#i want to coddle this man to death

[alilaro]

i just would like to run astarion a hot scented bath and feed that boy some soup, is that so much to ask for?

[guacamoleroll]

𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗 𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖙𝖜𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖉 「𝔩𝔲𝔠𝔦𝔣𝔢𝔯」 ೀ⋆｡˚

content. f!reader. discussions of separation/divorce, friends to lovers, (name) is a fallen angel, sexual harassment, insecurities, discussions of mental health, spoilers for hazbin hotel season finale, implied/referenced not-safe for work. not proofread. 3.3k+ words.

author's note. i'm not sure if i'll be making a valentine's day post, but i haven't updated in a while, and i wanted to post something. so here's another hazbin hotel oneshot that's been in my drafts for a while! (sorry to all my bsd readers, i will be posting content soon!) i hope you guys enjoy ٩(^ᗜ^ )و ´-

would you like to see more? join the taglist or comment under this post!

synopsis. two fallen ones, cut from the same cloth, destinies forever intertwined by the choices you made as young seraphim.

OR someone comes in to try and ruin your relationship with lucifer, and he isn't happy about it.

You remembered the sensation of an eternal inferno, the mark of damnation that scorched your fingertips, submerging your divine being within a cluster of flames. Exiled from the heavens—a fate worse than death to most became an accepted element of your newfound reality. You never belonged perched atop clouds, even with the virtue nestled in the recesses of your heart. A part of you feared the unknown as you descended through novas and clouds, but it felt like a pressure had lifted from your being as those imposing gates shrunk behind you.

As the first of a cluster of falling stars, your impact landed you on the steaming ground of a new, hellish landscape, your mind scattered from the force of the fall, limbs trembling with their aching joints. And that was when you saw him, a brand-new man who held out his hand, smile desperate yet reassuring. The Morning Star himself, brought upon the same fate, still shaken from the tragedy of his descent—it had been much more personal for him.

“It’ll be okay, (Name),” his familiar voice reassured, but it was impossible not to hear the waver in his tone as your hands intertwined. “It’ll all be okay.”

And with a single touch, traversing hand-in-hand through this foreign land, you knew that someday, he would be right.

But that happened many millennia ago, a tale for storybooks rather than a memory that should’ve constantly been on a loop in your mind, held onto during the dead of lonely, bitter nights. Despite your long-standing friendship, the both of you held very separate lives—him with his family, you with your industry. You worked in tandem in relation to the public and aristocratic duties but otherwise barely spoke past the occasional smile and wave. And no, you couldn’t help the desolation that had sprouted inside your heart, the muscle aching as you observed his radiant smile from across ballrooms, the king exchanging affectionate glances at his wife while coddling his sweet daughter. But you were happy for him all the same. He deserved to be surrounded by those he loved, deserved to be happy after years of heartbreak, even if you weren’t in the picture.

But you knew that you could depend on each other, even if you hadn’t spoken in months. It was an unspoken connection between you, a rule unbroken. Which was the reason you knew his midnight call one evening had been serious. His voice was flooded with anguish, sputtering out incomprehensible words as his breath caught with every beat. You dropped everything, the paperwork and meeting planning, flying over with speed so fast that the denizens of Hell whispered for days about the shooting star that had flown across the sky that evening. 

In your journey, there was one persistent question that kept bothering you—why wasn’t his wife the one to comfort him? It wasn’t that you minded, not at all, but the entire situation struck you as odd. However, your answer became clear as you cracked open the doors to his bed chambers; the room was frozen and still as if left abandoned. However, the knocked-over furniture and smashed artifacts only made it look like it was robbed, which you highly doubted. And there in the center of the chaos was the Morning Star himself—no, Lucifer. Simply Lucifer. His body crumpled to the ground, painful hiccups leaving his lips. You slipped inside with ease and were about to grab his attention, and then you spotted it, the large lettering of a familiar type of document—a divorce agreement.

You were aware that the relationship between Lucifer and Lilith wasn’t perfect, not by any means. When they had fallen in love, there wasn’t a guideline for navigating relationships and marriage. They had to play it entirely by ear, leading to rushed decisions and a shaky foundation. You had always believed that they were each other’s perfect half, but it was only because their punishment and subsequent banishment had tied them together and forced them to suffer the same fate. At least, that was their belief for a couple of millennia. It didn’t mean that the split that was bound to happen didn’t hurt.

His cries had been hard to hear, throaty and painful, his body trembling as he mourned on the floor. It took a culmination of your mental and physical strength to unravel him, forcing him away from those papers and into an embrace, slowly steadying his breath with yours as he clung to you as if you would leave if he let go. That night set the standard for weeks of a miserable routine, with the former king reduced to sobs and silence. It was unbearable, especially as he pulled away from those who cared for him—his fellow sins, his friends, and especially his daughter. But you continued to hold on, not leaving even with his harsh utterances and occasional outbursts. You wouldn’t let him be alone, couldn’t let him be alone, moving into the broken family’s manor to care for him full-time.

And he would always be thankful for that.

His mental health was climbing uptick for years, fluctuating back and forth until he had stabilized, at least in comparison to his state before. He became fantastic at masking his depression, brushing it underneath the rug as he delved into his own creations, pushing many of his relationships even further away as he stopped leaving home. You were the one to bring him food and clean the estate—his staff had drifted to other careers over the past few years. You were the one assuring that he wasn’t left hunched over a bench in the worst posture possible, toiling away with his latest obsession, no matter the cuteness of the ducks.

In his more conscious moments, you would listen as he ranted about his issues, even though you both were aware they were a product of his self-isolation. But in those instants, whispering quietly as if the heavens still held onto your every word, hiding from its light as if the touch of it would scorch your skin, an intimacy blossomed from the depths of your former friendship. It had remained idle for centuries, underlying the foundation of every interaction and word, leaving fleeting touches and shared laughter in your blissful youths for stern support and brief softness in your demonic adulthoods—neither of you ever noticed that you saw the other through heart-shaped lenses. Two fallen ones, cut from the same cloth, destinies forever intertwined by the choices you made as young seraphim.

But that had been the norm for thousands of years.

And without knowing, you had fallen into a relationship stage humans had archaically dubbed as “courting,” traveling outside the estate for the chance to spend time with one another, exchanging personalized gifts whenever the opportunity arose, swapping words of encouragement and affection. It was only after you had kissed him on the cheek one night that you both realized your feelings, and it only spiraled on from there. There were scars from his past love—undoubtedly, you had nurtured them with care—but even despite those, you worked to establish a healthy, balanced relationship as you navigated this strange stage in your lives.

However, there was someone who had not been quite so fond of this new development. You had attended meetings with the Heaven Embassy for many years as a favor to Lucifer, his absence becoming common after his separation from Lilith, but you could still remember locking eyes with the first man as you entered the room, dropping the chicken drum in his hands as his mouth widen agape.

“Hot damn.”

His flirtatious and oftentimes self-centered advances didn’t fly past your head like you wished they would. It seemed despite having thousands of years under his belt, he was unable to learn any kind of manners, but he had been the original sexist prick. And for his status as a divine man, he fucked around a lot. You didn’t doubt that was due to his own insecurities about both of his wives preferring someone else’s dick over his.

Once you and Lucifer had started dating, you happened to make the mistake of slipping that information to Adam in the hopes that he would back off, but it only seemed to provide him a challenge as his flirtations increased tenfold. From then on, your meetings no longer consisted of the same old information surrounding the exterminations; rather, they were him pointing out the many sexual accolades that he had roped under his belt and the way that apparently made him better than Lucifer—his favorite line was always that “that snake must have a little snake.”

Your disdain was obvious, repeating over and over for him to shut his mouth, but he would only smirk, taking your response as a sign that he had struck a nerve and that it was an opportunity to dig deeper. You decided to take over all the meetings with the embassy, keeping Lucifer away from the lecherous banter of the man, no matter the discomfort that formed in your gut from his unabashed perverseness and the predatory stares at your body.

“Come onnnn, babe,” Adam whined, in the middle of biting the meat off a chicken bone.

You shot him a look. “I’m not your babe, Adam.”

“Babe.” If you were able to reach over and strangle him, you would’ve. That was probably the reason the coward used a hologram instead of coming here himself. “A guy like that couldn’t possibly please you the way I could.”

You massaged your nose bridge, pointedly ignoring the flicker of his eyes from your face to your chest, unable to maintain stable eye contact. “Can we just get on with the meeting?”

“You know I’m right, but I’ll let you off the hook for now.”

You groaned, slamming your head onto the table.

From years onward, his nerve only increased, but he had never shown his bloodlust to you before until the exorcist army descended from the heavens to wreak chaos and death upon the doorstep of Lucifer’s only child, Charlie. You and the ever-so-optimistic princess of Hell developed quite a soft spot for one another, which wasn’t difficult since you had already been considered family in centuries past. The title of your romantic relationship with her father initially came with questions and a couple of awkward moments, but it wouldn’t stop either of you from growing a deeper friendship and understanding, walking through the process together. And it definitely didn’t stop you from defending the girl you had seen for years as a pseudo-daughter, along with her noble ambitions.

“Charlie!” you yelled, knocking Adam away from her as he attempted to strangle her. Charlie sputtered, holding her throat with a pained cough, and you raised a steady hand to her back, helping her rise to her feet. You gave her a once-over, relieved to find that she had no substantial wounds besides a couple of cuts and bruises.

You sighed, cupping her rosy cheeks. “Thank goodness you’re alright. Sorry for being so late. Your father will be here any moment.”

Her formerly desolate expression quickly changed into a beaming smile, eyes glimmering with revitalized determination. “Good! We need all the help we can get.”

However, the moment was cut short by the overexaggerated breaths of a particular man, Adam wobbling to his feet as he cradled his bruised ribs, which you didn’t doubt had been cracked in the impact. It was hard not to smile as he struggled to stand, a wave of retribution twitching through your fingertips.

“You bitch,” he groaned between shallow gasps, though his voice drifted into a humorous lilt. “You know, I’m all for feisty women, but this shit’s a bit extreme, don’tcha think, babe?”

“I am not your babe, Adam.”

You cringed at the moan that left his lips, knowing it was not from the pain of his bruises. “God damn, I love it when you say my name.” He chuckled. “It’d be better if you screamed it.”

“You couldn’t have been that good if both your wives left you for someone else,” you muttered, swallowing your bodily urge to vomit as you rubbed the burgeoning headache coursing through your temples.

His expression drained of any warmth or humor, only leaving behind the rotted, sinful corpse of a man that he pretended not to be. “What the fuck did you say to me, bitch?”

“Hmmm,” you hummed, rolling your eyes. “Did I strike a nerve there?”

His mouth contorted into a snarl. “You know, the only reason that snake keeps your ass around is because he needs a couple of assets,” he barked, curving his hands to gesture toward your curves. “To distract him!”

“Hey! Don’t talk about him—”

He cut you off, his imposing figure towering over you. “You’re only a convenience. A pretty face and a hole to fuck.”

You gasped, but he didn’t let you speak, a smirk curling up on his disgusting face. “You don’t mean anything to him, hun,” he sneered, his voice sickeningly sweet as he grabbed your chin, craning your neck at a muscle-aching angle to stare into your eyes. “You had a chance at heaven, slut. A chance to be with me. And you fuckin’ blew it—!”

He didn’t have a chance to finish his sentence, a bone-crunching punch tunneling into his face, his body cast off the hotel, which rocked under the aftershock, before it started to crumble like a deck of cards. With no time to waste, you and Charlie haphazardly jumped from shrapnel piece to shrapnel piece, able to land on the ground with barely a tumble as it collapsed into your foundation. The moment would’ve been devastating if your focus hadn’t been pinpointed elsewhere, the screams of a dying man drawing everyone to the impact pit.

