solar, is the mop of your twin brother’s silver hair in the adjoining bath chamber, sitting in the warm bath that has been prepared for you. You tighten the knot of the robe that’s thrown around your frame to conceal the nightgown beneath, slowly stepping into the room.

It’s been quite a while since it’s only been the two of you, and you couldn’t have been any more grateful. It meant you didn’t have to endure the sight of him and Floris getting to know each other in a manner that almost seemed ridiculous to you. Aemond never was one for public affection, but for the past moon he’s made quite the show out of courting her, practically rubbing it straight into your face.

His long hair cascades over the rim of the tub loosely, appearing even longer with his head tipped back against the earthenware. Clouds of steam rise from the water, being hotter than what common people not sharing your blood can tolerate.

Although the sight is divine and causes your thoughts to stray to more improper ideas, making your blood all but boil in a good way, you are incredibly cautious for no one to spot him – none of the servants, and definitely none of your ladies-in-waiting. The repercussions would be insane, let alone the consequences drawn by your mother.

“Have you lost your senses, Aemond?” you hiss, stepping into the bath to chastise him.

He carries a lazy smirk on his lips, purple eye not even opening to look at you. In fact, he looks perfectly comfortable in his state of undress, his body relaxing into the warm water as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Lose my senses? Don’t be absurd,” he answers simply with a one-shouldered shrug, turning his head and glancing over his shoulder at you. “I merely thought it would be more efficient to share this bath with you. Perhaps it will cool some of your temper.”

A small growl of irritation leaves your lips at that, your eyes narrowing. The deep breath you take before speaking is you trying to maintain some semblance of control over your words. “My temper would be perfectly calm if my insufferable brother would stop acting like a twat,” you spit, pressing your lips into a thin line. “Is it not enough that you will marry soon, while I will remain a spinster forever?” The tone in your voice conveys all the jealousy you’ve been feeling. “Must you, out of all people, rub it in my face, as well?”

The chance to rile you up is something he’s made use of more than enough over the course of your childhood, clearly enjoying it a tad too much – the widening smirk on his lips indicating as much. “And there is that famous temper,” he teases, waving his hand once as if he means to flick your attitude off. “You act as if I have somehow betrayed you. Do you think I want to marry Floris Baratheon? Do you think I want her to warm my bed rather than you? Why do you take it so personally?”

An underlying implication of your jealousy is laced within his words, causing heat to crawl to your cheeks. You glare at him, while he has turned his head forward again. “You know very well why this is personal to me. You have teased and ridiculed me for months over this marriage,” you reply. “You have flaunted it in front of me like you enjoy the fact that you will be married while I will not. But that is how it works, is it not? The gods would have paired us together if we were meant to be together.”

Aemond sighs heavily as he leans back into the bath, his arms spread to either side to grasp the edge, unfazed by your revolt. “The gods have given us each a role to play in this world, however much we may dislike it.”

Yet he can’t help but feel the rising heat in his loins at the hint of the dragon that lays just beneath your beautiful façade, something he yearns for in the prospect of being forced to marry a plain stag of House Baratheon.

“I have always found that a good bath can help soothe even the most troublesome of temperaments. So why don’t you join me, sister? No one will come to look for you at this hour unless you seek them out.”

Rolling your eyes, your irritation almost grows unbearable. “A good bath may soothe your own temper, brother, but I assure you that sharing it with me will hardly be the same,” you snap. You stand there, furming, unsure of what to do next. Part of you wants to leave to avoid any further confrontation, but another part – the one you’ve been trying to ignore so desperately – wants to take your brother up on his offer.

He has a point and you know it. And even if anyone were to stumble into your bedchambers at this hour, that part of you still would not have rejected his offer. You don‘t need any more of his encouragement, that much is obvious.

Against your better judgment, you find yourself stepping closer. Crossing the room towards the bathtub, your eyes are fixed on your brother, who watches your approach with a smug smirk. “Fine,” you mutter, your mind at a war with itself. You should leave, you know that, but something about you being so close to what you’ve desired for so long holds you there.

Your eyes dart down to your feet, trying not to let your excitement rise to the surface, but a slight tremor in your hands shows your nervousness, having trouble opening the knot that holds your robe together. It‘s partly because you know what is about to happen should you climb into the bath, but also because his eye is all but devouring you.

Aemond studies you with a grin as you try to reveal your beauty. To him, your concealed body already looks perfect, and he has to resist the urge to reach out and touch you — what makes the moments passing without being able to do so much more unbearable.

“Gods be good, just get in,” he commands eventually, the purring in his voice replaced by impatience. Long gone is the smirk.

He doesn’t have to tell you twice. You enter the bath in a haste, and with your blood boiling, you immediately get on top of him, straddling his hips. As you shift into a comfortable position and accidentally brush his already hard cock, his eyes fall shut for a long moment. You doubt yourself, until his mouth curves upwards in a wicked smile.

You‘re careful not to put too much weight onto his hips, because you‘re afraid of not being able to hold back once you feel his cock between your legs – but you haven’t anticipated your brother. He reaches out, slipping his arms around your waist, and draws you closer to him, inevitably seating you on his lap.

His hands find your hips, and his fingers toy around with the hem of your soaked nightgown and the curves of your flesh. “You know you could have asked me to take that nightgown off altogether. It’d make things a lot easier.”

“I’m not a damsel in distress, and could have taken it off myself if you had only given me more time… and perhaps even a warning that you’d seek me out,” you snap. “I would have chosen a different attire, if only I had known.”

Aemond has to laugh at your words, but he can’t blame you for such outburst.

"I never was the chivalrous sort," he whispers huskily. "Besides, it’s a wife’s duty to be ready for her husband whenever he desires."

“Except that we are not married.”

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong,“ he says with a wink. “We may not be married in the eyes of the Gods, but in every other way that matters, we are bound to each other.”

He bows his head forward to nibble along your jaw, his hands roaming over your figure. You tilt your head to the side, granting him more access as every train of thought gets lost. You’re so soft to his touch, so yielding to his grip, especially when you hold your head that way and offer yourself all to him.

He then leans back and works the knot in the front of your drenched nightgown loose, hooking his fingers under the straps and taking hold of them. He easily tugs it over your head, and discards it recklessly to the side.

Letting out a soft sigh as you finally make yourself bare to him, his hungry gaze glances down at your breasts for a moment before it meets yours again.

“Do you enjoy the view?” you ask, feigned innocence laced in your voice. “Or why are you staring as if you’ve never seen a woman’s body before?”

“Oh, I have seen plenty, but none quite as lovely as yours, sweet sister.” The compliment slips past his lips so fast, leaving no room for you to doubt the sincerity of his words, making heat crawl to your cheeks.

Your hands are resting at the back of his neck, fingers fiddling with the silver strands in the nape of it before you tug it gently to pull him towards you, urging his face back to the crook of your neck.

"Even if you are not to be my wife, I shall grant you that much, and please you as though you were," he mutters the words into the crook of your neck, not diminishing their meaning — not when they are followed by him pressing open mouthed kisses to your skin.

He pulls you close to him so that your head rests in the hollow of his collarbone, nose dragging through your hair, inhaling your scent.

“You certainly are a tempting creature,” he hums, and you fall into his trap, lured in by his praises and compliments. His fingers play with your hair as his teeth find your shoulder, biting down ever so slightly before leaning back again. “One can never get tired of looking at you.”

Then his fingers slide between your bodies to find his cock nestled between them, before his other hand grabs your hips and lifts them slightly to slip his fingers inside of you. He prepares you for him, easing in and out slowly, gently, teasing you in every way possible.

That already is enough to have you writhing on his lap, your head lulling back to release quiet moans.

Out of instinct and desire, you raise your hips, giving him the silent permission to fill you with his cock instead. And he eagerly complies, positioning him at your entrance and pushing inside.

His jaw slackens at the squeezing embrace of your cunt around him, the motion followed by a strained grunt.

Even though you are on top, it doesn’t mean you are in charge. You bask in the feigned control he grants you to perceive, sinking down on him at your own pace, but his firm hand on the back of your neck lets you know that‘s all he is giving you.

Before you can moan, Aemond’s lips press against yours, tasting you slowly and savoring the flavor. Though not as rough as him, your kisses are no less passionate. He breaks away momentarily to take a breath, his lips trailing across your cheek to your ear, hot breath fanning over it. “Move,” he encourages, mouth trailing a bit further south to your jawline. Despite needing time to adjust to his girth, you rock your hips back and forth, eventually getting bold enough to bounce up and down.

Aemond smirks, and tilts his head up to kiss you firmly, as if he means to claim something he deems he is owed. As you lock in a steamy embrace, he wraps his arms around you to hold you in place, forcing you to take the weight of it.

Grinding your hips against his, each time your pearl rubs against the coarse hairs spreading around the base of his cock, the fire inside of you reignites. Every drag of his cock inside of you brings you closer to your peak with wanton moans spilling past your lips.

The calm moment in which he watches you using him for your own pleasure doesn't last too long, though, interrupted by him biting and caressing your neck, his breath hot on your skin. He makes a point to bite down harder this time, leaving a mark that will be the clear evidence of his conquest.

“By the Seven,” you whimper.

Something in the lightheaded feeling mixed with the stinging pain pushes you over the edge, your walls tightening and spasming around him. A flash of intent in Aemond’s eye and a sudden move, and his hand is tight against your throat, catching you by surprise.

When he plants his feet flat on the earthenware of the tub and his other around your thigh, it is clear the grip is designed to give him some sort of leverage, allowing him to drive his hips up into yours.

The pace is suddenly becoming much more intense, the lukewarm water splashing around your bodies and spilling over the rim of the bathtub. Now it‘s his turn to use you to his liking, that much is obvious.

He is holding you too tight, and there is a forcefulness to him that speaks nothing of love and admiration. He knows it, you know it. He won’t give you the passion you are accustomed to for there is only one way you‘ll have him if this is meant to be a secret.

“Fuck… yes,” Aemond trails off, closing his eyes. Toppling over the edge himself, his thrusts become sloppier, the muscles in his stomach contracting.

All strength leaves him at once, hips stilling and lowering back into the water. With his hips ceasing, he releases your throat, only aware of the tightness of his grip when you gasp and cough loudly.

A groan leaves him as he pulsates inside of you, spilling his seed inside of your spasming walls. He tips his head back again, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. You collapse against his sturdy frame, fighting for breath yourself.

As he wraps his arms around you, you meet his gaze, waiting for his next move, for him to say something. But he doesn’t, and instead, he gets on his feet, effortlessly bringing you up with him. Even with the heat of the moment beginning to cool, Aemond still holds onto you tightly. There’s a possessiveness in his eye, his grip on you firm and unyielding.

“You were always meant to be mine,” he says. “No man will ever lay claim on you but me.”

Once he reaches your bed, he tosses you onto it, not bothering to be gentle. You squeal at that, and quickly reach for the sheets to cover your bare body. “This… This is a terrible idea.”

Your words seem to bring out the dragon that has been lurking below his veneer of gentleness. He is a wild thing when roused, a beast of the field that knows only the primal urges of hunger and lust. Pulling away the sheets and crawling onto the bed, he moves on top of you, pinning your body down beneath his own. He looks down at you, his expression one of a man consumed with desire. “Perhaps,” he concedes, voice low and rough. “But sometimes the most terrible ideas are the most delicious. And I did not come here to listen to reason right now.”

You gasp as he pins you to the bed, his weight pressing down on you in a way that both thrills and terrifies you. You can feel your pulse racing, your breath coming in short, ragged bursts, all the while your mind is screaming at you to stop this before it goes any further.

“This could ruin us both,” you whisper. But even as you say the words, your body betrays you, arching up against him.

Aemond chuckles lowly at your body’s reaction to him. Leaning forward, his lips brush against your ear as he speaks.

“Ruin us?” he whispers, “or liberate us?”

He moves his mouth down to your neck, kissing and nipping at it in a way that makes you shiver. It makes you gasp, and your body responds in ways you know it shouldn't. Every kiss, every nip ignites a fire within you, burning hotter and hotter until it threatens to consume you.

You try to regain control, but it's no use. Your body is drawn to him like a moth to a flame. Despite yourself, the protests and warnings in your mind are beginning to fade, his actions driving all rational thought from your mind.

“This is madness,” you whimper, more to yourself than to him. Even as you say these words, your hands betray you, moving up to tangle into his hair, pulling him closer.

Tipping back his head, the loss of his lips on your neck makes you pout. His voice is thick with desire when he speaks again. “Perhaps, but I have never known you to shy away from a little insanity, sister.”

Aemond leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss that is as fierce as it is passionate, his tongue delving into your mouth as he claims you completely. He pins your wrists above your head, his other hand roaming over your body, exploring every inch of it.

His words are very much the words of truth, for you have always craved the thrill of the forbidden. “If we do this,” you whisper, meeting his gaze. “I want you to know that you are very much mine just as much as I am yours.”

You can spot his eye darken at your words, a possessive heat surging through his veins at the thought of you claiming him. “As if there was ever a doubt,” he replies. “You have always been mine, and I yours. Since the day we were born. And no one – not our mother, not the gods, no one – will ever change that.”

Feeling yourself giving in completely, as if you are drowning in a sea of desire, the last of your protests melt away as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“Then prove it,” you murmur, your voice thick with need. “Make me yours, here and now.”

There is an air of familiarity between you two, an old rhythm that has been reawakened after being buried for years. And although the both of you know you’re in dangerous waters, and despite your better judgements, you mean to conquer them together tonight.

Aemond taglist: @persephonerinyes @dr-aegon @schniiipsel @thekinslayed @baizzhu

@legitalicat @eponaartemisa @peachysunrize @blackswxnn @odairtrqsh

@mfedits @luvdella @lcec99 @jays-bullshit

Bold means I couldn’t tag you.

[hoe4sports]

Nobody likes the angry girl

A note from the author: I saw a video that hit home. It was a tiktok about being told that “nobody likes the angry girl”. I was the angry girl as a child, and by now you probably know that this is a fic based off of my life. I am not enabling this kind of behaviour, but I’m trying to show you how it can feel to struggle with trauma. Traumas need constant work, love and attention.

If you are struggling with the same thing; you are not a monster. You will get there. It’s not your fault. I love you.

Credits: This is based off a tiktok that I saw, you can find it here. Courtesy of @young.Riley on TikTok.

Warning: Trauma, anger, anxiety

Summary: Your childhood has caused more damage than Alexia could ever believe.

⚠️If you feel easily triggered or overwhelmed, read with caution and take breaks. If you need to, please seek a mental health hotline.