“You have a lot of fuckin’ nerve,” a low voice scowled, sweltering steam blocking everyone’s vision away from the pair until it evaporated into the air, and that was when you spotted him. His voice was barely recognizable. The duplicated tones and whispers surrounding each word made him unidentifiable. But you knew who it was; those familiar sets of wings and the eyes of his tailcoat were clues enough. You hadn’t seen him take this form in decades, centuries even—he had no use for it, and to go to such an extreme was unlike him. He was shaking more than ever before; his fists balled up Adam’s collar as he pinned him to the ground.

“Intruding on my fuckin’ realm. Hurting my daughter.” And with each offense, another blow was added to the first man’s face, which looked more like roadkill than a former human with each malefaction. “Harassing and insulting my future wife!”

“Don’t you mean your little whore?” Adam managed to utter, that cocky tone still persistent. 

But that was a terrible mistake.

Lucifer did not respond to his comment, not at all. Instead, he paused, finding himself unprepared for the sheer audacity of the man underneath him, a man only clinging to life through recesses of holy power and spite. To the unsuspecting bystander, it would seem the king had calmed himself down, but instead, an inferno blazed between his fingertips, his form threatening to tear with the amount of heavenly light that he balanced on his palms. The ire of his many eyes looked upon Adam, and they saw to it that his judgment day had come early.

“Die.”

“Dad!”

Luck seemed to have Adam’s back as Charlie intervened, one of the few people who could ever draw her father out of such an irate warpath. However, it was only after a moment of contemplation from Lucifer, whose eyes stared at Adam, his face unreadable as his fingers twitched before he cracked a wicked smirk.

“How’s mercy feel, bitch?”

The next moments were a blur, though those eyes had turned towards you instead, not with the anger they had towards Adam, but of sheer contemplation—not that you paid attention to them, watching Adam’s death unfold in an ironically anti-climatic sort of way. You would’ve felt bad if your mind didn’t remedy the guilt in your gut with memories of your several encounters, most of which were not PG-13. The rest of the staff and residents gathered their bearings, joining to work on rebuilding the hotel, but you did not have the strength to. Instead, you took a moment for yourself, thoughts toiling through your head as they often did, not understanding the icky, nauseous feeling pooling at the bottom of your stomach.

You flinched at the brush of a hand that rested on your shoulder, only to find that it had been Lucifer, his brow furrowed in that same contemplative expression. And much like those times alone in the estate decades prior, a patient silence persisted as he sat next to you, gauging each touch as he pulled you closer, allowing your limp body to lean into his.

“You know none of what that asshole said is true, right?”

Is that what you had been so concerned about? You couldn’t tell. Your thoughts surrounding your relationship, especially in the context of his former love, had always been indecipherable, even to yourself. His question brought a small beam of clarity into the shadowed pits of your darkest thoughts, but it wasn’t the time to talk about it. Not now, at least.

“Yeah, I know.” Your voice was more shaken than you wanted it to come out, but he understood the underlying message. He could tell it wasn’t the truth, not entirely, and that the roots of your insecurities weren’t something to be remedied through a singular conversation. But it was a start. He intertwined your fingers, caressing the bare area of your ring finger.

“I wish you would’ve told me,” he spoke, his voice soft. “I would never have let you go to those meetings.”

You stayed staring out into the distance. “It wasn’t that big of a deal.”

However, he believed differently, tilting your chin as he cupped your face, much more loving compared to the hands that had grabbed you prior. And his eyes, ones that had been filled with hatred, now glinted in sharp concern. “But it is a big deal. That’s sexual harassment.”

“You were going through so much,” you replied. “It was just one additional thing I didn’t want you to deal with. Another burden on your back.”

“(Name),” he said, voice stern.

The gruffness of his uncompromising tone drew your eyes to your hands. “Any insult to you is an insult to me. Always has been, always will be. People don’t get to talk to you like that. It doesn’t matter what shit I’m going through. That doesn’t mean you get to be thrown under the bus.” He cracked a smile. “And anyone who even thinks of treating you less than the perfection you are deserves to be roasted alive. You’re not a burden. You’re priceless.”

“You’re really into those cannibalism metaphors recently,” you quipped, a bit of your reprieve and humor returning back. He laughed, his heart falling into ease, though he recognized the nod towards his disdain for a certain radio demon, his expression contorting in disgust.

“I’m not gonna eat him! Think of how gross that thing would taste. Just awful, bleh—!”

You cut him off with a kiss, making his rosy cheeks redden more. “Thanks, Lu.”

You tried to stand. His arm braced underneath your back, a hand brushing across the sensitive skin of your waist as he hovered above, his lips locked onto yours. You sighed into his mouth as his fingers mapped every beauty mark of your face, only for him to split, panting. His eyes shone with recognizable desperation, but the smirk on his lips told you he was prepped to tease, brushing the stray baby hairs out of your face that had been ruffled in the fray.

“If someone ever bothers you like that again, you tell me. Got it?”

You only sighed. “Lucifer, I can handle my—”

He pressed a kiss to your knuckles, mouth upturned in a cheeky grin at the way it cut you off. “It’s not smart to fight without your shield, now, is it?’

You relented, unable to withhold your bashful grin. “Of course.”

A silence persisted.

“Your future wife, hm?”

“…shit.”

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @little-miss-chaoss

© 𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐋 2024 — do not repost or modify my works for any reason. do not steal graphics w/o explicit permission. reblogs are appreciated.

[jenny1437]

inconsolable rage

fucking fucking fucking fuck fuck worthless piede of sfupid shit i fucking i hope everyone dies i want to murder everyone and then kill my fucking self i hope everyone fucking dies by getting their spines ripped out i want to kill everyone then kill myself.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hiiii I was looking to see if your request is open but couldn’t find it so I’ll just drop it here and feel free to write it :) I love your writings! 🌸

May I ask for batboys reacting to shy reader who wants them to lie down on her lap after their long day. She wants to praise them, play with their hair and shower them with kisses :0 thank you!

Dick:

Would rest his head on your lap regardless of whether you asked him to do not, your lap was the perfect pillow for him and he will not have it any other way.

‘Hi baby.’ He greets as he beams up at you from the comfort of your lap.

‘Hi honey, long day?’ You greeted back, your hands already finding their way into his hair and began to comb through it slowly as he hums, burrowing himself closer to you as a means to feel more of you against him.

‘Yeah but it’s nothing I can’t handle.’ Dick replied and smiled wide when you kissed his cheek before kissing his nose, and felt his heart melt upon giggling you giggling when he scrunched up his face.

‘Is there nothing that my handsome man can’t do?’ You asked sarcastically as you pressed a kiss to his other cheek. ‘Or is he just the most perfect man in existence?’

Dick made a face at this. ‘Have you maybe considered that this handsome man of yours has an amazing, wonderful and beautifully cute spouse waiting at home for him as inspiration?’ He looks at you with a raised brow.

‘I’m the one who’s meant to be praising you tonight, not you praising me.’ You chuckled as you peppered his face in small, quick kisses that had Dick reaching a hand to the back of your head, holding you close so he could give you a plethora of kisses of his own.

‘Well what if we could just both praise the other tonight.’ Dick said against your lips.

‘I can deal with that.’ You replied as you spent the rest of the night whispering sweet nothings to one another and trading kisses.

Jason:

Your lap was his save haven after a long and tiresome day from having to listen to Bruce critique his way of ridding crime out of Gotham. So he wasn’t going to refuse your affection, not when you shyly patted your lap as an invite to rest his head and looking cute whilst doing so.

God had his permission to smite him to his second death should he actually refuses your requests to coddle him and shower him in all your love and adoration.

If anything the days where you offered up your lap to him were the best days of his entire life as he got to spend it looking up at an absolute angel that he was lucky enough to call his own.

‘How’s my gorgeous jay birdie feeling today?’ You asked as you kissed his along his jaw and stopping when you got to his chin.

‘I’m feeling fantastic now that I’m with you sweetheart. How about you.’ He replied back as he looked up at you with his pretty eyes that he knew made you weak. Jason only wanted to give you back the love and support that you give him on a daily basis tenfold, for it’s what you truly deserved in his eyes.

He loved you too much to allow you to settle for mediocrity.

‘I’m feeling much better now my strong, brave boy has come home to me safe and one less bruise to ice.’ You responded with a lighthearted chuckle as you lifted up one of his large hands and pressed a kiss to the back of it, before resting your cheek against it to commemorate his warmth and callouses to memory.

‘Don’t come at me with that sweetheart, I know you love icing my bruises, especially when they’re on my abdomen.’ Jason cheeked as he winked at you, taking pure enjoyment out of seeing your flustered face. It was a much needed breath of fresh air coming home to sweet, caring you from the cold, unforgiving outside and he cherished every bit of it for as long as he could.

‘Meanie.’ You murmur, booping him on the nose.

‘Meanie? How am I being mean chipmunk, I know how much you love my abs and my thighs.’ Jason chuckled as he booped your nose in retaliation. ‘Why do you think I never skip leg day?’

‘You’re more than perfect the way you are Jason,’ you countered, ‘perfect body or not you’re still my jay birdie. Forever and always.’ You whispered the last part as you pressed a sweet tender kiss to his lips as he smiled in response.

Tim:

He always finds himself perpetually tired from working himself to the bone, so when you offered up your lap for him to rest, the poor man practically sighed in relief, almost as if he were a man dying of thirst in the desert; finally having found the oasis he had been wandering aimlessly for.

‘You don’t know how much I needed this.’ Tim groans as he made himself comfortable in your lap, trying his hardest to not to close his eyes right then and there from the prepping of light kisses you were scattering across his forehead and under his eyes.

Gosh he hates how weak he gets from your little kisses but would die a little on the inside if you didn’t.

‘I’m sure I can take a guess.��� You said sweetly as you ran your hand through his hair. ‘You’ve been overworking yourself so much lately that I rarely see you as much,’ Tim’s stomach dropped upon hearing this but let you finish speaking, ‘but when I do see you it always makes me happy knowing that you’re okay.’ You then pressed a kiss to his cheek.

‘I’m sorry for-‘ you cut him off by pressing a finger to his lips, muttering a soft ‘don’t. Don’t blame yourself for things you can’t control.’

‘But I can control it!’ Tim exclaimed. ‘It’s not fair on you to exhaust yourself on me every night after patrol and still find it within yourself to take care of me…I don’t deserve any of it as it feels as though I’m taking advantage of you somehow.’ Tim trailed off as he looked away for you as guilt are away at him.

‘Tim,’ you called, ‘my sweet Tim as long as I know your okay and come home to me every night, then I don’t care how long I have to stay up just catch a glimpse of your handsome face.’ You reassured him as you kissed his jawline softly, and Tim felt himself weaken under your words and affection as he looked back up at you.

‘You really mean that?’ He asked almost quietly.

‘I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it with all my heart my sweet, smart boy.’ You said while pressing a singular kiss to his forehead.

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part eighteen —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 3.3k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn’t here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

Over the next four days, you find yourself panting in exhilaration each morning you spar with Ghost. Every slam of your hand into his ribs feels strangely better than the last. He goes harder on you. He'd been holding back, too, apparently— an unfortunate fact for your ribs. The pain seems to motivate you more, even if he is still beating the shit out of you.

Blue also motivates you. "Hit his nose again!"

Of course, that is the one part of him you purposely avoid.

The sun returns and sweat glides down your face. You knee his stomach. It's less vulnerable than swinging a kick, but still, he attempts to grab you by the waist. You quickly skirt away, the ground firmer beneath your feet, only for his hand to latch onto one of your braids, instead. A sting pulses through your scalp as he tugs hard, wrenching your ear close to his mouth.

"Quicker. Good. But don't get too cocky."

"I thought you wanted me to be more confident," you retort between ragged breaths. 

"Yes, but you can't forget who has the advantage here." There is the slightest bit of arrogance in his voice that makes your teeth grit.

"How could I ever forget?" Your head tilts and he releases the braid. Suddenly, the thought of smacking his nose again doesn’t seem so bad.

His eyebrow quirks. "Get some water, Twix. You need it."

The water caresses your tongue as you gulp it down without abandon. Unsurprisingly, Blue has disappeared somewhere in the treetops. The lack of more broken bones has waned her interest.

When Ghost lifts his mask to drink, you steal a glance at his nose, noticing that the swelling has gone down significantly. The fact he is still wearing that thing with a broken nose upholds your theory that he is at least slightly insane— as if the fact that he once shoved a gun into your fresh wound wasn’t already evidence of that.

Out of nowhere, he materializes beside you and places a hand on your stomach. Your sore muscles spasm under the surprise of his touch, his long fingers stretching from one side of your ribs to the other.

"Your strength starts here,” he explains in a hoarse murmur. “Keep it tight and you will deliver more damage."

You purse your lips to hide a wince and tap your nose. "Don’t I already deliver enough damage?"

"The nose is fragile. You may be landing more hits on me, but I still hardly feel a thing from them."

He allows you to pry his hand off, but the pressure of it seems to linger. Ghost studies you in a way that turns you translucent before demanding, "Lift your shirt, Twix."

Exhaling through your nose, you hesitate before peeling it up, revealing the collection of bruises you have earned from him. A myriad of pink, purple, and yellow skin flares up under his gaze. They have been giving you a hard time lacing your boots and tying your hair in the morning, but once you get moving, the ache becomes easier to ignore.

He has already seen your stomach and more, yet, your skin itches from the exposure. You shove the shirt back down.

His expression shifts. "You should have said something."

"They're just bruises. I'm not bleeding or anything."

"Still."

"Still what?"

He looks irritated. "You need to fucking communicate."

"I don't see why it matters. No coddling, right?"

"That doesn't mean I'm interested in breaking you."

You jerk your chin up to meet his stare. “You won't."

Blue swings down from a tree, plopping between the two of you and unintentionally—thankfully—putting an end to the subject. "I'm glad you two are finally getting along. It's good for the team." She nudges her dad. "But are you done with her yet? You can't just hog Twix all to yourself."

He clears his throat and the air between your bodies breathes wider. "If you're getting bored maybe we need to find something for you to practice."

"Nope!" she says quickly. "Not bored at all." 

He nods to a tree. "Go on. Practice your knives. You haven't done that in a while. Then, you can have her."

With a groan, she trudges away. 

The sparring continues.

Ghost's fists soften by a smidge.

"He annoys the shit out of me sometimes."

Blue rips up a tuft of grass as you inch back to admire the swipe of color on her eyelids. It was her idea to use the bold-colored flowers for makeup— just like the models in her magazines. You did your best to mash the petals and mix them with some creekwater, but the result is kind of patchy and not nearly as smooth as the stuff you used to put on years ago. 

"Hold still. I'm doing your cheeks next."

The sun highlights the splash of freckles on her cheeks and you try to recall if Ghost had them. Her nose is nothing like his. A dainty button. Another trait she must've gotten from her mom. 

"Did you used to wear makeup?" she asks curiously, eyelashes fluttering down. 

"Sometimes. Especially when I went out."

"Went out where?"

Concentration nudges between your brows. "To clubs and stuff. It's where people would... dance."

Her lips spread as she cocks her head to the side in a manner that emulates her dad. You have to remind her again to stop moving. “Oh. Sorry. You danced?"

"I mean, not good dancing. Just dancing for fun,” you murmur, shrugging at the faint memories of being sandwiched between strangers, alcohol flowing through your veins rather than fear and adrenaline. Back then, mornings were spent nursing a hangover before class rather than earning bruises from an ex-lieutenant. 

Humor dances in her eyes when they reopen. "I don't think Ghost ever went to a club. I cannot imagine him dancing."

The images in your mind morph into something utterly laughable— him standing there like an immovable tank as people try to dance around him. "No, probably not."

"He never really tells me about his life before shit happened," she says thoughtfully. 

This piques your curiosity, but you keep your voice light. "No?"

"Well, he tells me the simple stuff. Mostly about his job. But never... never the small things, you know? Like I have no idea what he used to do for fun or what his life was like when he was a kid." She pauses a moment before adding, "He had a brother. That much I know."

You glance up. "Had?"

"He died before the virus. His mom and dad, too. But every time I ask how they died, he just says," she deepens her voice, "'Doesn't matter how, kid. Dead is dead.'"

"Oh, um, yeah, that sounds like something he would say." You tap your fingers under her chin. "I can put some on your lips, too."

Her eyes close again as she puckers her lips out. When you're done, she continues. "He also never talks about my mom." Her face twists. “I think he thinks talking about her will hurt my feelings."

For a few seconds, you struggle to find a response. The rare mention of her mom always makes your heart stutter, but this time, your broken, callused hand reaches out to brush a strand of hair behind her ear.

"It's okay to feel hurt, you know."

Blue shrugs and looks up at the cobalt sky. "I don't think I remember her enough to feel that hurt anymore. She feels so... far away. I remember small things, like the sound of her voice and her old apartment where I lived, but sometimes I wonder if I am making up those memories, you know what I mean?"

"Yeah, I know what you mean." A terrible urge sits on your tongue to ask her more about her mom, about what exactly her relationship was like with Ghost, but Blue changes the subject before you can.

"Does the makeup look good?" A shy blush clouds her cheeks.

You stand up with a faint smile. "I think I did pretty damn good. Come on. I want you to go look in the mirror."

Music.

It pounds so hard you feel it in your chest.

Neon walls enclose you as someone touches your backside, dancing against you. There is a man's voice in your ear that you think you recognize but it's hard to hear him through all the laughing and chatter. Your hair falls in loose curls down your back, free of braids, and you swipe it from your sweaty skin before excusing yourself to the bathroom.

You push through the people. The narrow hall is shrouded with different doors... so many doors. Where is the bathroom? It must be a Friday night on Oxford Street with how fucking crowded and stuffy this place is. Someone knocks into you roughly and your footsteps quicken. A sense of urgency drags you into the next door you come across, a large one made of grey oak.

The smell is horrendous but you feel relieved to see urinals and stalls. Immediately, you press into the granite counter and grip the edge as you catch your breath. The scratched, warped mirror houses a face covered in makeup. Youthful eyes. Flushed cheeks. How much have you had to drink? You need to go home. You will pee and then go home, you tell yourself. Over and over, you repeat this as you relieve yourself in one of the graffiti-doused stalls where condom and tampon wrappers crinkle beneath your heels.

When you're done, you try for the large door you came through, but it doesn't budge. The muffled music outside has faded. Panic sears your chest. You press your back against the door. The bathroom has changed. The stalls are gone. The walls feel like they are closing in, and the smell of piss turns into something even worse. You are alone. Where is the man you came with? You look down. Dead bodies. Strewn limbs. You're standing on a pile of them.

You start screaming. Banging on the door. Digging your fingers into the wood until the flesh rubs down to bone. 

It's not a room anymore, but a box. The fluorescent lights replaced by sheer darkness.

The edges of the door disappear.

A sickening silence replaces your screams.

And then—

"Twix."

You sit up, wild-eyed. You grip onto something—fabric—and a foul taste travels up your throat without warning. You heave several times, your entire body shuddering. 

When awareness settles in, you wipe your mouth and blink up. Ghost. He is... here. Hovering over you. His shirt is tightly bunched between your fingers and you have just vomited into it. The realization smacks you awake and you recoil sharply, staring at his moonlit mask with an expression that must be just short of mortified.

"I... Fuck. I am so sorry. I don't know why— I just..."

When you dare to look at the mess you've left on him, you nearly vomit again. Hands shaking, you rub at your clammy face and begin to ramble unthinkingly as his stare flickers between you and his soiled shirt.

"I've been trying so hard not to hold back like you said, but I think it is fucking me up a little and letting out some things— memories, I guess. I was pretty good about keeping it all in my box because I've been too tired to even think about it, but now I just..." You trail off, realizing your words must make little sense. 

"You've certainly let something out," he rasps.

Your hands drop against the sofa and you cringe. "I'll wash it for you. I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing."

You inhale. "I just fucking threw up on you."

"I'm aware."

Ghost straightens. He pinches the collar of his shirt and carefully hoists it over his head. Then, you're looking at his bare chest. Slivers of moonlight caress rigid brawn and mountainous scars that capture your gaze for a few heartbeats before you tear it away. 

"I'll, um, hang it outside and... wash it in the morning." 

Your legs are unnervingly steady when you stand up and take the shirt from him, carefully grabbing it by a dry spot. You are relieved to get away from him, draping it over the porch and swallowing gulps of fresh air before you go back inside, praying he's gone back to bed.

Luckily, he has. When the empty living room greets you, you sink to the sofa and palm your eyes. Then, you notice something left on the pillow. A cigarette. You pick it up and recall the few times you smoked whenever your friends offered one. The taste never sat well with you. 

You rummage for your lighter. The first inhale burns terribly, but you cough into the pillow and try again. It starts to calm you down after a few times, and only when you've gotten to the butt of it do you go back to sleep.

"No wonder you're not getting stronger if you throw up like that every night."

Not even five minutes into training the next morning he brings it up. The rest of your sleep ended abruptly when he got you up at an unearthly time, probably to avoid having Blue as an audience. You are too winded to even scowl, your fists held tight in front of your face as you try to predict where he will aim next.

"I told you. That was the first night in a while." 

"Right. Something about a box, huh?"

"Can we just forget about it, please?"

"Hard to forget when my shirt still smells."

"I washed it the best I could."

The next dodge has your head flying down fast enough to undo one of your braids. Hair slips over your face and you huff, holding your hand up. "Hold on. Give me a minute."

As you undo the other one and opt for shoving your hair into a tight bun instead, he watches you strangely. The feel of his stare ignites a spark of irritation and you flash him a sideways glance. "Look, thank you for the cigarette and everything else you have ever done for me, but you can stop looking at me like that. Like you... pity me. I'm not going to break, I'm not going to ask you to kill me again. Everyone left in this world has nightmares and mine probably aren't the worst of them."

"I don't pity you," he says. "I am just trying to understand you."

"Why?" You finish the bun and drop your arms awkwardly at your sides. 

"It's important to understand your ally."

"Oh. Is that what we are?"

His eyes narrow. "Obviously. I wouldn't bother wasting my time with this every day if we weren't."

"Good to know you aren't doing it because you owe me."

"You know what I mean, Twix," he growls. 

"No, I don't." You throw your arms up. "I don't know what you mean and I don't know why you never killed me because you had every reason to, and I definitely don't understand you, so I guess we make terrible allies, Ghost."

"What is with you?" He cocks his head to the side, tone mild with curiosity. "So talkative all of the sudden."

"I have no problem talking when the other person isn't blatantly ignoring me."

His brows lift. "Fair enough."

A deep inhale flares your nostrils before you spread your stance. "I'm ready now."