—

“Nobody likes the angry girl”. That was a sentence that would be thrown after you as if it was a knife. Your mother would use it when you did something she didn’t like. Speaking up for yourself, telling her how you felt, wanting her love or being upset. She would describe you as angry if you weren’t a pleasure or the quiet girl.

Alexia however, she is patient with the angry girl. She understands the angry girl because she took her time to understand her. She asked the questions and listened to the stories. She knew what caused you to become the angry girl. How your mother’s words cut through your back causing scars in your heart. Alexia knew that the angry girl carried her heart outside her sleeve. She loved the angry girl with every cell in her body.

The Spanish heat was flowing in through the kitchen windows. You breathed in the air filling your lungs all the way up. Your body felt sweaty after working in the garden for a while. It was mid day, and you had gotten the week off. It was a nice change, your workplace had decided to work on their employees wellbeing giving all of your colleagues a week off. You see, that was the recipe for a perfect week. Only, whenever you got too much time off: your mind and unconsciousness would deep dive into your childhood making your mood miserable and leaving your emotions on edge.

You decided that the best thing to do was to head into the shower, so you approached the bedroom where you pulled out a pair of black athletic bike shorts and a blue athletic long sleeve. Just as you were about to close the door to the wall in closet, you noticed that alexia had left clothes in the floor. Not just on the floor, but right next to the laundry basket. The mishap itched you the wrong way. “Of course”, you mumbled to yourself, “of course she would leave me to pick it up when she knows that I hate when she does that.” You reached for the clothes before chucking it into the basket. It made you feel annoyed. Like your blood was boiling. But you pushed it down. You didn’t want to have a meltdown, not when Alexia had a stressful week.

When you entered the bathroom, you quickly started the water making the shower heat up before getting undressed. That was when you noticed the toothpaste on the mirror. Your face dropped when you saw it. Jesus, you thought, you just cleaned it yesterday. It made it feel like Alexia didn’t appreciate your hard work of trying to keep the house in shape. You grabbed a rag after spraying the mirror, washing the full length of the mirror. You couldn’t just was the one spot with toothpaste, because then it would cause streaks. And you hated streaks. When you turned around to feel the temperature of the running water with your hand, you stepped into cold water with your socks. It made you feel furious. “Oh my god” you mumbled to yourself. You took a deep breath with your eyes closed. Then, your hands reached for a dry towel to wipe up the water that Alexia had left for you to step on.

But, your hand didn’t find anything. You turned your head to see that there were no towels. You took a quick deep breath feeling as if you were about to explode. The robe that was hanging on its hook came to use when you wrapped yourself in it heading into the linen closet to restock towels. Alexia knew that there were fresh towels in the closet. They were neatly folded, white cream towels made out of bamboo. You grabbed the bunch that were sitting on the shelf before stomping your way into the bathroom. The towels got placed in its shelf before you wiped up Alexia’s mess from earlier this morning.

You see, the thing about being the angry girl is that it becomes your identity. You are never smart, talented, beautiful or a joy; because in your mother’s eyes, all you are is the angry girl. When she gave you silent treatment as a 5 year old and you cried for days begging her to speak to you. The first thing she said when you sat there, tears filling your eyes was that nobody likes the angry girl. It hurt like a gunshot. And whenever she used it, it felt like you got shot again. And again. And again. And again. Even though you don’t talk to your mother anymore, you are still the angry girl in her eyes. You will never be anything more.

After your shower, you sat down on the toilet while drying off. Your hand instantly reached for your phone which lead you to watch TikTok. It was childishly enough the only thing that would give your brain a pause. Some days, you had to take yourself on a timeout to watch TikTok with your headphones underneath your blanket it your dark bedroom. Maybe it was the feeling of overwhelming that hit you and maybe that was why this became the solution? Or perhaps it was because whenever you said anything about your feelings, your mother would tell you to go to your bedroom?

You kept watching TikTok before you reached for the toilet paper. And, lo and behold, there was no toilet paper. You could’ve sworn that your eye twitched for a second. But you reached out to the cabinet underneath the sink and popped the new roll on the holder before getting rid of the empty roll.

After feeling the anger building up inside you like a tidal wave, you decided to try to have something to eat. Perhaps, you thought, just perhaps you are hangry and it will all pass once you’ve had some food. Then you remembered that you had leftovers from Lasagna in the refrigerator. You peered into the kitchen and opened the big fridge door before feeling your heart sink. No lasanga. Alexia had brought it with her to practice. It made you frown because you knew damn well that Alexia had all kinds of food in the Barca cafeteria that she would eat from. Even fresh lasagna.

In a need to calm yourself down, you decided to go for a drive to the grocery store. You put on some makeup and do your hair all nice before grabbing your purse and heading out. You press the keyless start button in your car and there is a flashing sign. You are out of gas. Alexia borrowed your car yesterday. You feel your blood boiling. You hop out of your car before smacking the door as hard as you can. Then you stomp your way upstairs to the bedroom to hide from the world and your own problems. You stay hidden in the bedroom for hours. Hiding underneath your weighted blanket hoping that you will fall asleep. That’s one of the angry girl strategies, sleeping. She will close her eyes and keep them shut for hours to avoid confrontation.

But, the attempt to calm down is quickly paused. Your eyes peer open when you hear Alexia’s familiar footsteps in the hallway. “Hola, amor!” She calls out. You can tell that she’s in a good mood. The kind of mood that makes you feel sick to your bones when the angry girl is out. You tuck the blanket around your head so only your face sticks out. “..Amor? Are you sick, no?” Alexia asks softly when she opens up the door to the bedroom. You huff out in response hoping to keep the angry girl away. Alexia sits down next to you on the bed. She gives you the most loving look. It makes the angry girl scared. God, you think. You are so unloveable. Your eyes starts to look like glass, but Alexia dosent seem to catch it. “I’ll go make you some tea. Blueberry?” she askes before placing a kiss on your forehead. You nod in response.

Why is the world against me today, you think. Keeping your head calm when the storm is flaring up isn’t easy, the angry girl inside you is peeking out from the heavy blackout curtains she normally is forced to hide behind. You see, the angry girl looks big and scary. She’s hiding behind curtains as she takes up the whole room. But, the angry girl isn’t a big girl. She’s small. She’s little. She looks big because of the shadows from the lights, but she is small. She is so small. She’s easy to hurt. And she’s sensitive.

The angry girl comes out with a bang. Alexia drops the cup in the kitchen causing you to practically jump out of bed. It scares you shameless, and the angry girl feels put on the spot. You stomp into the kitchen, your face strained and your body tight. You look at the cup on the ground. Or, what was left of it. You instantly recognise it. That is what causes the angry girl to jump out. “ALEXIA!! Seriously?? My moomin mug? From my grandmother?? Seriously?? You are so clumsy, so irresponsible! God, you are so fucking annoying! Why do you ruin everything!” The angry girl yells out feeling heat rush to your cheeks. Alexia looks caught off guard before her looks softens. “You are right mi vida, i shouldn’t have dropped it. Lo siento mucho princesa” she speaks softly. Her body slowly moves towards you. When she dosent get angry back, the little girl feels scared. For some reason, that causes the angry girl to feel threatened. “Don’t fucking touch me, Alexia! Don’t you dare to fucking touch me!” The angry girl yells before turning around and sprinting to the bedroom. Your hand quickly turns the lock before your throw yourself on the bed, face looking into the wall as tears of anger swells in your eyes. You can hear Alexia outside of the door. “Leave me alone!! God, will you ever fucking learn? I should just move out!!” The angry girl screams before pulling the blanket over your head. You lay completely still with your eyes squeezed shut causing you to fall asleep within minutes.

The angry girl haunts your head monthly. It used to be weekly, and in periods; even daily. You don’t purposely let the angry girl out, but sometimes she claws her way out of the deepest darkest rooms where you normally keep her. The angry girl is a result of trauma, event though you sometimes let yourself believe that she is who you are. A part of your personality. A part of you. The angry girl hurt you for years. But you, Alexia and your psychiatrist worked together to get you where you are today.

The thing about the angry girl is that she isn’t really big. She’s a little girl. When the little girl comes out to play, she gets scared. She hides in the bedroom in fear that someone might yell at her. Or disown her. Or not talk to her. To hide is how so stays protected. Her talent is hide and seek. She tiptoes into the bathroom at night, terrified to wake someone up. She sneaks snacks when nobody is watching and god forbid someone catches her: she always ask if she’s allowed food. As a young little girl, she craved love, she craved to be seen and she craved to feel wanted. But she wasn’t allowed to feel those feelings. She was starved of the feelings. She creeps along the shadows of the hallway avoiding showing herself until she is trapped in a corner. That’s when the little girl becomes the angry girl. When she is trapped, and there is nowhere to hide and it feels like the world is about to end. But because Alexia is there, the world doesn’t end.

-

An hour later, you wake up by someone softly playing your hair. You can hear the low buzz of the bedroom tv. The slow beats of Alexia’s heart. The warmth of her lap. The embarrassment and the sadness fills your body. Tears make your eyes glass-like. You move your hand slightly. “Feeling better amore?” Alexia hums at you, not stopping her comforting movements. “I’m so sorr-“ you speak before your voice breaks and your body fills with regret and embarrassment. You feel so angry with yourself. Why are you like this? Why can’t you just communicate instead of letting everything blow up? You don’t know how to stop it, and you are terrified that it will drive Alexia away. “You don’t deserve this..” you mumble moving your hand to alexia’s knee.

“Mi amor, it’s not your fault that you were treated badly as a kid so don’t be sorry for breaking something that you didn’t break. You will get there with time and patience, and I’ll be with you every step of the way. Te amo mucho and that is never gonna change. Vale?”

Alexia looks down on you smile long softly before kissing your head.

«Vale, te amo, Ale. Te amo mucho”

[cordeliawhohung]

In Limbo [Chapter 8]

mafia!141 masterlist | In Limbo masterlist | general masterlist | taglist | playlist mafia!Simon Riley x fem!Reader

warm soup and bile

cw: illness, vomiting, a dash of angst, talk of death, period talk, emotional whiplash

wc: 4.3k

You’re still terribly febrile when you wake up. 

Stiff muscles and joints scream as your eyes flutter open, bleary eyes hardly able to make sense of your surroundings. Faux darkness smothers the room, thick curtains forbidding sunlight from raiding your vision with its unforgiving rays. Sediment builds between your bones where they crack and crumble into dust as you sit up, head protesting the movement with several throbs. A bottle jostles next to you on the mattress. A gift, you’re sure. You try to swallow the cotton-like dryness in your mouth before you greedily uncap it and take a rapacious swig. 

It’s dreadful. Salty, falsely sweet; your lips pucker as your tongue shrivels at the nasty flavor. Sea water would have been more appetizing and refreshing, yet your mouth is so dry you drink until half the bottle is gone. When you’re finished, you cough and it’s wet. Mucus and snot plague your throat, too far back for you to do anything but swallow it — thick, like cough syrup. 

Up your body urges. You’ve been stagnant too long, thick blood pooling in your limbs, weighing them down like lead as you drag yourself out of the bedroom, blanket thrown over your shoulders like a hermit crab. You’re a walking mess — a zombie with half a brain.

Lovely aromatics waft through the house as you descend the stairs, and the kitchen is sweltering when you wander in. A heavy wall of heat emanates from the stove as John works away at a cutting board, sleeves of his plain shirt rolled up his forearms. Carrots, onions, and celery dust the board as a pot of broth boils behind him on the stove. The knife glints in the light, and you will your stomach to settle. He greets you with a polite smile as you approach the kitchen island, hands fumbling with the barstool as you make room for yourself. 

“Mornin’ Chip,” he greets before glancing at his wristwatch. “Or, afternoon.” 

Sniffing, you attempt a smile back at him, but your face feels too swollen for it to come across correctly. “You’re making me feel like a bum.” 

“Well, considering the circumstances, you deserve to have a few days off,” he chuckles warmly. 

John turns, cutting board in hand, dumping the contents into the broth where it quells for a short moment before boiling once again. The sink turns on where smooth water runs over dirty dishes as he works on cleaning up his mess. There’s a slight urge to get up and help, to give something back to the people who housed you for the night, but the very thought alone is enough to make your muscles scream. 

Perhaps, just this one time, you will allow someone to take care of you.

“Riley bought enough chicken broth to feed a damn army, but I figured I’d spruce it up with some veggies. Give it some meat. Unless you fancy plain watered down bone juice,” he teases as he dries his hands. 

“You didn’t have to do all that,” you say, voice cracking. 

“Of course I did. This is you we’re talkin’ about.” 

Quiet feet tap against the beautiful, dark stained floor as Row enters the kitchen swaddled in a bathrobe and freshly showered. Her eyes light up when she catches sight of you curled over the counter, but there’s still that lingering glint of concern as she approaches with outstretched arms. Before you can protest, she envelops you in her arms, fresh rosewater washing over your stuffed senses in the process. 

“How’re you feeling?” she asks, holding your head tight against her chest. She’s warm, probably thanks to her shower, and you can’t help but melt into her despite your sickness.

“You’re gonna get sick,” you whine. 

“Well enough to talk back, it seems,” she teases before releasing you. 

Just as John turns the stove off, Row slides onto the stool next to you, elbow playfully bumping against your arm in the process. You bump her back and almost laugh — instead, you cough. 

“Have you taken any medicine?” she questions.

“Row, I just woke up,” you respond with a huff. 

“John?” 

“On it,” he chuckles. 

While the soup cools, John vanishes to retrieve whatever sort of medicine Row is going to force down your throat and you fight the urge to roll your eyes as you look at her. She rests her head in her hand with a cheeky smile. She’s glowing, dewy skin illuminated by the bright kitchen light as she assesses you with careful eyes. 

“You seem… happy,” you say in an attempt to get the attention off of you and your ailment. 

Row hums as her feet flutter with girlish glee. “Yeah, guess so. Maybe more excited than anything else.”

“What about?” 

“John surprised me this morning with an early Christmas present. He’s got us tickets for a trip to The Maldives over the holiday,” she says, keeping her voice low as if it’s a secret. 

It’s impossible to hide the way your eyes widen at her words. Sometimes, you forget exactly how… well off John and Row are. Even as a child, Row lived a privileged life due to the status of her father as the Chief of Police. The man was virtually a pseudo politician, and with his dangerous job he had a very generous life insurance policy that was paid out when he died almost twelve years ago. Couple that with John’s establishment in the city, you doubt either of them have known a moment of discomfort since they had gotten married. 

There is no envy in your realization. You’ve known from the very beginning that their type of life isn’t for you — not with your hands dried from sanitizer and body weak because you don’t know how to scream no loud enough.

“Sounds fancy,” you smile. 

“Sounds warm,” Row corrects with a chuckle. “I’m tired of the cold. You should come with us. I’m sure I’ve got room in my bag. Think we can fold you up tight enough?” 

“Thanks, but I’m not a fan of flying,” you giggle through a cough. “Dad took mum and I on a trip to Italy once and I got sick and threw up on the way there. I probably would’ve thrown up on the way back if it wasn’t for me crying the entire time over it.” 

Row’s attempt to stifle her laugh fails miserably as she shakes her head. “I’ll bring you a souvenir then.” 

“Good idea.” 

John returns shortly with cough syrup in hand and he slides it across the island to you like a bartender. It goes down surprisingly easy; too smooth, albeit a tad bitter, you take it like a shot to quickly drown out the menthol burning the back of your nose. Somehow, it seems to clear your mind a little. Or, perhaps you have a proper night's rest to thank for that. 

“Do you have any plans for Christmas this year? And please, don’t say work.” The sweet melody of fresh soup pouring into a bowl accompanies Row’s question as John divides the meal before sliding it in front of you. You give him a quick, appreciative smile before she continues. “I swear, if you say work I’m going to actually force you on this trip.” 

“I’m not working,” you huff, swirling your spoon around your bowl. Thin wisps of steam tickle your chin and nose, melting the stuffiness that resides deep in your sinuses. “Bruce always takes off the days surrounding Christmas. Still gives us holiday pay, too.” 

“Good,” Row hums, though she has yet to be satiated. “Well, since John and I will be gone, maybe you can spend the holiday with Riley instead.” 

As your eyes close in disbelief, you’re able to recall part of your conversation from last night. How you called Row out for her using Simon to keep an eye on you. Ever since that dinner party back in October, she’s been trying to hook you up with the guy, and she has been less than tactful about it. 

Simon isn’t… a bad person. Despite the tattoos, and how he broke Andrei’s nose like he was punching through warm butter, he’s someone you feel surprisingly comfortable around. You’re not sure why. It’s like there’s a lullaby written into his DNA — something to counteract the sheer size and nature of him. Maybe it’s because of the way he took care of you that night; hiding you away in the VIP room when you panicked and blacked out. You woke up not feeling violated or scared, just confused. Or maybe it’s because you’ve felt his heart. How it beats in his chest, steady and strong.

You swallow your embarrassment down with a spoonful of soup. 

“I’m sure he’s got a family of his own. Taking a break from babysitting me would probably be lovely,” you say with unforgiving emphasis. 

For a moment, Row turns her attention to John, who’s already halfway finished with his soup. “Does Riley have any family?” 

John pauses. “In Manchester, yeah.” 

“See?” you point out. “He’ll leave London far behind, and I’ll most likely watch The Grinch on repeat.” 

A pout forms on Row’s lips, but it’s not the playful childishness you’re used to. Legitimate annoyance crosses her features, and you feel something wash over you in a cold mist. You get the feeling this conversation isn’t going the way she wanted it to. 

“I just… don’t like the idea of you being alone this time of year,” Row finally concedes. 

You try not to huff. There’s only true concern for you behind her tone, but that doesn’t make it any less smothering. Buying yourself time, you lift the bowl up to your lips with careful hands and drink from the broth as you think of a response that doesn’t make you sound like a child. Or worse: ungrateful. You are appreciative of every kind action that anyone has ever shown you — but the sour taste it leaves on your tongue knowing that you don’t deserve it has become nearly unbearable. 

“I’ll be fine,” you attempt to assure. “I’m a grown woman. It’s not like I’m a kid who’s going to be let down because there’s no tree or presents.” 

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” 

Despite the fresh soup in your stomach and the fever ravaging your nerves, everything goes cold. The chill even reaches John, whose attention flickers back and forth between you and his wife, cold eyes attempting to decode the oncoming mess. There’s a twitch in his lip that rustles the facial hair on his lip — he wants to speak, but stays silent as his eyes return to his bowl, completely emptied. His spoon still scrapes the bottom anyway. 

“Row-” you start. 

“You promised me on Halloween you’d be kinder to yourself,” she interrupts. “But look at you. Sick, still trying to work yourself to death… Would you have even asked for help if I hadn’t called last night? You promised me you’d stop punishing yourself but the closer we get to the anniversary of his death, the worse you get.” 

“Hey now,” John attempts to intervene. But this isn’t his fight. 

“I know it’s not easy to- to talk about stuff like that, and I’m not saying you have to talk to me about it. I… I know why you don’t want to talk to me about it. I just wish you’d share this burden with someone. Chip, none of that was your fault, you were just a kid.” 

Metal clinks against pristine china as you drop your spoon in your bowl, head shaking. The antithesis to her statement screeches in your head like nails on chalkboard louder than the ringing in your ears. 

He’d still be alive if it wasn’t for you.

She always says you were just a kid. A child. As if that absolves you from the hot sin that burns your skin. You might have been a child then, but it’s been twelve years and you haven’t repented. Perhaps that’s why your ears still ring, and every flash of light seems like it’s reflected off the blade of a knife and-

“Please,” Row begs, “let me help you. Let someone help you. You don’t have to do this alone.” 

Your feet hit the ground as you slide off the barstool and your vision begins to tunnel. Spots swirl in front of you, a dizzying dance, and you shake your head as you turn away from Row. 

“I can’t,” you breathe. Your heart leaps into your throat, choking you, but you can’t swallow it. It pounds and writhes inside of you, twisting in ways that it shouldn’t as you stumble along the kitchen island. Despite your vision, you take note of the way John mirrors your movements as he follows you from the other side of the counter. He says something, but it doesn’t reach your ears. “I can’t.” 

John’s arm wraps around your front just before your knees collide with the ground. Plastic drags across the wood floor with an aching scratch as he lowers you, and you find your hands gripping the side of the trash just in time for your stomach to lurch. All of John’s hard work goes into the bin, and it burns on the way back up as it mixes with cough syrup and salt. Row slides onto the floor next to you, robe pulled taut as she rubs your back with an anxious hand. 

“Oh my god, Chip. Chip, I-I’m so sorry.” 

“Easy now,” John whispers. 

At first, you think he’s saying it to you. Some form of comfort as you spit the remaining vomit in your mouth into the bin, trying to rid yourself of its rancid taste. When you finally catch your breath and your stomach ceases its unnecessary convulsions, you realize he’s saying it to Row. Hot tears mix with her trembling lip as she stares at you with wide, reddened eyes. Overcome with compunction, she mutters apologies between shaky breaths, hands pawing at your back. 

Once more, your stomach lurches, but you’re able to bite back the bile. You hate seeing her cry. You’d do anything to make her stop. 

But you’ve never been good at comforting anyone. Especially yourself. 

Nothing feels real after that. Not the way John and Row help you back into the guest room to get some more rest. Not the way Row’s stifled sobs echo in the hallway as they leave. It tears you apart in a way nothing else has. You don’t know why you’re like this; so broken that you hurt others on the pieces of you in the process. If you could just talk — share that darkness inside of you — do something… but you can’t. The only thing you’ve ever been good for is running away and escaping by the skin of your teeth. 

Row takes you home later that night after the dust settles, but neither of you talk about the elephant in the room. Its weight sits so heavily on your chest you can hardly breathe. Neither of you mention her father, long since dead and rotted in the ground in a cemetery you can’t bring yourself to visit. She doesn’t ask why you keep everything under tight lock, seemingly throwing away the key. Despite your efforts at hiding, you’re always afraid that you’ll be found out eventually. Someone will come along and sniff out your secrets like a scavenger with carrion. 

For now, you let that flesh rot inside of you and pray that Row can’t smell it as she embraces you in the car. If it weren’t for the center console, you’re certain she would pull you into her lap; cradle you against her chest as if you were a child again. She doesn’t whisper anything more than a farewell to you, but you can feel the apology exuding from her body. You think that’s why, after all these years, you and Row are still as close as you are. Both of you are sorry for something, and neither of you know how to say it. 

Over the next few days, your symptoms improve. You spend most of your days sleeping and resting in bed where you sip on cold medicine like its sugar water. It feels strange doing nothing, and you’re certain your paycheck will feel the effects too, but for once you can’t bring yourself to care. 

Eventually you can breathe unobstructed and you no longer choke every time you try to speak. Your mind clears, but lingering aches still ravage your muscles with vigorous hunger and they only worsen throughout the week. Radiating further than just your legs and stomach, you don’t realize until it’s too late that your period is the one to blame. 

Out of the pan and into the fire, it hits you while you’re at work. You’ve nearly bled through your pants by the time you’re able to make it to the bathroom, and without any proper sanitary items, you’re stuck using cheap toilet paper for the rest of your shift. Clumped up paper, it feels disgusting shoved between your legs, but you were unprepared. Still, nothing rivals the discomfort of the cramps that shred your muscles apart, insides twisting and writhing as it expels unwanted blood and tissue — it hurts more than usual.

Another unintended side effect from Marco’s lovely cold. Your body hardly had time to recover from being sick, and now it’s expending even more energy. Your only saving grace is that you find a handful of pads when you get home. No more tampons. This month your flow is heavier than usual, and you’re bleeding through them too quickly — you’ll run out by tomorrow. It’s a frustrating realization having just gotten home and knowing you’ll have to force yourself back out. 

Tomorrow. You’ll brave the world with blood and endometrium tissue tomorrow, but for now you’re content in bed, curled around a heated rice pack. Its warmth seeps into you but only skin deep. Angry muscles still convulse inside of you, unthwarted by your attempts at satiating its anger. Huffing, you attempt to distract yourself, mindlessly scrolling through your phone, watching videos, anything to forget the pain. 

A message buzzes on your phone, vibration tingling your fingers, and you don’t have to look at the ID to know that it’s Simon. Both of you have the worst sleep schedules due to the hours you work, and with it nearing one in the morning you know it can’t be anyone else. Or, maybe you’ve just grown to know him so well.

How are you feeling? 

Of course he’s checking in. It’s his job, isn’t it? 

better thank you! been living off of the soups and drinks you bought.

It’s a slight lie. The soups are great. That perfect canned stuff that harbors just the right amount of brine, but you can’t stand those electrolyte drinks. Maybe you would be feeling better right now had you just toughed it out and drank them, but you quickly swapped them for regular water instead. They’re currently rotting in the back of your fridge. 

Glad to hear. 

You stare at the message so long you feel your eyes cross and vision blur. Fatigue and pain is finally getting the better of you, and you can feel sleep calling for you, weighing your body down until you feel glued to the bed. It nearly takes you, forces you into the depths of dreams, but you’re jostled awake by another message from Simon:

Going Christmas shopping tomorrow. Wanna join? 

It’s fairly easy to sniff out the fact that this is Row’s doing. You’re certain the guilt is still eating her alive from last week, and neither of you have really messaged one another beyond a hope you’re feeling better. She loves deeply and strangely; you’re not even sure she understands it herself, and still…

sure! i need to do some shopping anyway.

Simon hums when your message pops up on his screen, happy with your answer. It’s frigid in the garage, so much so that he can see his breath. Usually he’s inside by this time, watching a show to put himself to sleep or making a late dinner, but not even that can satiate his insomnia. Instead, he finds himself cleaning his bike, which has grown thick with dust over the last month of him having kept it shoved out of the elements. Somehow, a dirty bike is a bigger eyesore than a dirty car, but he won’t complain too much. At least it gives him something to do while wicked insomnia racks his body. 

I’ll pick you up tomorrow afternoon. 

As he shoves his phone back in his pocket, he thinks of you curled up in bed again. How warm you were against his hand, yet how you couldn’t seem to stop shivering. It was a painful reminder about how you were the day he found you in that alley, hardly able to stand on your own, overcome with terror. He hates that he can’t get that vision of you out of his head, but he hopes you’re telling the truth when you say you’re better than before.

Grunting, he gets back to work on his bike while his mind wanders. He still hasn’t forgotten about Andrei or the work Johnny has been putting in to figure out who the bastard really is. The most headway they’ve been able to gain has been thanks to Kyle, who saw him at some sort of political gala the other week. Shady enough to be found lurking in an alleyway but important enough to be hanging with London’s top 1% is never a good sign. 

Doesn’t matter. There’s not a skull in the world Simon Riley doesn’t know how to crack open. He doesn’t think he can rest until he knows you're safe from whatever monsters are lurking in your shadow. 

When his phone buzzes again, he thinks it’s a text back from you until it doesn’t cease. He quickly wipes his hands until they’re free of cleaner before retrieving his phone once more. The screen flashes brightly, alerting him that his mother is calling. 

“Hello?” he answers. There’s slight worry in his tone as he wanders away from his bike, almost as if he’s getting ready to run on foot all the way to Manchester if his mother so requested it. 

“Ah, I knew you’d be awake. Still working late shifts, I take it?” she asks as if they’re talking over tea. 

“There’s no mornin’ shifts at the club, mum,” he cheekily reminds her. “More concerned ‘bout you bein’ up this late.” 

She chuckles, and it sounds different from when he was a kid. There’s gravel in her voice, vocal chords changing with age, but it still fills him with the same warmth that it always has. 

“Don’t worry about me, love. Got too carried away with the garden documentaries again,” she assures. 

“France again?” Simon asks. 

“Italy this time. Their gardens are beautiful. Much more natural,” she explains. 

Simon hums. “I’ll take you to see ‘em one day.” 

Mrs. Riley laughs at her son, a silly cackle that has a smile pulling at his lips. “Oh, my sweet boy, I’d be plenty happy with just a simple visit. Speaking of, you’re still coming home for the holiday, yes? Little Joey’s excited to see his Uncle Simon again.” 

It’s impossible for Simon not to smile at the thought of his nephew. Sweet tyke is about four years old and he can still envision his toothy grin perfectly. His idiot brother was able to do some sort of good in the world after all. 

“Course I am. We’re going Christmas shoppin’ tomorrow. Probably be headed down Christmas Eve, if that works?” he explains. 

“We?” she repeats, the lilt of her words giving away her grin. 

Simon blinks, Freudian slip having gotten the better of him. “A friend, yeah.” 

“What kind of friend?” she prods. 

“Just a friend.” 

There’s no stopping the storm of words brewing up in his mother’s mouth. Even from over the phone he can feel them swell with the curve of her lips and tilt of her head. 

“Well, there is plenty of space in the guest room if this friend of yours wants to join us for the holiday. Just recently moved a queen sized mattress in there, too. I know how hard it was for you to fit on the twin sized bed…”

“Mum,” Simon sighs, cutting his mother off before she can continue. “It’ll just be me.” 