Despite your claim of readiness, he quickly backs you into a defensive position that has you frustrated once again. You don't understand why, but your progress slips. You keep having to adjust your stance and all of your attempts to hit him fail. It's not long before he locks you against a tree with a tattooed forearm against your neck. 

"You aren't focused today," he accuses.

"Damn, you're observant," you breathe out. 

"Jesus fucking Christ. If I wanted to listen to someone mouthing off, I'd get Blue out here." He presses a bit harder and your throat twitches. "I'm not going to threaten you anymore, but clearly, you think straighter when you channel your anger, so whatever you were dreaming about last night— get it out of your head."

He's right. You breathe deep and try sorting through everything in your head, focusing on just the anger, but it's like fishing in murky water. When he releases you, more of the same happens. This time, you end up on your butt. Ghost glares down at you, circling like a vulture.

"You were doing good the past few days. What the hell is this?"

"I told you," you say through your teeth, brushing off the dirt from your jeans. "Letting out my anger means letting everything else in the box out and it is... confusing me. Making my head fuzzy, I guess."

His chest expands with a deep breath and his pointed stare turns meticulous. "Explain this box to me."

You hesitate for a moment. "It's just... where I put away all of the shit that would otherwise make me insane."

"And what is wrong with being a little insane, Twix? This world is insane. Might as well match it."

Your mouth opens, then closes. You struggle for an answer and rub your temples. "I don't know. Being insane means losing myself completely. I mean, I have already changed so much in the past five years. Like I said, I was never meant to be this person."

"What person? A person who survives? A person who does what she has to?"

"A person who hurts others," you grit out. "A person who kills." 

"You've killed people, right?" he roughly asks and you nod. "Then you're a killer. You were always meant to be a killer. End of story." His words strike you, and you begin to shake your head defensively, but he continues before you can muster a reply. "The past five years haven't changed you, they have revealed who you are. Now—" he raises his fists, "—open the stupid box and turn everything you feel into anger. All of it. It is valuable fuel that will continue to keep you alive."

He swings.

A kaleidoscope of long-ignored memories flashes through your brain when he hits your sore stomach. Your family. Your friends. The life stolen from you. 

And then— you recover your footing and slam a boot into his knee. It loosens his stance just enough for you to throw yourself at him, effectively knocking him over. The ground welcomes your bodies again, but this time, you grip his shoulders and wind up on top, practically laying all of your weight on him. A few harsh breaths expel from your nose before you become fully aware of the position, the heat from his chest pressing into your breasts.

Quickly, you splay your hands flat against him and sit up straight, thighs spread over his narrow hips. Ghost could easily flip you over and pin you if he wanted. But instead, he crosses his arms behind his head. 

"Comfortable?" you ask him breathlessly, raising a brow.

"Quite. Though, if this were real, I suggest an elbow to the neck once you've got them down."

"So you admit it, then. I got you down."

"I allowed it."

"Sure." Your teeth snag on your lip and you lightly brush a finger over his masked nose, detecting a tick in the hinge of his jaw. "Then I will 'allow' you to keep this for now, but next time, I might do more than just break it."

His eyes widen imperceptibly before he quickly recovers. "Ah. So you are a person who hurts others, then. Someone was trying to tell me otherwise."

Your lips twitch at the corner on their own accord. "Shut the fuck up."

He simply stares at you for a pregnant pause before clearing his throat. "I did allow it, but that was good. You focused on the anger, didn't you?"

You nod. "Yeah, I did. Is that what you do all the time?" you ask curiously. "Just get angry and kill people?"

"Pretty much."

By the tone of his voice, a deep brass that reverberates through all the places your bodies touch, you are certain he's joking. Realizing that you are still on top of him, you push off his chest and swing a leg over, careful not to knee his face or let him see the deep flush that crawls over every inch of your skin. 

[slowbison]

Bottom! Miguel O'Hara x Top! Male Reader

Summary: Miguel's attitude lately has been rather, rude and you figured that he just needed a little reminder.

words: 2.3k

warnings: "bondage", orgasm delay/denial, overstimulation, smut

You slowly walked towards Miguel’s office from picking up food from the café since he was too occupied to get it himself. While you walked, you stopped by talking to the other spider people. Sharing greetings, cracking jokes, and laughing at some of the others then quietly left the group and slipped into the office doors, locking it as you enter further into the room.

Humming to yourself, you slung yourself to the top of the floating platform and placed the food on a less cluttered surface and slightly began cleaning around until a series of thumping and groaning broke you out of your zone.

“Would you mind keeping it down over there? Trying to do some cleaning here,” You chided before turning around to look at the cause of the series of questionable noises.

Spinning him around revealed a tied up Miguel by ropes flushed and gagged by a piece of cloth you put on before leaving as he began spouting curses at you for continuously teasing him. To which you left believing he must have been cranky because he was hungry. Hence the empanada that was now nice and steaming in its box.

“I know that you’ve been in a bad mood because you're hungry, so I brought a snack.”

“You’re welcome by the way,” you said winking at him as he slowly started fuming in his seat before the vibrating anal bead you left in him began it’s quick high intensity buzzing, jerking him up and let out a groan as it continued it’s assault within him. The device only left him nearing his orgasm, but wasn’t enough to tip him over the edge which left him thrashing and struggling to maintain his breathing.

You grinned at the beautiful sight of the almost-broken man who everyone feared as a strict leader and his sarcastic demeanor he usually upholds now lying puddy in your hands at your own mercy. You walked up to him and gently brought up his chin to get a better look at him. His eyes attempted to remain focused as if he wasn’t as affected by your continuous teasing, but his body betrays him and jerked as another wave of pleasure washed over him.

“Hey now, don’t give me that face. Haven’t I been good to you? I even got you your favorite!” You exclaimed, gesturing to the small box on the table.

Miguel focused his eyes on you with what you can assume a mixture of death while pleading and if looks could kill. Man, would someone else be dead because it certainly wouldn't be you. Maybe the empanada, you’re sure he must’ve been hungry for it. Or was it something else? You smiled and gently coddled his head in your palms.

“If you promise to be good from now on, I’ll give you what you want” you whispered in his ear. Trailing light kisses down his neck, enjoying the vibration of the groan emitting from your partner. Miguel nodded while leaning into your touch as you reached around to untie the gag from his mouth and threw it back on the table. Mouth hanging open with fangs slightly showing from his upper lip, you couldn’t help but kiss him until you took the rest of his breath away.

Miguel, desperate for any connection from you, whatever feel of your body on his, reached from his seat the best he could as he was tied naked in the ropes. One of them slipping on his hard nipples, letting out a small whine from the slight stimulation. Noticing this, you bring down your hand from his face and trail it from his body to his nipple. Rubbing and twisting the small nub in your hand before giving it a small pinch that left Miguel’s breathing staggered, pressing his chest on your hand, begging for more. A soft chuckle left from his mouth as you broke up the kiss, a small frown drew on the man’s face below you.

“My, my, Miguel. Is my baby this much of a slut for any pain?”

“Just fucking touch me, you promised” Miguel panted and reached back up for another kiss. To which you lifted your head higher, watching Miguel’s face scrunch up in frustration, fangs slightly pronounced from his upper lip.

“Ahh, I did promise, didn’t I? But only good boy’s that beg get rewarded love,” You grinned at him, watching as a slightly darker shade of blush painted his face. Jaw taut and lips pursued, he looked to his side then at you then back to the ground, before closing his eyes and ultimately deciding after another round of pleasure engulfed his body, having your dick inside him was better than a damned toy.

“Please just touch me, I don’t want to lose it from a toy when you’re here.”

“I’ll do anything.. I’ll be good just get it out of me please sir” Miguel whined feeling the toy dig deeper the more he tried moving his body closer to you, but failing and returning to sink into the chair, pushing the toy deeper within. The ropes weren’t helping the feeling as it left him hopeless that he couldn’t even touch himself even if he could break out if he truly wanted. But he won’t, because good boy’s get rewards and the last thing he wanted was to be left aching to be touched all day like last time when you found him humping his hand after warning of the no touching rules.

Content with how pliant he was, you moved one of your hands further south to his hard leaking cock and gave it a small squeeze, smearing the tip with his cum. Miguel shuddered, arched his back and began to mutter a chain of silent curses in Spanish just from a small response. His attempt to buck up into your hand was cut short as you grabbed him by his hair, forcing his eyes to look up to your own. You peered down at his trembling gaze with a slight frown drawn on.

“You only take what you’re given slut, any more of that and I’ll leave you here with more than rope burns.”

Miguel’s body trembled at the thought of multiple bruises that you left on his ass and throat a couple of months ago when his bratty behavior was at his worst. Having to be pacified after a few minutes of wrestling, spanking, through throat fucking, orgasm denials, and getting pounded into oblivion while having been chocked leaving a sobbing Miguel who had a bit of trouble walking right, much less fighting awkwardly for a few days until being fully healed. Miguel felt rather annoyed by his body’s supernatural healing factors in that moment as he missed his markings of you and the feeling of been thoroughly fucked. Showing up the next day outside your window, even though you had long since given him the spare keys to your apartment. You had taken it slow with him that day much to his chagrin, enjoying spending some time with each other before the man would go back to burying himself in work. Kissing the top of his head goodnight, promising him to fulfill his desires at the next opportunity. His incoherent agreement grumbling from your chest was all he let out and huddled closer into your arms. You didn’t let him out of that bed in the morning until you were satisfied.

Speaking of the man, Miguel nodded weakly and you returned to stroking his shaft with more and more cum staining your hand. Resisting his urge to be disobedient, he let out a loud whine as the vibrator continued its endless rippling within him, spilling out a mixture of loud moans and soft whines into the air.

Finally, it gave him enough of an edge where he could come from just your hand and the damned toy inside of him. Breathing fastening, disheveled hair across his face, eyebrows furrowed, he focused on the pleasure coursing through him after being teased for so long.

“I-I’m close... please, please keep going” Miguel whined, throwing his head back as his body shook at the feeling of his near orgasm. But at the very border of spilling over your hands, you let go and walk back to the table where the now slightly cold empanada sat in its box, cleaning the surrounding area.

Miguel let out a sob, curling in on himself as the pleasure jostled around him with no longer having much of the build to release as his body craved your touch.

“No please! Let me cum. I’m sorry for being brat, please let me cum,” Miguel cried out, pleading for the return of your warm hands on his cock or anyway part for that matter, so long he can just find some relief from the relentless abuse that is your doing.

You returned to him, shushing your lips. “It’s okay Miguelito, was just making some room to fuck you stupid okay?” Reaching behind the chair to untie him. You rubbed his arms then traveled to his chest, massaging and squeezing his delectable chest, loving the feeling of the mussels in your hands. Miguel let out a groan as you touched him, looking at his arms and chest at the lines that will evidently last for a few days again, smiling at the thought.

Miguel was then startled by being suddenly lifted in the air as he quickly grabbed at your arms. You were about the same build as him, though he surpassed you in strength, but it never stopped you from fucking him in the air. Miguel could attest for that. You chuckled at his reaction at which he grumbled and cursed at you before being placed on the cold table.

“Ay, mierda!” Miguel hissed at the cold seeping across his back.

Grabbing his waist you adjusted his position and pressed a kiss to the side of his cheek, sedating him for now. “It’s alright love, I'll give you something much better to focus on.”

To which he cocked his head and let out a moan as you switched the anal beads to its highest setting, fucking it in and out of him. Miguel arched his back at the sudden intensity, hands flailing before resting them on your shoulders as a weak effort to push yet pull you away. His brain scrambling with what decision to make then decided that there’s not much need for thinking when it was you fucking him.