“Oh, alright. Can’t blame a crone for trying,” she chuckles. “But Christmas Eve, perfect. I’ll make sure to have everything set up.” 

The conversation dwindles into small talk before Mrs. Riley eventually gets too tired to continue. Her documentary on European gardens can only entertain her for so long before the night gets the better of her. They wish one another goodnight, with promises of seeing each other soon, before the line goes dead. Though the silence is benign, he can’t help but be grateful that he doesn’t have to explain to his mother — yet again — why he never brings any girls home for the holiday.

Pulling the phone away from his ear, Simon checks the time only to get distracted by a glowing notification. You had responded to his text while he was on the phone with his mother: 

sounds good! see you tomorrow si (: 

He stares at the message longer than he should. It’s… cute. The shortened use of his name coupled with the smiley face. Usually he’s not a fan of nicknames. His last name, Riley, isn’t something he’s proud to carry, but no one at work seems to want to call him anything else, and he hasn’t been referred to as Ghost in ages. Still, he imagines your voice as he rereads your message, and he has to shake his head before his thoughts devolve into a mess he can’t afford to entertain. 

See you tomorrow, sweetheart.

[evie-sturns]

sick - Matt Sturniolo

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summary: when you come down with a bad cold, the only person you want is your best friend matt.

contains: fluff, bestfriend!matt, comforting, a little bit of crying.

a/n: just a short one today due to the fact i'm literally bed bound sick.

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

i roll over in my messed up sheets, my whole body practically on fire and my head throbbing. i let out a frustrated groan as i wait for matt to finally come over to my place,

i invited matt over around 20 minutes ago, meaning he should be here at any moment.

click

the door to my bedroom opens and i'm met with matts sorry face. "matt!" my voice croaks, which quickly turns into a fit of coughs.

"you look like hell" matt laughs slightly, "such a gentleman matthew." i scoff with an eye roll.

"are you feeling okay?" he asks, walking over to my side of the bed and picking up the piles of tissues on the floor.

"oh- matt you don't have to touch those tissues." i protest, "its all good." he smiles before chucking them in the bin thats in the corner of my room.

i go to get out of bed, then stumble over into matt. "careful there" he says, grabbing my arm.

"my hair is like matted i need to brush it." i sigh,

"lay back down, i'll get your brush." matt says, helping me back down into bed. i lay down against the plush of my sheets.

matt disappears into my bathroom and comes out a couple seconds later with my baby pink brush and a few hair ties.

he jumps into bed next to me and pulls me onto his lap as he sits up against the headboard.

i sit facing the front, i can feel matt's light breathes coming from behind me as one of his cold hands finds its way into my hair.

"do i just.. brush it?" matt asks, "obviously." i laugh,

matt runs the brush through my hair gently, "does that hurt?"

"no it's okay" i smiles, rubbing my nose with the palm of my hand.

matt bunches up my hair in the back and ties it into a loose low bun, "that feel better?" matt asks, i nod before laying back against matt's chest.

i feel my body shiver all though i'm boiling hot, my sinuses are completely blocked and my throat feels like it's being cut by 1000 razor blades.

"my stomach hurts." i sniff, wiping my eyes as i feel myself grow overwhelmed.

"i know it does, i'm sorry." matt whispers,

i feel a couple tears fall down my hot cheeks, which quickly turns into a small sob.

"oh no- sweetheart don't cry." matt rubs my arms, "i feel sick." i mumble,

"i know you do, you've got a bad cold haven't 'ya?" matt coo's, i nod with a small pout.

matt continues to hold me close, his warmth comforting against the cold temperature of my body. i lean into him, feeling the rise and fall of his chest with each breath.

"do you want me to get you some water?" he suggests softly, his fingers gently tracing circles on my back.

"please," i manage to whisper, my voice barely audible through the congestion.

matt leaves the bed. i hear him moving around in the kitchen, the clinking of mugs and the sound of water spilling, followed by a small 'shit'.

he returns with a glass of water. he hands it to me carefully, his eyes full of concern.

"thank you," i say hoarsely, taking a sip. it feels like a balm to my sore throat, easing the rawness with each swallow.

matt sits back down beside me, pulling the covers up over both of us. he wraps his arms around me, holding me close as i drift in and out of a feverish sleep.

"i feel like death." i say with a cough, matt laughs slightly "you're gonna be okay, i promise."

"i don't want you to get sick matt-" i say, shooting up in bed.

matt grabs my arm and pulls me back down onto the matress, "you won't, i'm like 'fuckin superman or something, i don't get sick."

"oh your tough" i tease him, earning a small flick to my arm

"shush" matt scoffs, wrapping his arms around me, "you should just be grateful i haven't thrown up on you." i point out

"if you throw up on me i'm going home y/n" matt states, rubbing his eyes with a grin.

"then i'll try to keep my lunch down!" i say stupidly,

"thank you for your consideration" he laughs, i rest my head on his chest as i shut my eyes.

"go to sleep you idiot." matt sighs, i nod tiredly into his shirt.

matt presses a small kiss to the top of my head, and with another crunchy cough i feel myself slowly doze off to bed.

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

@luanetaluenta @sturnsssbow @mattfangirl @luvr4miya @luvtay111 @lolasturniolo @freshloveforthefit @ruedowney @lovingchrissposts @333michelle @h3arts4harry @sonicmacks @jamiesturniolo @chrisstopherfilmed @itzdarling @sturniolo-simp4life @daddyslilchickenfingers2 @ev3rgreenxtrees @lovergirl4387 @certifiednatelover @solarsturniolo @mattsenthusiast @yomamaslays4lyfe @peachmels @alinaa131 @pepsiluvr0209 @creamoncreamoncream2 @szobofc @mattscoquette @blahbell668 @sturniolo04 @ecilphttlunar @bitchydragonparadise @thematthewlover r r @sturni0l0 @ratatioulle @sturnsfav @chrisgetsmewetterxo @mattsonly @justalittle47 @mattsturnioloisbae@sunsetsturniolos @sturniolo04 @similartokayyz @pkfferoo @sturnsintrouble @ilovemattsturn @raysmayhem-72 @75sturn @sturniol0s @secret-sturniolo @hfkeclnendmwodne @sturniolosass @gxldenlush @stonermattsgf @101sara @beccaluvschris @oliviasturniolo21 @imwetforyourmom m @tylerstacobell @sunsetsturniolos @aliceloveschris @jayz4dayz4 @sassysturniolo2008 @nyktoxs-lover @nathandoesgf @starsturns234 @cristiana-heartzzchris @chrissturnsss s @joemamaaa42069 @sturnthepot @zayyluvz @realuvrrr @livialifesblog @sturnioloblogs s @riowritesitall

[taegimood]

(edit: this was literally just supposed to be a quick casual thought idk how it got SO LONG help me wtf 😭)

thinking abt you and bestfriend!roommate!gyu making a bet on who would last the longest for no nut november, which was supposed to just be a silly stupid thing, except the two of you are competitive as hell with each other and can’t help but attempt sabotage whenever possible.

it starts with beomgyu doing little things to try and rile you up, getting to the point of blatantly and obviously trying to turn you on, which of course for you means war.

it’s just several weeks of building tension and sexual frustration, becoming increasingly harder to even be around each other, and the line begins to blur when neither of you can really tell if you’re doing these things “to win the bet” anymore.

when beomgyu has his big hand placed a little too dangerously over your upper thigh while sitting next to you, or when he’s snaking an arm around your waist to lean in and say something “because it’s too loud in here” as his bulge presses against your tummy.. or when he purposefully walks past you after a shower wearing nothing but a low-hanging towel with water dripping down his body — well, it’s just for the bet, right? then why is he itching to do so much more?

and when you sit square on his lap to “show him a video” and make sure that you’re shifting right over his hardening cock, or when you’re leaning forward on the kitchen counter while he’s stuttering over whatever story he was telling as he sees your breasts pushed together down your shirt; when your face hovers so close to his that if you were to speak, your lips would touch, only for you to pull away as if nothing happened — well, it’s just for the bet, of course… isn’t it? then why can’t you stand not touching him right now?

with the horny tension and confused feelings comes snappy attitudes, and by the third week you’re challenging each other in a different way, petty arguments that lead to glaring at each other with looks that say well? are you gonna make a move or not? and thus your dumb, playful bet has evolved into something else entirely.

it all comes to a peak when jealousy gets involved; yeonjun invites you guys to a party that you leave for separately, hoping to blow off some steam, and yet the pettiness clearly doesn’t stop there as things are taken to a new level when — like a couple of teenagers — you attempt to make each other jealous (although you’d both refuse to admit it). you grinding on one of yeonjun’s friends and beomgyu kissing down the neck of some girl does nothing but escalate everything that had been building up over the last three weeks, and when beomgyu arrives back at your shared apartment shortly after you had left early in an aggravated rush — (he had followed after you, of course, after seeing how upset you were..) — the argument that you expected to have ends up morphing into something completely different.

there’s blame that gets thrown around, there’s excuses under the pretense of the bet, there’s an attempt from both sides to push down the feelings that were inevitably bubbling over the surface…

and then he kisses you.

you’re frozen in place for a moment. time stops before crashing back into motion all at once, and then your arms are gripping his shoulders and pulling him in, your tongues colliding as he backs you into the kitchen counter, groaning desperately into your mouth as he tugs your body impossibly closer against his. you don’t remember how you got to his bedroom, or when either of your clothes met the floor, but when he enters you it’s like every single feeling and hormone in your body boils over at once into a cascading flood.

he’s fucking into you so deep, so fast, his pace unrelenting as you moan shamelessly and filthily into his pillows. the bed is shaking and his headboard is knocking against the wall but he doesn’t stop as his hips slap firmly against your ass over and over — the lewdest words spilling endlessly from his lips in the process.

you’re fucking mine, you understand? only i can fuck you like this. only i can fuck you as good as you deserve.

you have no fucking idea how long i’ve wanted this.. been such a little tease everywhere we go.. making me want you more and more every day, FUCK, i’ve wanted you so bad. wanted this pretty pussy wrapped all around my cock, every second of the fucking day.. as if you have no idea what you do to me.

you just love to tease me, huh? love to get me hard and then leave me there as if i wouldn’t do anything about it? you’ve been such a brat, should i even let you cum?

….fuck, baby, squeeze me like that and i won’t even last. fuck it, fuck, gonna make you cum so hard that all you can remember is my name. gonna make you squirt all over my fucking cock.

you like that? huh? like it when i throw you around? wanna be a good baby and squirt for me?

beomgyu has always been a talker, his engine never seeming to run out of fuel; but the way he rambles total filth right now as he fucks you mercilessly has you hoping that he never ever learns to shut up. you’ve already came twice by the third position he’s flipped you into, and you’re so completely fucked out by his cock and his hands and his words that you don’t even process the moment when the final band of pressure snaps and you’re squirting all over his cock and abs, soaking his sheets, relishing in the guttural moan and the fuck yes, that’s it, fuck, baby, fuck- that he lets out as he fucks you harder into his own climax and fills you deep with his hot spurts of cum. you don’t even have the mind space right now to hope that your neighbors aren’t home as you keen wantonly at the sensation of the most powerful orgasm that you’ve ever had; and from your best friend, of all people.

your chest is heaving and your legs are complete jelly as beomgyu carefully lowers them from his shoulders, straightening you out and slowly sliding out of you with a wince. you can barely feel your body. you’re on some sort of cloud 9 as he stares down at you, incredulous, panting heavily, hands resting on your thighs as he remains sitting between them, speechless. rivulets of your release are dripping down his abdomen and you don’t even have it in you to feel embarrassed as you meet his eyes.

“holy fuck.”

his voice is raspy, breathless. “i didn’t know you could do that.”

“i didn’t know i could do that.” you echo, in even more disbelief than he is.

it’s silent for a few moments as you catch your breaths before beomgyu speaks again. “that was… literally the best sex i’ve ever had.”

he pauses, as if searching for the words, unsure of what your reaction may be. “and i think… no, i.. i know.. that it’s because it was with you.” his nose scrunches up into a cringe at his own sentiment, hesitant gaze lowering to avoid yours, and you know there’s more he wants to say even though he’s not saying it.

“gyu, if i had the strength right now, i’d already be kissing the fuck out of you,” you mumble, and his face lights up as he meets your eyes again. a cocky grin graces his face in seconds and you have half a mind to roll your eyes as the uncertainty is gone and your familiar gyu is back when he asks, “oh yeah? should i come down there then?”

a lengthy conversation ensues as he cuddles you against his body, hands running up and down your skin as you discuss everything, establishing proper feelings and apologies — and when that’s done and you’re both cleaned up and moved from his room to yours (“i’ll wash my sheets in the morning” “ew, gyu”) he’s peppering your neck in kisses and pulling you in again as your sore muscles are eased by his steady hands.

(“you’re seriously so hot.. i know i told you to, but i can’t believe you actually squirted. like.. that was so fucking hot.” this boy cannot get it out of his head.)

exhaustion eventually catches up with the both of you, and after mindless pillow talk and finally putting out the lights, you’re almost asleep when you hear a sigh from beside you.

“i guess we both lost no nut november, then, huh? :/“

[dontexpectmuch]

hiii

can you do a oneshot of jude being clingy all day to the female reader?

thank uu

your limbs felt heavy, almost like you were tied down to your bed, your chest the only thing that’s moving as it moves up and down, deep breaths leaving your nose as you slowly but surely come back to your senses.

you try to open your eyes, the brightness of your room making it harder than it needed to be. taking a nap during the day was definitely one of your favorite activities, especially after a long university day. and though your room is already filled with warmth radiating from the heater, you feel almost uncomfortably hot.

that is when you realize another source of warmth behind you, chest moving against your back as he deeply breathes in and out. not only is your body being covered with his body heat, no, jude also has his arms wrapped around your head, kind of like a deadlock, your cheeks being squished between his biceps.

you want to enjoy it, really, but with the heating on, the blanket over your bodies and judes naturally warm body, you feel stuffy.

his grip around your head isn’t tight, you could easily slip away, which you try, though you feel his arms tightening around you, now his leg thrown over yours under the blanket.

you tap his arm, voice low as your throat feels dry, “jude.”

you hear him mumble something under his breath, meaning he was awake, though he wouldn’t let you go. instead, he nuzzles his cheek against the top of your head, his body pressing against your back even more.

you try again, “jude, please, it’s warm.”

“five minutes.” his deep voice sends shivers down your back, and if it wasn’t for the heat surrounding you and your bladder reminding you that it needs to be emptied, you’d happily comply.

so, you do what any person in your position would do, you bite his arm, hard.