Enjoying the sounds coming out of Miguel as he continued to cry out for more, morphing between scrunching his face then relaxing as the pleasure traveled up his spine and spreading all throughout his body. Lips bruised from constant biting from his fangs, making you want to swallow his mouth whole. You continued to graze upon his body and landed once more at his chest, deciding to engulf the bud into your mouth, swerving it with your tongue before digging into the center. Gently nipping it as you repeated the ministrations while doing the same as your free hand played with other bud, pinching and pulling at it before rolling it gently.

To say that Miguel was losing it would be an understatement. From the stimulation from the toy fucking into him with no signs of slowing down to having his chest mangled by your swarm of attacks on his nipples, leaving your marks across his pecs, one’s he will admire and think of you when alone. It all came too much and he reached a breaking point as he could no longer fend off his orgasm. Begging and crying that he can’t take it anymore and you have to let him cum because he’d refuse to do it without your permission. You cooed at how obedient your sweet lover had become, far from the brat who had to be tied and left in the chair much earlier before.

“Go on Miguelito, you earned it love.”

“Come for me darling,” You whispered into his ear before biting the lobe.

Watching as his chest stuttered from the confirmation from your words, head thrown back and mouth wide open as he let out a drawled whine. Spurts of cum draped his chest and torso like a fountain before pooling around his dick, twitching ever so slightly. You dialed down the intensity of the toy before turning it off and gently removing it from his quivering hole to which he whimpered at no longer having something to clench around. Placing it on the table, you ran your hand through his hair and kissed the side of his then devouring the rest of his silent cries with your lips. Miguel seemingly satisfied wrapped his arms around your neck and began a rather soft make out session. Though you broke it off, in order to undress yourself from your rather tightening suit after ignoring your raging boner underneath it all. Miguel, confused at your disappearance from his lips, opened his eyes only to see you changing out.

“What? You think I’d forget about my little promise love.”

You fully undressed from your suit, kicking it off in a corner and grabbed at your aching throbbing cock, stroking it as you placed a hand on his thigh.

“You still got another round in you right darling? Can’t leave without your cunt full of me, now can we?” You grinned, looking down as the man below face flushed whose cock’s life returned. Miguel’s face matched your own, though with a slight lopsided grin and eyes drowned in lust.

“Spread ‘em darling.”

The empanada sat cold in its box, long forgotten.

hey y'all, this is my first time after a looongg while of not writing anythin since my wattpad day's and I'm sure there's errors in this lil fic so if you see 'em, let me know. other than that, i ain't sure if i should write the second half of this since it'd take a while but if you want that, let me know x2. thank y'all for reading this, i do enjoy hearing out anyone's thoughts/ideas too...

(fyi: i'm only male focused. fems ain't my taste)

[astroboots]

period sex with soft marc☹️☹️🥺🥺 him being so sweet n praising you😭😭😭😭 hed take such good care of you<3 i need him

Take Care of Me

CO-WRITTEN WITH @THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMSS

Content: explicit as fuck. Period sex, Marc's competence in overdrive.

Word count: 3k words

ASTROBOOT’S MASTERLIST | THIRSTWORLDPROBLEMS' MASTERLIST |MOON KNIGHT MASTERLIST

Painful is an understatement.

If you had to describe what your period felt like to an alien who had no understanding of human biology this is how you might describe it:

Imagine a battalion of tiny sumo wrestlers duking it out inside your uterus.

Imagine a never-ending game of tag between a horde of stomp-happy elephants using your stomach as the running ground.

Imagine the two allegories combined, but multiple it with three, and imagine having it every month from the time you're a young adolescent until (if you're lucky and god is merciful) it will end when you're in your fifties.

As you lie in your bed, curled up with a hot water bottle tucked to your lower belly, and whine into your pillow, you are convinced that this is some kind of divine punishment. You must have been bathing in virgin's blood to retain youth in a past life. Because you don't know what else you could've done to deserve this. And if you weren't, then if there is a god in heaven, they had better beg for your forgiveness when you get there.

"Want me to make you a cuppa love?"

You drag your face from where it's buried in the pillow to peek up at Steven's worried face.

Big brown eyes gaze down at you with so much concern, he must think you are on your death bed. He's been taking care of you all day. Pampering, coddling, and fussing over you.

He's been refilling your tea before you have time to even empty the cup. Reheating the hot water bottle every twenty minutes before it even has a chance to drop in temperature.

It's incredibly sweet. But you're so tea-ed out at the moment, you think 90% of your body composition is tea at this point.

"'m good."

He frowns, biting down on his lip, and you can sense his worry from bed. "If you don't want tea maybe some hot chocolate? I can even toast some marshmallows on top and I have a packet of biscuits."

You consider his generous proposal for a second or two.

In all honesty, you feel too sick even for chocolate, but you have a feeling that turning down chocolate will truly make Steven think you're dying and try to call the ambulance. So instead you answer, "that sounds lovely Steven."

His whole face brightens up, and he leaps to his feet and darts towards the kitchen.

You close your eyes to the raucous sound of pots and pans being pulled out. In the background, the sound of something crashing clanks out from the direction of the kitchen. It's followed by Steven's familiar comforting voice cursing "bugger" and "oh no," but you're too tired to check for yourself what's going on, as you drift off to sleep.

In your dream, you're wrapped in a comforting warmth. There's a gentle pressure on your stomach and limbs that takes all the pain away. Strong and tender, all at once, you want to linger in this sensation forever.

It's not forever, of course. But your nap lasts long enough that you get a bit of respite from the pain. When you wake again, it's to the distinct smell of burnt sugar lingering in the air.

Strong hands traverse over your hips and stomach, kneading at your sore and aching muscles with a perfect pressure that feels like heaven.

He's sitting at the foot of your bed, with a posture so upright, it's almost militant. The man doesn't need to open his mouth with his Chicagoan accent for you to know it's Marc who's sitting next to you right now.

"Where's Steven?" you ask.

"Put him on a time out. Nearly burnt down the place, trying to torch some marshmallows."

You smile at the image Marc is painting for you. That explains the burnt smell.

"How are you feeling," Marc asks. His hand roams from your stomach to the plane of your thighs. It has everything tingle pleasantly inside of you.

"Better," you tell him. "It feels really good when you do that."

His hand stills for a second, eyes drifting to his own hands. "Want me to keep going?"

You barely have to nod before he starts up again. Large hands covering the insides of your thighs as he presses down with just the right amount of strength.

The sensation spikes across your nerves and rides up your spine until the tense knot in your stomach that has been terrorizing you all day unfurls.

You gasp at the sensation, back arching into his touch for more. "There, there, don't stop."

It's maddening how good it feels. Marc knows your body like a map of a continent that he's explored every corner of. His hand drifts ever so slightly, fine-tuning his touch that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head.

It's the relief you've been begging for all day. Each press of his hand erasing the blunt ache that's been digging into your flesh since you woke up this morning.

That large hand of his, smooths over your bare stomach. The sweet warmth of it soothing any leftover pain that is still there until he cups over the soft fabric of your underwear and replaces it with an altogether different ache that has you squirming and squeezing your legs together.

His hand stills. "You want me to stop?"

"No!" you shout, louder than you intended or expected.

You clutch at his wrists to keep them on you. You're pretty sure that if Marc stopped touching you, you'd combust and die from frustration on the stop. Pretty sure that whatever the equivalent of blue balls is for ovaries is about to descend upon you.

"No, I just..." you flounder for a minute, not entirely sure what to say. Face warm as you say try to find the words. You don't know why the thought is so mortifying to you.

"I'm on my period." You manage to mutter out.

Marc cocks his head to the side, one eyebrow raised. He looks genuinely puzzled at what you've just told him. "I know...so?"

"It'll make a mess," you tell him, and you don't know how he's so casual about this. God knows your neat-freak of a boyfriend hates a mess. "I don't want to ick you out".

Ick him out? Why do you sound like a kid on the playground talking about cooties?

There's no worry in Marc's eyes as he observes you. None of the big round doe-like eyes of Steven. His eyes are narrowed, honed in on your face.

"Fuck the mess," he says.

There's a simmering heat in his voice as he says it that makes everything between your legs slick and achy as he leans even closer to you. "I want to make you feel better. You okay with that?"

You nod and the tip of his fingers skirts the edge of your panties before slipping inside. Despite your earlier embarrassment at the idea, your breath stutters with anticipation.

You're so fucking wet. Slick and hot, as his thumb presses down and has sharp electricity crackle down your spine. You find yourself spreading your legs wider for him, and Marc is more than happy to take it as an invitation.

Two fingers slide inside you, filling you perfectly, until you realize you feel a slickness trickle down the heel of Marc's hand.

"Fuck, Marc-- wait, it's--" you squeak in alarm as you feel it drip between your legs. "It's gonna get on the bed."

He doesn't stop, fingers continuing its languid pace on your clit, as he keeps stroking it to the pace of his liking. His mouth is on your neck, hot and humid as he murmurs into your skin.

"You really think a little blood is gonna keep me out of that pretty little pussy? Open up for me baby, let me take care of you."

And god...

You do. Of course you do, you'd do anything Marc asks and wants from you when he speaks to you in that tone and register. Your legs spread even further, tilting into his doting touch as he slides his fingers deeper.

Heat simmer all along the length of your spine, brandishing it with pleasure that has you struggling for breath.

His other hand comes to cup your face, while his fingers are still busy circling and gently strumming at your clit. He makes it seem so effortless as he does it.

There's no hesitation in his movements, two fingers bracketing your clit and he gently slides and teases you there that has that all familiar warmth already furling in your lower abdomen. Insistent and never rushed, you feel his fingers everywhere, until he brushes over something devastatingly good that has your vision go white for a brief moment.

"That's it baby, you're alright. So good for me, you don't have to think about anything else. All I need is for you to feel good. Come on my hand," his voice rasps in your ear.

Smooth and calming. Loving and commanding.

You don't stand a chance.

It's all it takes.

You drown in it, your climax claiming your limbs as the sensation streaks down your legs and wraps around your bones. You shake and jolt in his arms but he holds you there to him, not letting you pull away as you squirm away from the overstimulation and makes you ride the high against the palm of his reassuring hand.

He comforts you through it. All gentle caresses and soothing hushes as he presses his soft lips on your forehead.

"That's my good fucking girl."

Through the haze of your bliss, you reach for him. One finger hooking onto his belt to drag him closer.

You're too out of it to fully register what you're doing or properly express what you want. All you know is you want more of him. More of Marc. More of his sturdy firm weight on you. The warmth of his skin pressed against you. Of him, inside you.

"Want my cock baby?"

You nod, and much like before, Marc immediately complies.

He always does. Never does deny you of anything.

One hand comes to the front of his jeans, and you don't have to wait long for him as he pulls himself free of his jeans. Cock hard, and jutting up proudly that has you salivating at the sight of it.

Gripping his cock in one hand, Marc kneels over you, notching the fat tip against your entrance. The moment you feel him, you forget about any shred of hesitation you had just moments earlier about making a mess.

Because right now you don't care if you ruin Steven's sheets and leave a crime scene behind you. Every single thought in your mind has been replaced by the overarching need to have this man inside you.

He leans over, arms bracketing you in as he presses into you, stretching you, inch by perfect, beautiful, fucking, inch that has you seeing stars even in the daylight.

You feel him everywhere, every slow thrust and cant of his hips pressed so deeply into you, you're not sure you can breathe. You cling to every inch of him, legs wrapped around his waist, not wanting to let go but not sure you can take more of him either.

Full, you feel so fucking full.

"Too much?" Marc asks, eyes examining you, making sure you're alright.