“dude.” jude whines, removing his arms from your head and turning to lay on his back, nose scrunching and eyebrows furrowed.

you laugh at his your expression, pressing one last kiss on his bare chest before getting up, heading to the bathroom.

the sound of the pasta boiling in the pot next to you feels the kitchen, drowning your voice as you hum long a song that was stuck in your head all day long. though you decided to take a break, you can`t help but think about all the studying that needed to be done. your shoulders feel tense, your head is pounding from the mere thought of sitting in front of all those books and understanding all those theories from your professor.

only when jude rests his head on your shoulder, his strong arms around your waist and his body pressed against your back, you relax, sighing as you lean against his body, lazily stirring the sauce in the pan.

“lets cuddle.” his breath feels hot against your neck, goosebumps feathering your skin.

you turn your head to look at your boyfriends face, smile gracing your lips, “lemme finish this, babe, we can cuddle afterwards.”

jude groans, lightly bumping his head against yours, “wanna cuddle now, miss you.”

if it wasn’t for the water in the pot that was threatening to spill over, you would have given in. but you quickly step out of his hold, moving forward to stir the pasta in the pot.

“i will come as soon as i am finished, babe, `kay?”

“but i want you now, it`s so boring without you, babe.” jude moved his hand up to your neck, thumb drawing circles against your skin.

yo take his hand to press a kiss against bis knuckles, a subtle way to apologize, “food needs to finished first.”

“`m not that hungry anyway!”

“jude.”

“fine.”

“where are you goin`?” jude immediately sits up as he watches you get up from the couch, stretching your arms above your head. his eyes are wide, all the sleepiness he felt a minute ago vanished.

“gotta pee.” you chuckle at his behaviour, “and, uh, you?” your ezes follow him as he, too, gets up, blanket abandoned on the couch.

“let`s go.” is all he says, holding your cold hand in his warm one, guiding the two of you to the bathroom. you are at a loss for words as you watch him take a seat on the side of the bathtub, opening the lid of the toilet seat, signaling you to, well, do your business. with him. watching you (?)

you don`t know why, but you decide to wait a minute, hoping that he will get up and leave you alone to do your business, though it never happens.

“babe?” jude looks at you confused, “everything okay?”

you sigh, “well, uhm, i was waiting for you to get out, y`know?”

jude giggles, shaking his head, “c`mon, `t`s not like i`ve never seen you naked.”

you scoff, taking his hand to make him stand up before you push him out of the bathroom, “still, i wanna do this, eh, in private. go back to the couch, won`t take long.” you shut the door behind you, judes big eyes looking at you pleadingly being your last sight of him.

as soon as you`re done, you open the door, eyes landing on jude who seems to have stayed on the same spot, waiting for you.

you laugh, “babe, for real?”

he shrugs, his hand finding yours once more as you walk back to your living room, taking place under the blanket again, his arms now around your waist and your head on his warm chest.

“i missed you.” he sighs, his cheek resting against your head.

you decide to not comment on his weird behavior today, enjoying his presence, “i missed you, too.”

exams are a pain in the ass, hope u still like this one though it is a bit short.

good night. 🥹

[yurinaa-world]

"𝒩𝑜 𝓌𝒶𝓎 𝐼 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝑒𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉"

💫𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈: Jiaoqiu x Gender-Neutral reader

💫𝒮𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: You've got Jiaoqiu so mad at you, because of a mistake, you're injured pretty badly. yet Jiaoqiu doesn't seem happy about this predicament and it's obvious by the red liquid he's thrown in a bowl for you to eat.

💫𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Fluff, & Spelling mistakes

💫𝒥𝒾𝒶𝑜𝓆𝒾𝓊 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐻𝑒𝒶𝓁𝑒𝓇 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒳𝒾𝒶𝓃𝓏𝒽𝑜𝓊 𝒴𝒶𝑜𝓆𝒾𝓃𝑔"

Injuries weren’t uncommon when it came to Jiaoqiu field, he’s seen many come to him or him coming to them, all with the hope he may be able to help them. 

Of course, he was able to help. (some but not all). Cooking was a critical variable for the healing, don’t get shocked just because his medicine is food instead of the traditional meds, syrups, and bodily creams people usually use.

Yet he seems to have a habit…to add a lot of spice. For you he might have just added a way more than necessary, is it because he’s mad at you because you got injured like a completely incompetent fool? Maybe.

“No way…I can’t do it!”

Just looking at the bowl presented to you made you sick from just the smell of it, you could feel your nostrils just burning that diabolical smell of spice to it, it was bright red, did it even have anything beneath the liquid? Meat? Vegetables? Who knows? The red liquid is too thick, making you think he mixed chilly powder with water.

Yet Jiaoqiu doesn’t even have a chance to glance at you, his eyes focusing on his cooking, the swift sounds of him chopping chillies echoing throughout the room, the knife hitting the wooden cutting board. The air around him darkened, even you can feel it from where you’re sitting.

“You’re going to have to eat if you want your injury to heal faster.” 

No sing-songy the tone he usually has when talking to you, but right now it came out dry and died. He even throws more chillies into the bat of ‘acid’ that was already boiling on the stove. None of this was helping.

You just give up since he wasn’t going to give you a new dish or let you leave. taking a large spoon of the thick liquid. ‘No way, no way!’ You can’t do it, you can’t! Sticking out your tongue just to take one drop. 

It was nasty! Your tongue just burns, completely dropping the spoon back into the bowl, and jumping to get some water down your throat. Even after two cups that burn is still on your tongue, it might be burning your taste buds.

“You're an evil and sick man, Jiaoqiu!” 

He just sighs at you, leaving the pot he was stirring. Seriously, he just caused you some emotional and physical damage, now HE'S the one sighing. Pulling out the sit in front of you, pouring in a packet of something unknown before mixing it in; taking the spoon and putting it right in your view, asking, no, forcing you to eat with that malice look on his face.

He can’t be serious! Looking at it with suspicion, as if it wasn’t spicy before.

“No way I’m eating that—“ shoving your mouth into your mouth the second he gets an opening.

It wasn’t…spicy anymore? He had a way to fix it but chose not to! “You gave it extra spicy on purpose!”

“It was your punishment for being so reckless.”

if you liked this, consider tipping me on ko-fi! it'd mean a lot!

[justporo]

A Night of Staying In

After all the doom and gloom in other writing I really needed some cutesy fluff to feel myself again - and also to give Astarion and Tav a break.

Summary: So have Tav and Astarion just enjoying a cozy night in - also Astarion gets a carrot hurled at his face.

Pairing: Astarion/GN!Tav Warnings: Mention of sex, a carrot gets thrown and then murdered Wordcount: 2,2k

Delicious smells of slowly cooking meats and vegetables, spices and a forgotten mint tea were wafting through the kitchen of your cozy little townhouse.

You were bustling around the well-equipped kitchen. The apron you were wearing was full of stains and its pockets full of cooking utensils – even a half-full spoon absent-mindedly tugged away in one of them. It was slowly leaking through the linen with something on it that looked like blood – but was simply a tomatoey sauce. Your hair was messily put up in a bun, but several strands of hair had fallen out of it and you looked only so far from a mental breakdown.

At the kitchen table Astarion was sitting with a lantern, bowing over an embroidery project. He had the very bright lantern you’d gifted him specifically for this purpose directly next to him, but he was still squinting at his work and holding it so close his nose was almost touching the fabric. He looked a lot less demented than you but still very absent-minded.

Fabrics and threads were strewn all about the wooden table. Different needles were glinting everywhere on it too. One could only hope that those would be remembered at some point – preferably before someone stuck them in their fingers.

Next to him were also laying some loose papers, a feather and an ink pot with lots of writing that was then crossed out again and also some small little doodles on the corners – one for whatever reason happened to be a goose with a knife in its beak.

You had several pots on the iron stove and something about to go in the oven as well. Critically you were moving around between all of these things, clattering with copper pot lids, jars of ingredients and spoons to try the food (always in the same pattern: grabbing a new spoon, trying something, putting the spoon in the dish bowl full of dirty water – then having to grab a new spoon). You had some potatoes boiling and in another pot you had been cooking a mixture of vegetables and beef for quite some time. You wanted to recreate a recipe of cottage pie that you had once tried many years ago in a tavern and had kept reappearing in your dreams. And now you finally had the kitchen and the tools to try and cook it yourself!

But it seemed impossible to get it right, this already being your fourth attempt this week. The vampire had already been moaning that you had basically force-fed him the meal because you had no way of eating that much pie on your own. It was not, that the finished pies hadn’t tasted well, but they just weren’t like you remembered. But you started to think that it might be your memory that was tricking you and not your cooking skills.

You went to try the pie filling again after adding some more spices and dash more red wine (directly from your goblet because you didn’t seem to remember where you put the bottle).

As soon as the spoonful hit your tongue you knew you had done it – finally.

You shrieked and immediately heard another shriek behind you in reply. You turned around to Astarion with glee and saw how the vampire was staring at you angrily and shaking his hand. It didn’t take a genius to figure out your sudden excitement had caused him to stab himself with his needle.

“Darling, can you maybe not scream like a dying goblin, I was concentrating!”, he hissed at you. Your joy evaporated at his flare of anger – so you turned around again, grabbed a left over half of carrot and threw it at Astarion – and maybe a bit more forceful than would have been necessary.

But he was still a rogue and dodged the vegetable easily. It flew against one of the cabinets and then to the ground. There it stayed until Scratch came into the kitchen, drawn there by the sudden noises. The dog sniffed at the piece of vegetable, then grabbed it and went off again.

“Oh really, are we at the ‘I throw stuff at my lover’ point of our relationship now, love?”, Astarion replied to your responsive outburst of anger with a raised eyebrow. “Am I going to have to sleep on the sofa next?”, he continued sassily.

Your hand itched to grab more produce – there were some potatoes still laying around and they made for excellent improvised throwing weapons. But you saw the smirk that played around the vampire’s lips. So you settled for a verbal rebuttal.

“Don’t be such a prick and you can keep sleeping inside”, you said and flipped him off. Then you turned around again to your cooking and grabbed – yet another – spoon and scooped up some of the filling. The vampire mumbled something under his breath about he wouldn’t have to be a prick if you didn’t make him prick himself.

“Oh, that would be so gracious of you, my dear lady, if I was still allowed in your shining presence”, Astarion then said loudly as you were busy with the pots. The tone still very sassy but you heard the playfulness in it now and knew he was now only teasing.

You went over to him, with one hand under the spoon full of hot goodness that immediately started dripping and burning your hand. You winced but kept going.

“Here, try this – I think I got it now”, you said as you stood in front of Astarion who had put down his needlework for the time being. He threw you a pained look: “Love, if you keep feeding me this I think I might actually start to get a pot belly.”

You snorted at him and eyed what you could see of his upper body. “Pretty sure, you will never have to worry about this kind of thing. Now. Try. It”, you answered and insistingly came closer with the spoon.

Astarion sighed, gave you another suffering look and then let himself be fed. His doubtful expression quickly changed to what you interpreted as pleasantly surprised.

“Alright, I take everything back, that was well worth the scream of enlightenment, my sweet. That tastes wonderful”, the vampire said and grinned at you.

“See, wasn’t so hard, was it”, you said and gave him a quick peck on the lips as you could see his face changing to annoyance once more at your petty remark.

You threw the spoon in the dish bowl and rubbed your hands on your apron and started to get everything ready for the final step of the recipe. Meanwhile you said to Astarion: “So, darling, could you write down the following: one and a half cups of red wine and three instead of two sprigs of thyme and just loads of black pepper.”

“Of course, my darling chef”, Astarion replied cheerfully and grabbed the feather and papers laying next to him to write it down. “Any other changes?”

“No, this will be it”, you responded and happily clapped your hands before you put your filling in a cast iron pan, mashed and seasoned the potatoes and then put them down as the topping of your pie. The final touch was some hearty cheese sprinkled on top. Then you put it all in the oven.

In the meantime, you heard the feather scratching over the paper.

“What are you doing, Astarion?”, you asked as you took off the oven mitts from pushing the pan in to cook.

“Just putting the recipe in clean writing for you, my heart”, the vampire replied as he kept looking through older versions and notes on the papers. Brows furrowed as he was concentrating on it.

“That’s sweet, love, thank you”, you said to him but he didn’t reply and probably hadn’t even noticed. Of course – if you said something actually nice you fell on deaf ears.

So you decided to thank him with another gesture. You grabbed another goblet to pour your vampire a cup of wine but as you looked around to find the opened bottle you saw that it had been next to Astarion with an already filled cup all along.

You gave up and sat down across the table with your own cup of wine as Astarion finished up writing. You put one leg up on the bench and hugged it to your chest, head on top of the knee and watched the pale elf.

“Here you go, my sweet”, the vampire exclaimed cheerfully after a few more moments and handed you the finished recipe that was now written cleanly in his neat and beautiful handwriting. ‘Tav’s specialty cottage pie’ stood atop the page and next to it was a little doodle of some steaming hot pie.

You smiled broadly at Astarion: “Thank you, darling.” Then you shortly leaned on the table, almost climbing over it to give him a kiss while carefully trying to avoid the needles.

“Do you sometimes wonder how we ended up like this?”, you softly asked him after you had read through the finished recipe.

“Like what?”

“Well, like this – all domestic. I’m cooking, you’re embroidering, we’re bickering like an old married couple, drinking wine and just enjoying a cozy night in instead of wreaking havoc somewhere out there”, you said and waved vaguely in the direction of the city beyond the walls of your home. Then you took another sip of wine.

“Let’s be honest with ourselves, we’ve been bickering like that from the moment we met”, Astarion answered and looked at you sternly. You shrugged in agreement.

“As for the rest – well, are you enjoying the way we spend our nights like this sometimes? Because if you’re bored-“

“No no, I’m enjoying this an awful lot. It’s just – this is somehow the most unlike turn of events don’t you think? Like, I sometimes can’t believe we actually ended up in the version where we’ll live happily ever after”, you said and cradled your face in your hand not currently holding a cup of wine.

At your words a warm and adoring smile crept onto Astarion’s face.

“Are you though?”, you asked then.

“Hm?”

“Are you enjoying these kinds of nights?”, you asked Astarion again and lifted your head up to look straight at him.

The vampire looked at you, smile still playing around his lips: “Well, my love, after two hundred years full of godsdamned shit I am enjoying this sort of mundanity quite a lot. And I enjoy it even more because I get to spend it with you. I might even enjoy doing the dishes with you later on – unless you don’t splash me like last time.”

You smiled at him too now, broadly – feeling incredibly lucky that you had indeed taken all the right turns that had led you here, to this: sitting at this kitchen table with the love of your life, talking about doing the dishes.

“But if we ever get bored, my sweet, I have quite a lot of ideas on how to spice things up”, Astarion continued afterwards. The smile morphed into a lewd smirk and his red eyes sparkled mischievously: “For example, I could dramatically throw everything on this table to the ground, rip all your clothes off and have my way with you on this table until you forget your own name.”

His voice had suddenly become deep and smooth like dark molten chocolate. You bit your bottom lip as the mental image of his words set in and you just stared into his eyes point blank. Astarion still looked at you, not breaking eye contact, and his teasing smirk only growing.

“Nah”, you made after some more moments, “not tonight. My cottage pie would burn.” Your tone was matter-of-fact and you drank some more of your wine while still looking into the vampire’s eyes.

Then you both broke down laughing. So much so that you had to wipe tears from your eyes by the end and Astarion had his face buried in one of his hands while silent fits of laughter still shook through him.

“Alright”, he said and bit his lip, one of his fangs showing adorably as if he was a cat, “I’ll write it down for another date night then.” You broke out laughing again.

Until you could actually smell your food burning. With an “oh shit” you jumped up and pulled the pan out of the oven – you had saved it just in time.

You got out some plates and forks, and put some generous servings onto them. As you turned around your gaze fell onto the table full of Astarion’s embroidery supplies. Astarion saw your look, then waved it off, dismissing it.

He grabbed one of the filled plates from you and grabbed your then free hand to lead you to the living room. Scratch was there laying on his designated blanket, chewing on his favourite ball. Some telltale orange spots telling the tale of the fallen carrot.

You settled down on your sofa with your food – you swinging your legs over Astarion’s and getting cozy.

And this is where you stayed: eating until you felt like your belly might burst, joking until you were crying again, talking until you got so tired you almost drifted off into dreaming right then and there. And when you had went to bed: holding each other until you woke up in the other’s arms again.

[vampyrris]

just you and levi being pervy at the beach, tsk tsk

cw: being touchy-touchy in public lol

nestled on the beach towel, you watched your friends in the distance. they splashed around in the water, huge smiles plastered on their faces. hange was trying to dunk erwin under the current, going down with him in the process as a huge wave hit. you giggled at that.

you weren’t a big fan of the sea. the mostly unexplored ocean scared you shitless, so you opted to stay back on the shore instead. clearly bothered by your decision, levi had thrown some colourful terms at you before leaving with the rest of them.

and so now you remained eyes closed and basking under the sun in your little refuge.

but not long after, you sensed a presence near you. cracking one eye open, you found levi looking down at you, eyes furrowed and mouth set in a deep pout. you also couldn't help but let your eyes run over him—his white shirt unbuttoned, exposing his wet skin, and his damp shorts clinging deliciously against his buldge. your eyes lingered on his abs for a while, droplets of water cascading down the slopes, before quickly returning to meet his gaze.

“hey you,” you gave him a lazy smile, shifting on your side and propping yourself up on your elbow.

his eyes gave away nothing as they swept over your figure. you tilted your head, letting him see his fill. you’d picked your favourite bikini set today, knowing even if you didn't exactly go for a swim, you could at least look sexy sitting here.

you definitely did not pick this one secretly hoping levi would appreciate it. definitely not.

he cleared his throat, sitting down beside you.

“why are you still here?” he shook his hair, spraying water all around him. you yelped, sending him a glare.

“just chilling, looking pretty. you done having your bit of fun for the day? social battery run out yet?” you asked as you sat up.

he shrugged, looking at the others in the distance. “just was wondering what you were still doing here alone.”

you reached out and pinched his cheek. “aww, were you worried about me? that’s new.” you threw him a smirk that you knew would get his blood boiling.

he only rolled his eyes, shoving you off. “you’re fucking annoying, you know that?”

“you didn’t think i was fucking annoying when you were checking me out just now.” you pouted.

he scoffed, even as pink tinted his cheeks. “i was only about to say you should put a shirt on and stop giving everyone a weird porno fantasy at the beach for free.”

you looked around, noticing there was almost little to no one around. “well, since it’s just us here, i’m giving you a free porno fantasy.”

he scoffed again, looking away.

you sent him a teasing smile, assuring him you were only joking. well, half-joking.

it had been a long while since this tension bloomed between you and levi, and he had done shit-all about it, not even letting you know where you both stood. so naturally, you took matters in your own hands.

you’d begun teasing him unabashedly, whether it be brushing up against him, playing with his hair, touching up his thigh, or even wearing a pretty bikini for him.

but all your efforts had gone down the drain, since he never seemed to be taking the hint.

you chewed on your lip as you thought about your next move.

“you know what, i wanna get in the water.” you mumbled to yourself as you grabbed your bottle of sunscreen. levi looked at you in surprise, but you paid him no heed. squirting a generous amount on your palm, you worked it between your hands started rubbing it onto your arms and chest.

you made sure you were slightly facing him as you sat on your knees, spreading the cream on your skin slowly. your hands glided between your breasts and over your stomach, going lower and lower.

levi was watching you very carefully.

keenly aware of his gaze following your every move, you adjusted the string securing the fabric between your thighs, pulling it up so the cloth strained against the plumpness of your pussy.

levi’s arm shot out and grabbed you, stopping your motions.

“i know what you’re doing.” he muttered, giving you a hard look. his eyes were glazed, and you felt a surge of satisfaction knowing you were the reason.

you bit your lip, peering up at him through your lashes. “so, it’s working?”

he snatched the bottle from your hand, surprising you.

“wha—?”

“lie back down on your stomach.” he ordered.

he levelled you with a look, waiting. you bit your lip again and smirked before doing as he asked.

as you got comfortable on the towel, you could still feel levi’s piercing gaze on your back. wiggling your ass a little as you settled, you turned your head towards him only to find his eyes fixated on your behind with an intensity that made heat loom low in your belly.

a little flushed, you moved your hair to one side and nestled your head on your folded arms.

you watched him squirt the cream in his hands before lathering it between them.

a sigh escaped your lips when his palms came into contact with your skin, the lather’s coolness soothing against the heat of his palms. he slowly dragged his fingers down your spine, undoing the strings of your bikini top.

“levi, our friends are right there!” you hissed, lifting your head anxiously even as excitement thrummed in your veins.

he began massaging your back despite your protest. “i’m just helping you out, nothing to see here.”

your heart thundered in your chest as you watched your friends still in the water, paying zero attention to your little performance a few feet away.

levi’s touch was gentle but firm as he stroked across your shoulder blades, his fingers gliding smoothly across your soft skin.

“relax,” he whispered, his voice dropping an octave. the sound shot straight between your legs, making you clench them in anticipation.

he moved lower down your back, his touch skilled as his fingers moved deftly in even strokes. an involuntary moan escaped your lips as he worked a particularly tight spot. you slapped a hand on your mouth, cheeks flaming in embarrassment, but his hands never stopped even as he chuckled and wrung out another strained moan from you.

“levi..” you weakly protested, not really wanting him to stop.

but then, levi leaned down and whispered, “does this need some attention, too?” he gently squeezed your ass. you gasped, meeting his stare.

noticing how heated his gaze was, you took his hand, feeling bold. you lowered it between your legs over your clothed, throbbing cunt.

“this requires more attention, i think.”

he shut his eyes and groaned, feeling your wetness seep through the cloth as he pressed a finger there.

“you nasty fucking minx.” his gravelly voice made you clench again, but this time around his fingers. he rubbed tight circles on your wetness, eliciting a shameless whimper from you.

you raised your head a little, brushing your lips against his. “i wanna hear you calling me that when you’re fucking m—”

something hit your head, and you jumped back, slapping levi’s hand away. you heard levi curse under his breath.

“not here, please! spare us!” hange yelled. erwin beside her had his hand over his eyes, visibly cringing.

levi snorted and slapped your butt playfully before removing himself from you. he sent you a promising smirk. “later, then.”

you sent one right back. “i’ll be waiting.”

[shantechni]

Aight, so this is something I intended to make a post about eons ago before making a bunch of posts related to it, but some things happened. Anyways-

The night Leo meets Karai, or rather is ambushed by her, he's thrown for a loop by her unprecedented decision to leave before she could easily finish him off. He's almost instantly putting an unreasonable amount of trust in her after that single interaction, and you can't entirely blame the guy since she was making no attempt to kill him while exuding her mischievous nature and taunting him like they've been buddies for years. Her behavior loosened him up in a way he normally couldn't be because of his duties as a leader. Of course, the situation greatly escalates from there as one thing leads to another, and the turtles are faced with the moral dilemma of accepting Karai for their familial connection with her or shunning her like any other enemy they know as she takes almost any chance she could get to hold a tantō to their necks.

Although none were more expressive with their distrust of her than Raph, there is something interesting to take note of.

Raph is the first to find out about Karai's existence and the evidently one-sided "friendship" Leo has with her, but rather than immediately go on the offensive with Karai (extremely surprising considering she had Leo pinned to the roof right when he arrived) or accuse Leo of any wrongdoing, he simply demands an explanation from his brother. Raph observed the situation with a level head and didn't judge Leo for anything other than seeming too blasé about Karai being a Foot clan member, or for saying she wasn't intent on killing him when she threw a weapon at his head. Other than that, he kept the matter between him and Leo since it didn't seem to be a pressing issue at the moment. His trouble with Karai only really began in the next episode when he witnesses Leo needlessly showing off in front of her and even going out of his way to hide her from Splinter, Donnie, and Mikey.

Nothing's stopping Raph from telling everyone, and he certainly doesn't trust Karai enough to leave things as they are, but he puts his faith in Leo and nudges him to come clean about his new found friend twice to their brothers at least. Soon after being told that Karai was 'taken care of' (something he called total BS on), he reaches his boiling point once he discovers her following them, and his frustrations are worsened by Leo going out of his way to defend Karai when she's spelling trouble for them. As to be expected, Leo is forced to confess after she lands them in hot water and leaves them for dead while running off with a Kraang bot, but once Splinter gives him a much needed lecture, Raph forgives him and seemingly stays out of his face about the ordeal. At least until Karai approaches them with a proposition to combine their forces and fight the Kraang, something he surely would've put up more of a fight to shoot down had the others, namely Leo, not agreed to her offer after she helped them fight the Kraang stealth ship.

All of those instances, when combed through for the little things, are some of the first details the writers gave us to show a major distinction between Leo and Raph.

Raph's temper is so front and center throughout the series that the amount of patience he exercises in response to Leo's asinine decisions and trains of thought (especially early on) has a tendency of being overshadowed. He constantly, and openly, shunned the idea of Karai ever siding with them since he couldn't find it in himself to readily trust her like everyone else could, and even after learning who her real father is, he continued to question the possibility of Karai ever turning out to be good when considering her upbringing. But he still went along with Leo's wishes to help and go so far to befriend her because he knew his brother was simply trying to help someone out of the kindess of his heart at the end of the day, and Leo's only further spurred by her being their sister.

This isn't exclusive to their development with Karai, because we see later on that Raph exercised a far greater amount of that patience when Slash made his theatrical return to the team midway through S3.

One could make the argument that the writers should've had the midseason two parter focus the slightest bit more on Raph's POV since Slash used to be his pet and Leo was the only one unwilling to believe he'd changed since their last encounter, but I'd say with certainty that the minuscule amount of input we received from him is just the right amount of focus we needed. Raph doesn't blow up at Leo for his treatment of Slash because he knows his suspicions aren't baseless, and he doesn't go out of his way to prove Slash's innocence to Leo (Mikey kind of does that for him lol); he only decided to step in when the two couldn't decide on what plan to proceed with. He plainly moves aside and allows Slash to prove Leo wrong through his own efforts, all while undoubtedly believing since their last encounter that Slash isn't bad anymore and that Leo would eventually come around to make that same conclusion.

The complete opposite of Leo's stubborn behavior when it came to Karai.

Look at Leo's face, he's so silly, a goofy goober if you will

Even though she went on to turn her back on Shredder, and essentially prove that Leo was right, Raph wasn't wrong to take so much time to see Karai as a trustworthy ally. He recognized that it wasn't enough for her to just be borderline friendly and fight on the same side as them; legitimate effort needed to be put forth for them to warm up to someone like her, and her track record didn't exactly suggest that she'd readily put in that effort. Leo's fixation with turning the tables on Shredder and making things right with Splinter practically blinded him from that simple little truth though. Of course, he learned the error of his ways and clearly followed in Raph's footsteps when confronting Slash and anyone else they'd cross paths with that posed a potential threat, sometimes tending to go too deep into that mindset when he was upset with Fugitoid and Usagi.

They both learned a little bit of something from each other along the way, but the difference in how Leo and Raph grow to perceive the matter of trusting someone is so fascinating to me.

[tesalicious2]

Why you don't prank the Guard commanders

Since they are almost constantly tired and at the end of their rope, anything could set them over the edge and no one wants that

not only that but they will usually react very strongly because of their extenuating circumstances and it is often blown out of proportions

HOWEVER, the other battalions don't know that and just want to help their brothers have fun! what's wrong with that

THIRE:

Thire got off a three day mission with General Yoda that ends up with Thire covered in some giant monsters stomach fluids and snot

He had to sit in it for a ten hour ride back and is humilated, with Yoda attempting to comfort him which only makes it worse

On his way back to the HQ, some troopers from the 104th decided to hit a guard with fake slime, a funny little prank

When Thire is at the end of his rope, he goes for violence

Thire waltzes into the mess, calls out whoever pranked him, and proceeded to dress them down, chew them up, and spit them out in front of everyone in the entire mess (made up of a few battalions and some Padawan Commanders)

It boiled down to 'you morons, i will kill you, you tiny roaches are nothing to me and i will throw you in the trash compactor like the disgusting garbage you are' with much more colorful and degrading language thrown in

Many now fear Thire and Wolffe outright refuses to work with the man out of fear

STONE:

Stone had just stopped three prison riots, captured two escapees from said riots, updated the entire security system, and hadn't slept because of the previous items for four days

Some men from Kit Fisto's SCUBA battalion thought it would be funny to hide some of Stone's stuff that was in his office (ie, datapads, pens, etc) and moved his stuff three inches to any side

Stone, who usually just jumped onto the coach in his office with the lights off, missed the middle and went to far up and smacked his nose on the wooden arm of the couch and cracked a tooth

This was not a fun way to cap the last four days

He found the troopers and filled their SCUBA tubes with spiders for them to find when they shipped out. Too bad the spiders crawled onto their faces on the ship and not in the water :(

THORN:

Thorn had been assissting senators for three full days with only 5 hours of sleep while standing throughout meetings

He had been ready to sleep and was heading to his last meeting with General Kenobi and some of his troopers present

Wooley and Longshot decided to lighten the mood by setting their voice coders to a different language and telling him he was going crazy

They also removed the nonslip pads from the couch and it slid out from underneath him

This may not have been bad at all but after three days, every little thing is annoying as shit and exhausting

After that meeting, Thorn decides to take revenge

Thorn is a believer in you get what you give so he does something harmless

relatively harmless

He sneaks onto the 212th barracks on the ship and places a speaker into the vents of the barracks, above Wooley and Longshots bunks (as close as he could get, the sound reverbs so everyone is pretty mad about this prank)

Every so often, in random intervals (no more than 4 hours, no less than 1 hours) a beep would sound, not too loud but loud enough to be annoying after 2 days

At night, it gets louder and more frequent and quieter during the day

Many troopers lose sleep over finding the thing (Thorn literally unscrewed wall panels to hide it), its been 3 weeks and they arrive at their new battle field in a week

Four days before their arrival, as the speaker is about to die, in the middle of the night, the speaker goes to full volume and shouts 'THIS IS COMMANDER THORN. I MAY BE THE CAUSE OF YOUR SLEEPLESSNESS BUT LONGSHOT AND WOOLEY STARTED THIS. I WILL DO IT AGAIN ASSHOLES. THE SPEAKER IS GOING TO DIE SO ENJOY YOUR *TEMPORARY* FREEDOM. HAHHAHAHAHAH-' and then the speaker dies (Thorn hacked the cameras and enjoys playing the screaming arguments and shouts at the speaker during rough days)

Longshot and Wooley never hear the end of it

FOX:

Fox had been going through hell the entire week and he was ready to kill someone, even though his shift wasn't over yet.