You don't know how to answer him. It is a lot. So much, with all of him, every perfect inch of him filling you to capacity. It's too much and yet you want all of it and more. Want more and want him to never stop. So you tell him exactly that.

"No. Don't stop, don't stop," you beg. "Keep fucking me, please."

One big, warm hand settles low on your stomach, before it wanders, brushing teasingly through your folds and oh-so-gently over and around your clit until you think you might scream.

You bite down on your lip, worried that if you actually do scream, he'll stop out of worry. You squeeze your eyes tightly shut, trying to calm yourself but it only makes it all the more intense.

Behind closed eyes, the pleasure surges through your chest, and you can feel every careful and calculated movement that Marc makes as he slowly drags his cock out of you, until only the fat head rests inside you. Then he pushes back inside again, just as slow and it has tears stinging your eyes.

Slow and thorough. Deep and controlled. He's murmuring in your ear the whole time, his voice low and rough.

"Relax for me baby," he tells you, "I'm gonna take care of you like I always do. Fill your pretty pussy with my cock until you feel all better, okay?"

Better doesn't begin to describe it. You feel good. Feel so good you're overripe with pleasure that seems to be bursting along the seam of your skin.

The hand on your stomach, presses and holds you in place as you start to squirm against him to goad his fingers to where you need them.

But even when he complies, giving you what you like he always does, zeroing in on your clit, his caresses stay light and gentle. His thumb barely brushes over you, as he keeps the pace agonizingly slow and soft that have you shivering and shaking in his arms.

The taunting pleasure builds ever so slowly in your core. The light and teasing touches too much and not enough all at once, and your oversensitive, overwrought cunt clenches and flex endlessly, squeezing down around the thickness Marc’s cock.

You can feel his body jerk over yours each time, and you revel in the soft grunts and gasps you’re driving from him, because surely, surely now he’ll let go and fuck you fast and hard until you're crying.

But he still doesn’t. Doesn't lose control. Just presses gentle kisses to your shoulder, murmuring over and over again. "It’s okay, I got you, Going to make you feel so good".

He says it like a promise. As if he isn't already doing exactly that. He's making you feel so fucking good. So good that you can hardly stand it. So good that you're writhing in his arms, clutching and clawing at his arm and hand and wrist, not sure if you're trying to push him away or pull him closer. But it doesn't matter, he might as well be a stone statue for all the hope you have of moving him anywhere he doesn't want to you be yet.

You can feel the all too familiar tension in his body. Those strong thick thighs as hard as iron between yours. You swear you can feel the furious pounding of his heart where you're pressed back against his chest. Or maybe that's your own pulse pounding loud and frantic in your ears, but it doesn't matter, because you know he's close too.

"Fuck you feel so good," he murmurs into your skin and if you didn't know better you'd think he sounded shaky.

The pleasure builds, streaking up your torso in little lightning bolt pulses that tighten your nipples to achingly hard little points and steal the breath from your lungs.

The heat of Marc's body against you is unbearable, his hot breath and lips sliding over your shoulder, your neck, the curve of your jaw, and all the while, his fingers, those clever, competent fingers keep up their slow, ruinous circling, driving you higher inch by devastating inch.

You can't breathe anymore, can't see, can't think to the point you're pretty sure you can't feel your feet. Do you even have feet anymore? The only thing that's grounding you is the security of Marc's arms wrapped around you, the quiet cadence of his voice, whispering low and soft and still oh so sweet in your ear.

It's too much. Everything in you winding higher and tighter, filling you so full of pleasure that you swear you'll burst, but somehow still you don't. Can't. You need–

You clutch at Marc, gasp out a garbled sound that might be his name. You want to tell him that you can't stand it, that you need more, need all of him, everything that he has to give, but you've lost the ability to speak.

Instead, your body tells him for you, your cunt squeezing down around him, and refusing to let go. All of you drawn tight, tighter, tightest.

There's a breathless, "Oh. Baby. Fuck." in your ear, and Marc's hips jerk against you. Just once, the tiniest upward hitch. But it's enough. It's more than enough.

The unbearable, blissful tension holding your body hostage shatters, and wave after wave of unparalleled rapture roll though you, sharp and sweet and endless. The breath you didn't think you had left leaves you in a loud keening cry, that's echoed by a low, pained groan, and you can feel Marc's cock swell and pulse as he spills inside you, unable to resist the calling of your body's climax.

You ride out your orgasms together, your hips grinding needily into his, his fingers gripped harshly into your flesh, until the seemingly endless pleasure finally releases you both from its grip and you collapse back against Marc's solid bulk.

The arms around you relax, his clean hand smoothing over your belly and thighs. His voice hoarse and low, but still so, so syrupy sweet and gentle as he reassures you that you're okay, that he's got you, that he'll always be there when you need him.

You're boneless against him. Arms lying limply by your side on the damp mattress. Every bit of tension wrung out of you, like an old flannel that been wetted and twisted dry one too may times; worn out, but warm and cozy and relaxed.

"Feeling any better?" Marc asks eventually, arms tightening ever-so-subtly around you.

You don't have it in you to answer him with words, but you manage a small, contented giggle, snuggling back further into his embrace and tilting your head back to nuzzle his jaw.

That seems to be enough for him. He cranes his neck to press a soft kiss to your lips, then settles back, and the two of you stay there, cuddled together, warm and content and sated.

Content... just so fucking content, except...

Content is an understatement to what you're feeling wrapped in Marc's arms like this.

If you had to describe what your period felt like to an alien who had no understanding of human emotions this is how you might describe it:

Imagine snow falling outside and you are wrapped up safely in a heavy blanket around your tired limbs.

Imagine the smell of freshly made pancakes and coffee brewing (just the way you like it) in the morning after a hangover.

Imagine all of that combined and it still wouldn't even begin to do it any justice.

A/N: Thank you nonny for this ask, literally when you sent it I was having the period from actual hell and was in tears and wailing and crying in bed. This was a really nice escape to write this oneshot with TWP.

[neteyamsilly]

Being Neteyam's Only Daughter...

pairing ;; dad!neteyam x daughter!reader

genre ;; headcanons

notes / explanations ;; i wrote this instead of i will soften every edge, the brainrot was too strong. SORRY . entirely unedited so i could get it off my system. not what you guys were waiting for but i hope you enjoy!

♯ After a whole tumultuous lifetime of playing guardian to his siblings that he might as well be called their third parent, getting a whisker’s away from death at his teens solely because his little brother was looking for some action, Neteyam is enervated — he cannot imagine a life with children, and doesn’t even want to. He has already raised three.

♯ He may be good with children in general but that doesn't mean he could handle raising multiple of his own. The thought alone gives him intense anxiety.

♯ A mate would be nice. Would mean privacy, and his own world free from the burden of having to look after his siblings. His own family. One thing belonging to Neteyam and Neteyam only.

♯ He does get a mate, eventually. Right after Tuktirey can be responsible for her own. It's not something his father tells him to do, Neteyam just couldn't trust Lo'ak with their youngest sister even when the boy became a man. Lo'ak was still Lo'ak.

♯ And then comes the dreaded, silent expectation his mother stares right into his soul every time she sees him and his mate together: I want grandchildren.

♯ Neteyam doesn’t. He really doesn’t. Some peace and quiet would be nice for a while, he really likes the mellowness of the present, feels so light now. He has his own life, finally. Home away from the Sullys. He doesn't have to wake himself up before his siblings. The silence and comfort of love is new and strange, but it's nice and it's his. They can pry it away from his cold, dead hands.

♯ No children.

♯ Neteyam finally has his peace.

♯ No children, mother, seriously.

♯ ...Not now, at least.

♯ And if it ever happens. Only one. That would be enough for Neteyam and his mate. The horror of having a big family enters his dreams sometimes even now, he startles awake with the sensation of Lo’ak having ditched him, none of his siblings around, and the trouble that would follow.

♯ Yeah, no. Neteyam isn’t going to spend his life running after another batch of children. No way.

♯ Only one. One is enough.

♯ Eywa, he hopes the child would be like him if it ever happens. Neteyam takes pride in his precocious childhood free of immaturity. Not that he's dying to be a father, but if he ever becomes one, he hopes the child is calm and easy to communicate with.

♯ He knows his mate wants to be a parent one day, and knows he also will be ready eventually, but having to give up how wonderful life has become... Neteyam just wants to be selfish for once.

♯ (Somehow he can't get used to the solitude of peace, but won't admit he misses the rowdiness of his siblings and how bright each and every day was with them. Neteyam doesn't realize it's loneliness.)

♯ He doesn't expect to be as excited when it happens. Neteyam knows before his mate does and it's not the usual pregnancy symptoms, but the change of scent, in the past, he had detected his own mother was with child that way, from what he knew, this was unique to him and him only, but it was conclusive and Neteyam was right every time.

♯ His stomach doesn't sink like he thought it would, and his mate gets scared with the scream that follows his dissociation.

♯ It has to be a girl. He wants it to be a little baby girl. The desire to coddle and pamper his baby the way none of the Sully siblings were overwhelms him. If it was a son, he'd love him all the same, make him feel loved and appreciated like the Sully patriarch never really did with him, it's just, the thought of another Lo'ak on his hands just worries him.

♯ Neteyam really underestimated how ready to be a father he really was. It shouldn't really be surprising to him given his big brother status, he already knows how to be a parent - but didn't know he wanted to be one, deep down, that he looks forward to the chaos his child would bring back to his life.

♯ His mother and father are nothing less than elated. It's going to be their first grandchildren, and Neteyam sees Jake Sully shed a couple tears for the first time in his life. They have a father-son hunting trip together for the offering to Eywa in the name for the safe arrival of his child, and have countless conversations about fatherhood. If it was Lo'ak, he'd be willing to learn the new knowledge, but Neteyam already knows all he should, and his father is guiltily aware of this too, his delivery is awkward, and Neteyam does his best to alleviate the talk.

♯ They don't know the gender until the day you're born.

♯ And his wishes have come true: a girl. You're healthy and fairly plump from how Neteyam kept feeding his mate throughout the pregnancy.

♯ He can't believe he has a child, and that he has his whole life together with you now. How scary it is that you have become his whole world the moment he holds you, that he is the protector of this tiny, little life. How will he be as a father? What kind of person will you become?

♯ It comes as second nature to hold you when it's fairly new to his mate, he knows how to handle you, how to calm you down, how to baby talk that it creeps his siblings out to see him openly loving that way.

♯ His father had talked about the sky person concept of monarchy in the past. He says how you're Neteyam's pretty little princess one day, and it sticks. Neteyam thinks so too, but Paskalin is what he calls you - sweet berry.

♯ Because you are very sweet, the calmest, most endearing baby he's ever known. The most adorable. He doesn't know anyone cuter than you that he catches playful aggression the whole time, wanting to bite into you and pinch you all around. Eywa help him, he hasn't felt like this in his life, ever. None of his siblings were close to being this delightful. His Paskalin is way too loveable.

♯ You don't cry at night, go to sleep easily, only fuss when you want or need something, and are full of smiles and laughter, you know how to entertain yourself. Neteyam can't believe how convenient everything is.

♯ His father says Neteyam was like this as a baby too, and you've taken after him. Usually, the first child's perfection tricks the parents into having more children, he says, and it's the easiest trap to fall into.

♯ Turns out, it's not something Neteyam is happy about. How flawlessly well-behaved you are as a baby, he means. He wished you would act out more, Neteyam would happily go along with your whims.

♯ It stems from his own childhood wounds, he wasn't allowed to be childish, so he hopes you would be. Neteyam wants to give you everything he wanted but couldn't have as a child.