Jesse, Fives, and Hardcase had decided to help Fox lighten up by shooting him with silly string throughout the day, switching armor with blank armor to keep hidden

Fox was paranoid and had to be sedated. He eventually tracked down the three and had his revenge not through their own annoyance

At first, he replaced their weapons with modified silly guns that quickly ended, leading them to believe they were free (the whole revenge lasted an hour ish as the three enjoyed playing with the silly string)

Unknown to them, Rex's entire room had been filled with silly string, his blasters, the padding in his matress, the drawers in his dress, the hair wash was liquid silly string, the soap was frozen strong, his pillow, his chair was broken then 'welded' back together with silly string and fell apart when he sat on it, etc.

He kept finding it and it lasted for days, the moment he thought it was over, more string came up. He was paranoid, everything was silly string

When he finally complained to the command chat, Fox told him that Jesse, Hardcase, and Fives caused it and that he overheard them planning it

When Rex punished them, they said they never did anything with silly string but many others saw them spraying each other with the silly string FOX pranked them with so everyone assumed they were messing with the leftovers from Rex's prank. Not only that but they weren't quiet about pranking Fox so everyone thought he was the warm up for Rex.

No matter what they said, Rex didn't believe a word and they were stuck on latrine duty for a whole month

When Rex found out about Fox getting pranked as well, Rex let them get punished by him too

Fox made them clean out all the massiff kennels and play areas, cleaning any stains from the puppies and getting used for bite practice by the adults everyday for their next leave.

Fox came by and watched them everyday, laughing at their misery

HOUND:

Hound loves pranks and jokes and will happily engage and laugh at them

however, the timing has to be right and most don't get that part (only the other ARF troopers know)

Some troopers from the 41st took his bed sheets and pillows and blankets and towels after some of his troopers and Hound ended a four hour chase through the sewers (they didn't know about the chase).

Hound normally would've thought this was hilarious but after spending two hours covered in sewage looking for towels around HQ just to shower, he was pretty mad

After cleaning up and ready for bed, he snuck into the 41st barracks and woke them up with a growling, snarling grizzer leaning over their face and a hand over their mouth.

He whispered, 'don't scream, you touch my shit again, I will end you and everyone you love.'

Rinse and repeat then he sneaks away

[vampiretendencies]

ok but imagine instead of kie getting taken by singh’s men it’s JJ & Y/N who would do anything for each other.

like “don’t touch her!” and “let go of him!” and singh realizes their in love and ugh. been thinking about this

most definitely can imagine this and i’m gonna die on the spot so i made this little blurb to satisfy our imaginations. send me your thoughts and i’ll elaborate on them !

cw; fluff, mentions of death, guns, & s3

pairing; jj x fem!reader

The inseparable pair knew they were preeminently fucked.

No sign of parasitical nuance or help for miles, just the company of the other. Selfishly, though either of them are thanking God, that they’ve gotten captured with the other. For no one else of the Pogues would bring such infamous relief and solace— being completely infatuated tended to do that.

And at least if they die in this place, they die together.

Getting to experience a love so unheard of.

You shivered in the bed of the truck— boring your eyes with envy at the gaurd that stood tall upon arrival to Singh’s ‘operation’. If only you’d gone the same route as Kie, Pope, John B, Sarah, and Cleo, such an impact as the plane delving into water had you borderline shell shocked. But, JJ wasn’t having that either, immediately b-lining in your same opposite direction— wherever you stray, he follows.

Which explains this phenomenon before you.

The harsh metal in the truck bed is making your ass go completely numb, knees tucked into your chest in complete and utter panic. JJ’s stomach was whirling with fear, yet he vowed not show it, pulling you into his side— even in the first moments the two of you were shoved and practically thrown back there. His arm envelops you tightly, his slightly grown out mullet catching air lightly whilst he rests his chin on your shoulder. A mesh of two soaking bodies, kneading into one another.

“Gonna’ get us out of here baby.” Is all JJ whispers into the shell of your ear, before peppering sweet domestic kisses to your temple, the contact granting him some form of grace. Now you knew JJ’s plans were elaborate and full of unnecessary schemes but sometimes they worked and sometimes they didn’t. You were choosing to trust that whatever he could weasel his way into this time, would work.

The halt of the truck was sudden, sending you and JJ to a slight jolt forward. A bright white, poled in mansion-like image is in view; bulging eyed stares are shared between the two of you and JJ is secretly shitting himself as he’s walking into this blind. Guards similar to the one towering over you in the truck bed are surrounding the home, khaki colored uniforms a compliment to the guns accompanying them. Such variety as they all held one with a differentiating aim.

No words are spoken, not even a ‘get out’. Though you are being yanked up by your arm like a rag doll— wasn’t exactly something you were prepared for. Two guards stand opposite, winnowing down the trunk flat. In one swift movement, his large tight fist is clamping down onto your much smaller arm. The form of security that rode in the truck bed with you and JJ, mimicks— doing the same to JJ as the other is doing to you.

JJ is biting down so violently on his bottom lip, that the familiar taste of metallic blood is seeping into the inside of his mouth. Putting hands like that on his girl, is nearly asking ‘do you want me to splatter your brains across this pavement?’, and he’d gladly do it with a grin on his face. His vice grip is so tight on you, that his fingernails are leaving crescent moon indentions into your untouched skin, and JJ can feel his insides boiling with pure distaste.

All it takes is maybe two steps out of the truck, toward the unpromising place and JJ elbowing the man in his best, knocking his breath away. He’s squirming to get to you, and you haven’t peered back at him yet. “Let go of her fucking arm, you piece of shit.” JJ spat, nailing your gaurd at the back of his ankle with the spiked bottom of a his combat boot. Walking separate in pairs, not even making it the doomed front door.

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be, big shot.”

Your guard turns, taking you with him to face JJ. With roaring sun causing a slight glint in your eye. Falsified nickname, is fueling the ignition to the fire that’s burning tauntingly inside of him. The gaurd that’s sustaining JJ, has his arms stuffed dislocated like behind his back, and you wanted to stomp his face in unrecognizable.

Unbeknownst to the pair, Singh had been watching— taking note that the arrival time was much too late than as planned. Gazing through the stained glass filled doors, the alluring scene unfolding before him beneath his shaded driveway was entertaining. His muscular guards, unable to withstand two teenagers.

“Don’t ever touch him like that.”

You bit back, the way his arm was twisted it could’ve passed for being broken. Just as your boyfriend was protective of you, you were protective of him. That’s just how the dynamic always worked. Consequences don’t come to mind when you cherish your lovers life over your own— there could be a gaping hole that’s causing the world to cave in, if one was to fall the other is diving in, no second thoughts.

He’d balance with bare feet on boiling hot coals.

And you’d walk into a bank, full ski mask on, to rob it.

It doesn’t matter the length, their relationship is evidence of doing anything for someone.

So tight knit that everyone back home in Kildare was typically aware of the couples unwavering deepened love. Affectionate, intimate, and everything in between.

If they were to go on living it wouldn’t be without the other.

It wasn’t dumb luck, it was fate.

It’s taking Singh seeing this moment to fully understand that. He’s taken aback by the powerful besot, does it mean he will ease up on them, no. To Singh, those lives are of no importance to him, the gold came before anything.

“Your gonna’ earn your boyfriend here a shot to the head. That what you want?”

JJ can’t help but smirk mischievously at you for rooting for him. He was quite the sight, darkened eyes through damp tresses, muscles prominent past his sleeveless tee. Definitely not something you should be paying grace attention to right now. A gun is lifted to the center of JJ’s forehead, but you don’t fault. Figuring you’ve already trampled through all this mess, what’s the worst.

“Then you’ll have to shoot me too.”

“Glady-“

“You will do nothing of the sort. They are in love y’know.”

The short man with slick hair comes into view, signaling the guards to release the two of you. Embracing eachother within milliseconds, you are colliding with JJ’s chest. A slow kiss is shared, one that is full of yearn and luminous luster. Hands roaming to assure themselves that they were there in one piece and alive. This earns a clap from Singh, more than right about the couple being instantaneously in love.

“So what? cause’ they’re in love they get a free pass?!”

The guards stood dumbfounded, faces scrunched in disgust at Singh thinking all of this under-minded work to get them their was for nothing. All Singh could do was chuckle— they really didn’t know him, did they?

“Perhaps they will hold hands in death, if they don’t get me what I want.”

[lilystyles]

For a no strings blurb could you write one about Harry being sick and y/n taking care of him?

delicate.

a @lilystyles blurb!

my masterlist & no strings attached masterlist & blurbs masterlist

authors note thanku gorgeous anon for requesting! and as someone who has been so sick lately i was so inspired. MWAH!

brief description harry is sick and y/n takes care of him.

warnings! none so fluffyyyyy wordcount (1.4k)

sick!nostrings!h x reader

* * * * *

Harry was a total and utter baby when he got sick. More than the average person, and though it could be annoying at times Y/n found it just as endearing as the rest of his qualities. He was too cute, how could she not?

She'd known this about him for years, and when they became roommates in Uni and she'd taken care of him for two weeks when he had a shocking fever the both of them should've known then they were destined for each other. 

She was reminded of this fact when she got home, Y/n had moved into Harry's house fairly soon after the wedding. It just felt right, and now she'd added all her favourite decor from her flat and it felt a bit like the two of them now. Not just him. There were touches of her all over the house.

Flowers in vases everywhere, her knitted blankets lazily thrown over the couch and chairs, her coffee table, her books, her clothes, her smell, and most importantly her. Harry loved having her living with him again, and it reminded him how much he'd miss having her in his home. Sharing a home.

She called out kicking her shoes off and unbundling her scarf, as she walked inside the lounge room. Normally when she got home Harry was on the couch watching telly, napping, strumming his guitar or cooking. But she heard nothing coming from the kitchen, and he wasn't on the couch. 

"H!" She repeated, curiously. She walked upstairs making her way to the bedroom. Surely he wasn't napping in there.

When she opened the door she found her boyfriend rugged up under the sheets. The only giveaway was his brown curls stuck out and the large Harry-sized lump under the dusty blue almost grey-coloured duvet. She walked over and dropped her purse and keys on the floor. 

"Baby," He rasped out. "Is tha' you?" He asked. He sounded breathless and his voice was hoarse.

She kneeled on the floor so her eyes were level with his. "Hi, my love, are you okay?"

He shook his head, as he squeezed the blanket closer. His teeth chattered. "I'm cold, n' my throat hurts,"

His face was pale in colour, a glisten covering his face, and his eyes had deep purple bags. She leaned closer to him and placed her hand on his forehead. He was boiling. She frowned.

"Gonna check your temp quickly, H." She said walking into their main bathroom in the hallway. She grabbed her first aid box from under the sink and dug around. Eventually, she found the thermometer, and some strong Panadol for him. She walked into the room and when she asked him to open his mouth he groaned softly shifting in the bed. Once the temperature came back it read 39.1°, which meant he had a fever.

She sighed. "Oh, H, you aren't well. Do you want some Panadol?"

He nodded, she popped two pills out of the packet and handed them to him. Before rushing to feed him some water. He gulped them down and swallowed with a grimace. She stroked his arm. 

"I'm gonna make you Mum's soup recipe for you." Y/n's mother was a Chef, she made the best food especially when Y/n was sick. One time during Uni Exams Harry called Y/n's Mum and she came down and visited and made a big batch of her soup and rubbed some weird-smelling cream on Y/n's chest and by the next day she was better, it was like magic in a bowl. Y/n didn't know how but she swore Mum's just had special healing powers.

She stroked his forehead, "And then you can have a bath, and you can try and get some sleep."

He nodded.

Y/n quickly made her way to the kitchen and grabbed all the things she needed. Her Mum had given her a book of recipes and she flipped to the page with the soup. Skimming over the words in her mother's soft cursive handwriting.

Slowly but surely she chopped up all the ingredients. It was mainly fresh herbs and vegetables. She put so much garlic she was sure their breaths would smell for weeks. But it always helped with a sore throat and made her feel better. She added lots of onions, celery, carrots, zucchini, and other vegetables Harry liked. Along with some freshly cooked chicken. She let it stew for a while, as the broth got its flavour.

She had a shower and changed into some pyjamas, combing her hair and applying some sweet-smelling creams to her skin while she worried about her sickly boyfriend.

When she checked on Harry he was fast asleep in their bed curled up on her side, hugging the pillow she slept on. She snuck back She flicked on the telly and sat on the couch while the smell of her wonderful soup filled the big mansion of a house. The telly was on some channel playing old reruns of films everyone's seen a million times. It was playing The Princess Bride. Y/n always used to watch this in bed when she was sick it was perfect because the kid in the beginning was sick too.

She loved this film. She'd seen it enough times to recite the words without thinking. After twenty or so minutes into the film, the soup was ready. She turned the stove off and put some bread in the toaster.

Just as she poured Harry his big bowl and coated his golden brown toast in smooth melting butter, she heard footsteps. He was standing behind her, the knitted blanket off their bed wrapped around him like a cape. He looked awful still, and sleepy. But gosh, was he handsome.

"Hi, Gorgeous." He said softly. His voice was hoarse.

She smiled. "Hi, I was about to bring you dinner."

"Heard the telly. Princess Bride?"

She nodded. 

"Let's watch it."

She followed him with their dinner and they ate together curled up real close, the soup was heavenly and warm. It was so soothing and made Y/n feel like she was a kid again. The toast was crunchy and delicious. She had a few more pieces and a second serving of soup.

Harry grew sleepy toward the climax of the film, his belly full and his clammy body warmed right up. It wasn't long until his head found its way to Y/n's lap. She was rubbing his head softly, her fingers running through his curls. He was asleep not long after her touches and when the film ended she got him up the stairs and put him in a quick bath before bed.

She helped him strip and checked the temperature was warm enough in the bath but not too hot. He hopped in and she sat on the floor beside him, making sure he didn't fall asleep in there. She washed his hair massaging the curls of his hair, and cleaned his body of his sweat. Helping him bathe. His eyes shut in contentment. The steamy water had helped him breathe easier, and her soup was doing wonders. 

When he got out after he was all clean Y/n helped him blow dry his hair quickly. His hands slid onto her hips under the big shirt of Harry's she was wearing and the loose tracksuit bottoms. 

This was love. Taking care of him, and not complaining once. That's how Harry knew she was the one.

Once he was dry she applied that cream to his chest that her mother used to put on hers. It was a mix of all sorts of things. She rubbed it gently over the swallows and moth ink and all along his chest and shoulders. 

"Turn around, I'll put some on your back too, H."

She gently massaged the cream onto his back and he sighed. 

"I love you."

She smiled even though she couldn't see him. "I love you too, Harry."

She picked some fresh comfy pyjamas for him and then they went to bed. The whole night she held him close and soothed him when he woke up in pain. For the next few days, she took care of him and held him however he needed. He eventually got better.

When Y/n woke up with the same flu a few days later, Harry took care of her too. Doing all the same things. Even with a red nose and glossy eyes, and she was coughing up all sorts of gross phlegm, she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever laid his eyes on. 

Harry knew he was going to marry her one day.

BYE LOVE U

[wrathofrats]

Some gay freak DMd me “I love the idea of mist hating rains attitude and how fucking high n mighty he seems to feel so she wrecks him and maybe she has Dew watch for a touch of humiliation bc dews obv so obsessed w Rain, it'll be good for droplet to see how pathetic he rlly is or smthn” and then I blacked out and wrote multiple paragraphs in his DMs so enjoy

(Love youuuuu @divine-misfortune)

Warnings for: dubcon, humiliation, probably technically exhibitionism, tentacles, trans rain, mean mist, yeah

Rain hasn’t looked at her all day.

Between trying to teach him how to play all the way through square hammer and trying to even begin touching the newer songs he’s expected to play, rain has barely even spoken or looked her in the eyes.

When mist corrects his technique he ignores her, playing through anyways like he hasn't done anything wrong. His attitude can be rough at times, as any water ghouls is, but today? Mist doesn’t think she can handle it. She can deal with snarky comments and eye rolls, but rain acting like he knows better than her makes her blood boil.

“Is this seriously how you’re going to act today?” Mist scoffs when rain looks up just to look back down again. “Are you really not going to listen to me?”

“I already know the song. Maybe if you stopped talking you’d be able to hear it too” rain mumbles.

Mist almost sees red. She hastily grabs the bass from his hands, trying not to let her rage damage the instrument. Once she knows it’s safe back in its stand she grabs rain by the shirt collar and drags him to the common room, ignoring the curses and protests rain yells out while clawing at her hand.

Dew sits in one of the chairs, legs lazily thrown over the arm with his phone in his hand. He honestly looks like he’s about to fall asleep before he hears the sound of rain threatening mist coming from around the corner.

“Get your fucking hands off of me mist!” Rain almost screams as she practically throws him to the ground in front of dew. It’s a pointed decisions, she’s seen the way dew looks at him, can read him like a book after all the time they’ve had to spend together. If rain wants to act like a brat for her, then he should have no problem showing that side of him to dew as well.

“Stay down if you know what’s good for you” mist hisses when rain scrambles. Dew can only stare wide eyed at the situation in front of him. He swings his legs to sit normally, confused on if he should stay where he is or leave to save rains dignity. The look mist throws at him keeps him glued in the chair.

“Our perfect water lily seems to think he’s figured everything out” mist smiles at dew, slotting herself behind rain. “Just thought that there’s one more thing he might want to know about”

One arm holds him to her chest as he struggles, the other yanks his pants to his ankles. Rain attempts to cover himself, pull his legs up and place his hands over his exposed cunt, but shame fills his face even if dew can’t actually see anything like this.

Dew just sits and watches, doesn’t dare to move. He’s half embarrassed for the poor ghoul in front of him because he knows damn well what mist is about to do,

But the other half is almost too excited to see it.

Mist whispers something unintelligible into rains ear that subdues him enough to let her force his legs open. His pussy is on full display for dew to gawk at. He’s already starting to get slick and shiny, pretty. Rain can bare to look at him, instead shoving his face into mists neck as she coos.

Mist slides her fingers up and down his folds, gathering the slick that’s already about to drip onto the carpet, and spreads him wide so dew can see how he clenches around nothing when she ghosts her fingers over his clit.

It’s obscene. Dew feels like he’s the sick one for staring so hard but god it’s impossible not to watch. Rains thighs twitch as if he desperately wants to close them and hide himself but he knows better, breathing heavy while mist just smiles at how docile she’s made him.

She rubs at his clit, purposeful motions that have him bucking up into her hand in search of more friction. The debauched wet sounds get louder as she works, dew wouldn’t be surprised if the floor below him was soaked already.

Mist is shocked it doesn’t take much, even more so that rain doesn’t know about this part of himself yet since he seems to be so easy. She rubs faster when she begins to feel it, rain lifting his head in slight panic.

Dew knows what she’s doing, knows the terrifying feeling.

A thick tentacle slowly reveals itself from rains cunt, bluish in hue, dripping in rains own arousal.

“Oh there we are waterlily” mist smiles as rain again tries to wiggle himself away to close his legs in shame from whatever is currently happening to him.

Mist keeps him open and on display, strokes the tentacle and guides it to stretch him open. Not super long but absolutely thick enough to have rain gasping and jutting his hips away,

It’s wet, making a mess of the poor ghoul for dew to watch, just seeing his little crush get ruined by his own tentacle in front of him.

[arieswritez]

glad you and this account exist, I feel like there’s a lack of Mark lovers lmao! but omg I can’t stop thinking about him, I feel feral but for the purpose of discussion I have to ask: what do you think his d!ck would look like?

cw; scummy bf!mark x gn!reader, abusive relationships (physical & emotional), angst, stalking, spying, harassment, manipulation, gaslighting.

a/n; i am super late but mark would have tHEE prettiest dick ever !! & i'll prove it!!!! in fact, his dick is SO pretty you'd let him do heinous things if it meant having it in your mouth teehee 🫶🏾🫶🏾 (& because i am not normal: i went on a tangent .. ik ik you didn't ask for this.. lemme alone!!! )

bf! mark who you always wanted to give the benefit of the doubt to. who'd always hide his snide comments under a playful half smile and the guise of it being "just a joke".

bf!mark who'd tell you not to worry about his relationships with other people. who'd say you were just being insecure and that he didn't know how to be with someone that like you. bf!mark who'd always make you cry whenever you voiced your opinions because he always made you feel so stupid, didn't he?

bf! mark who soon turns into exbf!mark because one day he just .. loses it. or at least, that was his excuse.

you've lost your temper many times before. with others. with him. but his anger is much more different than your own.

your anger simmers: the first symptoms of a poison muddying your mind with annoyance. the type that renders you silent with a lump in your throat. your tongue swollen with words unsaid because. . you know better. and your parent(s) had warned you time and time again about being cautious of what you say to those you love.

mark's anger is a roaring boil. explosive with scalding steam.

mark's anger is a burning fire caused by popping oil and you're the water who was naively thrown onto it in order to extinguish it. his anger is just as unpredictable as it is brief. and although you were used to the smallest of inconveniences turning into shouting matches, you thought you had mark all figured out.

plead your case. stand your ground.

wither.

apologize.

admit you were wrong.

even if you were sure you weren't.

it was the only way you could end your arguments. and you were good at playing that game. until you weren't. until the eggshells you were walking on cut the soles of your feet. up until that point, you'd never seen mark's ego so hurt.

and the backhand he gives you sends you to the ground with your right ear ringing.

as soon as you hit the floor, he's on his knees before you, cradling your face, so inconsolable anyone would've thought you hit him.

the soft press of his kisses, peppering across your face contrast with the burning sting of your cheek as he murmurs, "i don't know what got into me! i just get so angry - i swear i didn't mean to hit you that hard!"

and as you stared at him with a blank expression, your mind raced, trying to find an excuse as to what could've warranted that reaction. but for the first time, your mind went blank. and although you nodded along with his apologies and allowed him to wipe the tears from your eyes, you knew there was nothing mark could do to fix it.

you let him think everything was ok. you smile at his jokes and let him cuddle you in his sleep. . even if his hands always found themselves wrapped around your throat.

then, one day, you just. . disappear. block him from everything and register to online classes instead of in person. you stuff his 'borrowed' hoodies and expensive gifts in a garbage bag and leave it in front of his dorm.

you even go as far as to donate all the stuffed animals he gave you.

well. .

almost all.

there is one you specifically like. mostly because debbie was the one who picked it out for you. you always had a soft spot for her.

you still do. so much so that, despite the fact that you want nothing to do with mark - and the fact that you're terrified of him - you find yourself missing her.

so you keep it.

and, sure, you know there's a psychology book somewhere stating it hinders your ability to truly move on. and maybe it's right.

maybe looking at it makes your brain revert back to bittersweet memories of mark and debbie. the way she'd made her home a safe space. you're sure she'd be ashamed to find out of everything mark put you through. but you decide to keep your distance. keep the peace, and all. you couldn't bare telling her why the two of you broke up.

but you still have the text message she sent you.

i'm sorry things didn't work out. you were good for mark. we miss you.

little do you know: the stuffed animal was mark's favorite, too.

but not for the same sappy reason.

& yes, it's because he placed a tiny camera into the cute bear :)

it was a risky move but you were far too predictable. his mother was practically a saint to you. he couldn't imagine you throwing her gift away. after all, what had she ever done to you? thank god for debbie.

now, he doesn't have to be with you to watch you cuddle the stuffed toy. he doesn't have to stand underneath your window to hear you sob into its soft fur. and it's addicting, really, watching you just be in the comfort of your room because you've completely exiled him from your life. and really, who do you think you are? you make him angry enough to hit you and you're the victim?

you didn't know how and when to keep your mouth shut. that's something you should learn. and seeing as how your parent(s) hadn't sat you down and talked to you about it. . mark figured he'd be the one to teach you that lesson.

but you're spoiled.

you're sensitive.

and you obviously don't take kindly to discipline.

and as much as he loves to keep his little secret of watching you on his phone screen. . it kills him to know you won't let him anywhere near you.

but don't forget it: you still belong to him <3 and in any moment that he wants you, he could very easily have you.

one night, with the plushie at the foot of your bed, he watches you squirm. his brows furrow, rolling onto his stomach, getting comfortable as he stares at his phone screen, wondering if you're having a nightmare. the night vision camera captures the way your body moves, every toss and turn. . and then. . every miniscule roll of your hips.

he watches you kick off the blankets and he feels his cock throb in his sweatpants when he sees you aren't wearing any bottoms. . . or underwear. his hands are shaking as he watches you begin to touch yourself. and the sounds you make have him so enraptured that he barely registers when he starts to grind against the bed.

you must feel vulnerable. . watched? . . because you grab the plushie. but you don't just chuck it away. you don't look directly into its eyes and call mark an asshole like he feels you will. no. instead, you hug the stuffed toy to your chest. and even though mark can't see a damn thing anymore - you're covering the camera, fuck - he can hear you perfectly now.

the way your breath hitches and hiccups. your whines, the gasps, the faint whispers he has to strain to listen to. . incoherent whimpers of please and yes, and as he humps his bed. . it's the whisper of his name that throws him over the edge.

a few days later, you receive a message from a strange number with a video attached to it.

in hindsight, you should know better. you've been on the internet long enough to know not everything is meant to be clicked on. but for some reason, you don't think twice to open it.

on the screen, you only see a white light, before you realize it's a flashlight from a phone.

and then a cock comes into view.

you're far too surprised to turn your phone off.

it's so hard it looks painful.

it's thick, thick enough that the fist that comes into view doesn't completely wrap around it. the head an angry red, a drop of pre beading from the tip.

the fist gives a few experimental strokes, then up to the head, where it squeezes, milking, and the drop of precum smudges and dribbles across knuckles. the hand slides down again, and cups the tan, plump, balls at the base.

you hear a groan. and something about it makes you throb. you can't quite put your finger on why. . but you find yourself too transfixed to look away.

you watch as the stranger strokes their cock with growing fervor and the way their hand moves gives you a familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach. there's a small voice in the back of your mind, whispering could it be. your face scrunches up in disgust but you still can't tear your eyes away from your phone screen. nor can you deny the way as your heart picks up speed.

it's only when you hear his voice that your suspicions are confirmed,

"miss you so bad, baby." mark's voice drawls, the breathy words cut off by a groan. "need you here with me again."

you should block him.

you should change your number. your fucking government name and area code if necessary.

you should delete the message, turn off your phone, and be over the whole situation but you don't. his whines and moans arouse you like some sort of fucked up pavlovian response and before you know it, your hands are working along with his.

you'll regret this. the little voice tells you matter-of-factly when you pick up speed the same time he does.

you'll regret this. it hisses when your breath catches in your throat. when your face burns as you close your eyes and work yourself in a frenzy, hips rolling, imagining . . wishing . . mark was there with you, too.

you'll regret this. when you muffle a cry of his name with the palm of your hand when you hear the soft, expletive filled whispers of his orgasm. he sounds so good. so pitiful it reminds you of the first few times the two of you were intimate. times in which mark pretended he was gentle and sweet. when he pretended the hickies he sucked into your neck were purely accidental.

he sounds like your mark.

you'll regret this. this time, the voice sounds tired. like a disappointed friend at their wits end, trying to talk you down from relapsing from an addiction.

the voice goes silent.

obviously tired of you once you save the unknown number into your contacts.