♯ So he spoils you rotten. And it feels gratifying to make you happy.

♯ You and him are inseparable. Wherever he goes, you toddle behind him like a shadow.

♯ Neteyam is warned multiple times by his parents for overindulging you that you'd end up uninterested in the company of your peers, therefore experience isolation and loneliness, and end up hyper-independent because of those poor social skills, that you would end up selfish and entitled because he gave you whatever you wanted and become hyper-sensitive to criticism and in-family conflict due to not experiencing emotional toughening by interacting with friends and being too overly fond of him, your main source of affection.

♯ Some of those worries end up being realized, and some of them don't.

♯ As you grow up, Neteyam's wishes that you would want to be spoiled more get grander. His daughter is generous and loving. You aren't immature and childlike like he wants you to be. His Paskalin keeps getting sweeter as you get older and older. You don't ever ask for anything the more Neteyam wants to keep giving, always saying you had everything you could ask for in life, and if you wanted a specific something, you could get it yourself and wouldn't want to bother him with that.

♯ Neteyam really regrets praying to Eywa for an obedient child.

♯ He thinks of having more children at times, to give you companions, but gives up on it as soon as he entertains the idea. He would never want you to go through the same things as he did as the eldest brother.

♯ Neteyam doesn't know what to do about you not straying from his side and only ever wanting to be around adults. Your favorite people are your grandparents. That shouldn't really be a child's first preference, right? He knows he was like this, but also, it wasn't normal. Even your aunt Tuk was too young for you and her hyperactivity made you uncomfortable for some reason.

♯ He never knew your dislike of going out and socializing, your preference of staying on your own rather than getting close to your younger cousins.

♯ Great Mother, you weren't a shy girl that he knows of, always talkative and energetic with him. Neteyam has only noticed your quietness recently when you were old enough to go and start learning with other kids.

♯ You don't have any friends that he knows of. You orbit around people your age, but don't get involved, more interested in your hobbies and interests and duties within the village.

♯ His mother told him this would happen.

♯ Kiri tells him he has raised a girl version of himself and it bothers Neteyam. He loves that you are a daddy's girl and so close to him that you are basically transparent to him, but he really wishes you were more childish. You are too mature for his liking.

♯ When you hit your teens, he's confronted with a new dilemma. He doesn't know what a helicopter parent is, but his father says Neteyam has become one. That he doesn't allow you to face failure and challenges, and heavily guides you the more he becomes anxious about how you're turning up. He says Neteyam needs to leave you alone.

♯ Which he's too anxious to do. He doesn't know where this comes from and why he's this way. Neteyam just worries too much and doesn't want you to have the troubles he did.

♯ It becomes particularly stronger when he finds out you were having bullying problems.

♯ In the clan his father was the Olo'eyktan of. In the clan he was to be Olo'eyktan of. He can't fathom the audacity any more than he can't believe you were hiding it from him. You never hid anything from your father in your life, ever. He makes you cry for the first time when he confronts you and gets angry over it.

♯ You hadn't even done anything wrong, and Neteyam regrets it immediately, hugging you and apologizing for it on the spot.

♯ He offers to teach those kids who saw you too meek a lesson, but you tell him that they do it because they think of you unworthy to be his daughter and Toruk Makto's family. He learns they think you're weak and passive with barely any presence at all, when you were the brightest and sweetest girl Neteyam knew.

♯ Someone had taught you humiliation where he couldn't see or help. Stripped you off your worth. These kids were jealous of you. They wanted your status and it was clear as day to Neteyam, but he couldn't make you see the way he saw.

♯ It's Lo'ak who teaches you how to bite back, Kiri how to hit where it hurts with words and Tuk how to manipulate. None of them let Neteyam get involved, you have to do this on your own and prove your worth to yourself.

♯ He can't be more proud of you when you manage to stand up for yourself, and excitedly tell him about it one day along with the news that you have made a couple friends, too.

♯ The feeling of you branching on your own path stings and weighs heavy in his heart as he tastes the bittersweet of his child growing up, but his Paskalin would be alright, he decides.

♯ He will be with you every step of the way.

[hjparisian]

ready baby- harry j potter x reader

p: harry j potter x fem! reader w: just fluff, not fully proofread summary: after the wizarding war, (y/n) and harry spend time healing from the past. harry is ready to move forward and start a family, but is (y/n) ready? a/n: a request from one of my lovely followers! kinda short but i hope its good

The end of the Second Wizarding War came as a relief to everyone, but it brought many deaths to love ones. From Fred, Lavender, Remus, Tonks and many more, both Harry and (Y/N) had to face a lot of coping and healing. Because of this, they couldn't really progress on what they desired in the future.

Since Harry was deemed as the godfather to Remus and Tonks' baby, Teddy Lupin, he and (Y/N) would often visit Andromeda to help raise him. (Y/N) had absolutely adored the little Metamorphmagus and was often the one coddling the boy. She'd always have Teddy wrapped snuggly in her arms. This sight was always a dream to Harry.

You see, Harry has always thought about having children, especially with (Y/N). He's always known that she was the one for him. He had proposed to her prior to the Battle of Hogwarts, promising that even if he had to die, he will always be hers. Thankfully, he had survived and defeated Voldemort, having their wedding a little bit after to bring cheer to a dark era.

Even though he really wanted children, he never expressed the thought towards (Y/N). He didn't want to bring this up when they were both healing from the war and didn't to put pressure on (Y/N) if she didn't want children. At least they had Teddy to help raise.

The two Potters returned home after celebrating little Teddy's fifth birthday with Andromeda and the Weasleys. The two had always spoiled Teddy a little too much when it came to birthdays and Christmas, giving him a pile full of gifts ranging from different toys to pictures of the boy's late parents.

After the two had changed into more comfortable clothes, (Y/N) had went to make tea for the two of them. Harry sat at the table, staring at his lovely wife.

"Teddy is growing up pretty fast, don't you think?" (Y/N) says to Harry as she brought him his tea.

"He is. Soon he'll be taller than you," Harry said, a faint "hey!" coming from (Y/N).

"Maybe he'll be taller than you."

Harry laughed. "Yeah right."

A comfort silence laid in the room before (Y/N) began speaking.

"Hey Harry?"

"Yes, love?"

"I've been thinking," (Y/N) started. "After spending so much time helping Andromeda with Teddy, I think I'm ready."

Harry was slightly confused. "Ready? For what?"

A shaky (Y/N) took a deep breath. "I think I'm ready to start a family with you."

"Really?" Harry asked.

"Yes. Caring for Teddy made me think of what it'd be like to raise a child of our own. And you know, maybe give Teddy a young sibling," she said.

To say Harry was happy was an understatement. The man had stood up and wrapped his arms around his wife, picking her up and spinning around in joy.

"I can't believe it," Harry said as he sets her back on the ground. "Are you sure you want to do this? With me?"

"Yes Harry, there's no one else I'd rather have a child with than you." (Y/N) told him. "Besides, I think it's time we move forward in our lives. I know we will never truly get over the war, but we can focus on our future, bring more little wizards around."

"We should have three little Harrys," he said jokingly.

(Y/N) laughed. "If they're anything like your sassy self, you're handling that catastrophe."

"I'm not sassy!"

"Joking! Maybe."

Harry cupped (Y/N)'s cheek before leaning forward to kiss her, (Y/N) meeting his lips at the middle.

"I love you, darling," Harry said to (Y/N).

"I love you too, Harry."

"So," Harry began. "When can we start this family?"

[tigerpearlsworld]

Pick a card

( Why can't you find love ....where is the lack ? )

Before you chose the cards know that this is a general pick a card. There are infinite energies in the universe and the energies if align with your stars will guide you to my reading. So, welcome. Know that you can only chose one card. This pick a card is meant for your soul not for you to resonate but for you to realize when you get the message and truth in time. To pick a card you must follow your hearts tug and instinct and look deep within each image something about yourself rather than what you want it to be Breathe in and Breathe out, light a candle/ incense, meditate to the beating of your heart and let every thoughts come through and accept what is coming in your heart and then light and form a picture in your heart as you close your eyes and meditate in yourself. After that when you open your eyes choose the image where your heart calls for the most and remember your heart is your guide not your brain so.....

Sorry if my english is bad.

To those who chose the pile to know the answers of your love and its fate, i pray to the stars to bless you with pure energy and to give you strength.

Choose the pile :

Pile 1 : Eclipse, Pile 2 : Bondage, Pile 3 : Sheep

The reading starts...

Pile 1 :

Words which are coming for you as i start the reading of pile 1 are ( Searching, worry/anxious, gullible, sleep paralysis, haunted, support, sleep, protection, flow, knowledge )

Vibes : to take charge or be in control

Cards : ( 6 of wands Rx, Ace of cups, King of wands, 7 of pentacles, Death, Knight of wands )

I see in the strings of fate weaving your story in matters of heart and finding your love, i see struggle. No matter if you are good looking and very much desired and people fight over you but when it comes to you wanting a place to rest in someone else's heart you see yourself alone. Yes you get compliments yes you are envied but you have insecurities which are also in the compliments you get from people. I see in your heart space you long towards finding your sun, your king or queen but it feels impossible. All the choices you find are never to the satisfaction of yourself or the people who surround you as friends, family and supporters. At times you can get manipulative without even knowing and later on realizing you find it hard to admit. You like to be coddled but you also want to independent and be respected in matters of your craft.

I see that from early on in life you don't have the greatest of choices in people as your significant partner. In most times the choices you spare and give chances don't do you the same favor when the table turns in their favor. You are treated as the main girl but as time passes you feel that you lost your shine and spark with the so person you once enjoyed sharing with.

In your lack i don't see you having the scarcity of having no options but its more like after you get the man or woman you want, things just begin to spiral down. The question which comes is "So, what now?" you are a freedom seeking soul in heart yet you also crave the loyalty of a person to follow you in that adventures with you and that is hard.... because no one wants to follow your path. I see your fate in love is a hard one and one more like a sailor who is in a mission to find the one piece. i see that you wont be able to meet the love of your life in the region you were born, no.... you will have to cross oceans as in cross distances and have to go through a lot of internal death and soul transformation where you learn not to repeat the old cycle of habits then and only then you will cross path with your true love.

Your fate in love is a penance you must do, because if not, the heat of either your flames or your partner will burn the relationship and make the partner go blind or you... I see this heat will even cause the loop of chase and runner happening between you and your partner and if worse goes to worse there is also possibility of affair and unexpected children by your partner out of no where.

i see your fated partner can be a musician or singer, may be more earthy in approaches of medicine and can also be a huge healer. I also see you and your fated partner to share a lot of activities and being adventurous together.

The one message i have for you is don't go blind in rage or hatred. Be in control of your mind and its thoughts and be discipline with yourself in matters of health, food and routine. You may like horror movies or there is a lot of tendency in you to rage but you have to control your anger.... your anger will be your true enemy. Also try to be more in service for others. Lessen your feeling of being a victim and become more motivated towards empowering yourself and bring changes in your lifestyle for good.

the song which came for you during my reading, this may help or resonate with you.

Pile 2 :

Words which are coming for you as i start the reading of pile 2 are (Leader, universe, travel, burning, wishes, identity, punishment, heat, burning, karma)

Vibes : Want to punish the sinner/ Savior mentality / Defender

Cards : ( Knight of pentacles, knight of cups, the hierophant, 2 of wands, the devil, 10 of pentacles, temperance )

In the churning of your cosmos the stars says you are a force to reckon. you are gentle but fierce, kind but stern. you have all the abilities of a leader and people respect if you know or not. there is a sense of directness which you take and anything that comes in front of your speech or goal is not spare at all. I see you have a grandeur about you which you may have not realize till later in your life. I see that you are a very serious person who may not get what you want in life directly so you must grind and work hard for it. I see no obstacle can hold you back and that you are a person with serious loyalty and commitment. I see you crave for someone to dominate you in bed and i see you have wild fantasies with a lot of ideas. I see from younger years you had a sex appeal to you which was not missed by people and sometimes was also used to abuse or shame.

I see the lack you have in matters of love is not something which is missing but something which you have. Your serious undying loyalty is something which is to die for and very remarkable but it also drags you to the bottom of getting used and hurt in the process. I see even if you get abuse and the relationship is over the flames of your love and your loyalty is something which doesn't dies easily. "You love too much" and Once you make a commitment even if you die you wont let the commitment go....it is scary but it is you.

I see that in matter of having men/women you have people offering themselves to you but you don't want something shallow you want something deep, something dark . you want all the good, bad, ugly and worse of a person.

I see in the fate of your love life i see two soulmates or two marriages. There is two stories here it either goes like your first relationship was toxic and abusive but later on you divorced move on with your life ,started all over worked hard on yourself and career and suddenly everything began to get better and you met the love of your life and for every struggle you had early you get rewarded heftily this time

or

Your first relationship you marry the love of your life but something very unexpected happens in marriage which causes lose in some ways but you also gain something like honor, career, money, land, house but even after getting everything you still pay karma to your children and family in some ways. And you keep struggling to find a man who wants you for you and not for what you have in later parts of life. I also see there is a tendency to attract men younger than you.

either way in your fate of love i definitely see long-term marriage but there is karma to pay.

In this life for you what im getting as message to deliver is to not be so serious and be free, let go of self constraint you always put in yourself or you let others put on you. "Let go and be free."

This song was coming for me it was attacking me literally, it has messages i believe

Pile 3 :

Words which are coming for you as i start the reading of pile 2 are ( Connecting, Risking, Curious, Bipolar, Pure, Mutable, cutting, attraction, always questioning always confuse, burning, moving, domestic, wild, temptation, crossing )

Vibes : Taking all the responsibility/ Burning up

Cards: ( The magician, 6 of wands Rx, ace of cups, knight of cups, temperance, 8 of wands, 6 of pentacles )

In matter of your stars i see you are blessed by the heavens and all the angels. you are beautiful and very youthful in spirit. I see you were born with a mission this life time and woman fall easily for you. you have a allure which is very hard to resist. I see your energy is very masculine but at the same time its very feminine. you maybe bipolar, i dont know why but it just came. You may like milk product or your mother or you may even be a vegan or vegetarian by choice.

I see you have a very strong appeal to you and a very high vibrational manifesting power. whatever you dream in heart you can achieve you have that power. As because you're so youthful from inside your soul and heart i see like a child you can distinguish between a bad person and a good person. your judgement is very precise. your fashion is also very precise and on point. you do not like the idea of lack. I also see you like to meet people and engage in different parties, concerts, events, movies. There is a sense of innocence in your sexuality. For some i also see fluidness in gender of not knowing what or who you are truly ( i mean no disrespect, its just im getting the messages. ) for some of you I also see working or contributing to a lot of charity or non- profit organization for children and animal especially even old people. I also see you may find old people and animals cute and adorable.

Now in matters of what is the lack i see you are a natural giver. Yes, you like to give in love with open heart and you are someone who is very direct and honest about your feelings and emotions. But the problem of lack i see is the very nature of you being a giver, you are never satisfied you feel inside you there is this sense telling you to go and share your love and admiration with everyone equally. you are someone who may want to be in relationship but again that bipolar energy doesn't lets you stay in that single frame of devotion. You want to be free and roaming the world with your friends and have fun and accomplish goals and mission in life. The domestic idea in life of relationship although not out of reach for you but keeps you restless and uncomfortable when you're in one for long. There is also this fate where you and your partner just get bore or life in relation becomes mundane so naturally you guys fall apart.

In matter of fate in love if you are the one who wants the love seriously but still you will only encounter people or have people come to you who are either engage, married or in relationship. I see the stereotype of food being the way to heart is true for you as you really are a foodie. In the bedrooms i see you have this mixture of innocence and fire. I also see in matter of love there is a habit of cutting a relationship off without warning unexpectedly.

You may like beaches or sunset or just sun in general so i'll say to take the blessings of the sun and bath in sunlight in morning time also its recommended to do fire rituals and burn incense for purity of mind and soul.

A song which came to me when i was channeling this piles energy

[desparaic]

Imagine Rengoku's son traveling to the past pt.2

Rengoku X Fem! Reader

Also in the future, there’s a long pause after red light arc. Hence tengen already retired in Future Son’s timeline. and [spoiler alert] yes we will absolutely ignore the mark curse

read part 1 here.

“Oh, what breathing technique do you use?”

You ask your…. son? kid? dang you never thought you would be able to say that to a teenager this early in your life, especially when you’re not long into the marriage

“Flame breathing!” He says with a proud grin (why this kid so cute you wanna coddle him to death)

“Following your father’s footstep, I see! Did he teach you personally?” You smile, thinking about your husband teaching your son swordsmanship. Ugh the thought of it makes your heart melt.

“Nope. From Grandfather!”

h

huh?

tafa???

Grandfather??? Like Rengoku’s father??? Your father in law???? The man who can’t even get up and do something else other than drinking and yelling at other people?????

He taught your son flame breathing?????

You are confusion

You ask why didn’t his father teach him instead

“… Anyway! Do you want to spar?”

This kid—

okay, well, clearly he doesn’t want to talk about it. Maybe he’s on bad terms with his father???

But you can’t imagine Kyojuro being a bad father or someone who has a tense relationship with his kids. The last thing he wants to be is to be like his father. You know that. He himself told you that before.

So maybe he’s just in the middle of an argument with his father??? Like… a really long one…

yeah that could be it

So you decide to spar with him (you don’t have anything else to do anyway other than walking around the nearby village)

you kick his butt

It feels refreshing and fun. not because you’re beating your future child.

You never have this feeling sparring with anyone before. It’s cute. You’re experiencing a mother-son time except…. you ain’t a mother yet… but you are— will??? idk

In the middle of sparring (how many rounds has it been??), Kyojuro appears with a big grin, before it fades and he tilts his head confusedly.

“MY LOVE! WHO IS THIS PERSON??”

Hooo boy

Both of you whip your head to see him

“HE LOOKS JUST LIKE ME! HAHAHA!”

Bless your husband, he isn’t even phased that there’s a rando lookin like he’s his clone

BUT YOU HECKAAA EXCITED, about to tell Kyojuro that he’s—

You see your (future) son’s conflicted face contorted to anger, then calm. “Ah. I’ll take my leave right now. I’m thirsty.”

He leaves just like that.

You’re confused

has future you ever taught him manners

Is… Was the argument that bad????

Poor Kyojuro is so confused, looking at the boy leaving.

“Who was that young fellow?”

You explain that that’s his son

His face shows a split second of surprise before it immediately switches to excitement

(he doesn’t even ask how that’s possible like ok)

“HE’S MY SON??? OH WHAT JOY! S/O. THAT IS OUR SON!”

Yes, yes you just told him that of course you know lol

But you’re so confused as to why your son would just leave like that. You honestly expect him to be just as excited to see his dad like he did with you

and so

the chaos and conflicts and confusion and everything related ensues

Practically everyone knows your future son is here

They’re dying to meet him

Uzui is proud of what he has become. Man’s flamboyant. can even take a hard pat on his back! (he nearly died)

Mitsuri is so excited!!! She keeps giving him sakura mochi and all other snacks and talks to him a lot!!! Sees him as her lil bro ngl (tho technically it should be nephew)

Shinobu too is very sweet towards him and tells him he’s welcome anytime to the Butterfly Estate to just have tea and chat (every time they interact your son’s face turns tomato red. does he have a school boy crush????)

Tomioka is just happy the boy talks to him often

its cute. you can tell he admires the water hashira a lot

Sanemi scoffs and thinks he still has a long way until he is strong

like who tf think does this kid think he is

but he supposes the kid has potential

Obanai acknowledges him and greets him even though he scares your son sometimes

Gyomei. Cats. lots of pats. lots of fluff. nuff said

Muichiro always forgets his name

Tanjiro is super shocked but is happy to get along with Rengoku’s future son!! Nezuko takes a liking to him immediately and warms up to him (Zenitsu seething rn)

surprisingly inosuke oddly silent around him at first…. before he inevitably challenges him to a fight

The son ofc know who they all are (he still does not like young Zenitsu)

Also, he nearly spilled Tanjiro and Kanao’s future relationship oops ig at the present they aint tgt yet 🤷‍♂️

They all think he’s great!

But… there is one thing for sure

And what confuses them the most

is that he absolutely hates the mention of his father

Whenever someone brings up the fact he looks just like Rengoku or they compare the father and son, boy gets real upset and angry

Like??? huh???

You’d thinking a kid would be proud to have someone like Rengoku as their father

Apparently not

Kyojuro catches on to this.

I mean, its hard not to tell that every time he approaches the boy, he just pretends the hashira never exist

Kyojuro kinda concerned and worried

And frankly, he’s kinda sad too.

He wants to spend his time with his future son before who knows when he’ll return back to his time!

Eventually, Rengoku catches him a place where the kid can’t escape easily

He asks the kid what is wrong and what is really going on

Dang… it really hurt seeing your own kid (even though technically not yet) glaring at you like that

The kid only grumbles excuses and that’s it

Kyojuro gently tries to push him to open up

Really wants to know what’s going on poor man please give him a break

“I can tell you don’t like to converse with me… why is that? I would love to get to know my own son!”

Rengoku Kyojuro would never expect that sentence would completely make his own future kid snap.

“Son??? Hah. Sure.”

???????????

The??? Audacity???

My man Kyojuro isn’t even phased (again, bless his patient heart) he’s just confused

What does that mean?

“Did… I do something…?”

“Something???? Something…?????” the boy clenched his jaw, “Don’t act like you care.”

… But he does tho.

At this point the flame hashira just wants to know what he did wrong to make him so mad

“Oh, you really wanna know what you did?” He says in such a bitter tone. Whatever Kyojuro did, he musta pissed him reeaaal off.

“Y…Yes…?”

“… Fine. Not like it’ll change anyway considering how easily you threw us away.”

p-

pardon?

“You hurt Mother. You left her when she needed you the most. You left us! Because you think your job is better than this little family!”

….huh?

“I’m… I’m sorry, I don’t und-“

“When she needed you the most, you just up and left her! Just like that! What do you think I’ll feel about that, huh?”

Kyojuro… did that? He can’t even fathom leaving you for a split second! What was future him thinking?

“You left Mother! When I was still… When she was still pregnant and needed you… You chose to go on a mission instead of being there for her!”

“Do you know how much my mother begged you not to go? How she endlessly express her worries and concerns, even though she never doubted you before??”

“Do you know how much it hurt her when you promised her nothing will happen, only for some crow to announce that you died in a fight with an Upper Moon, a fight you could’ve avoided! A FIGHT THAT YOU SO SELFISHLY WENT ON AND JUST DIED?!”

…

Hold on…

Hang on—

What?

—————————

I was supposed to finish this all in one post, but I reached the limit… Gonna post part 3 soon

[i-cant-sing]

Okay but like I can't get over how mad Gojo looked when he held Riko's dead body (also can't stop sobbing over Toji dying).

Can you imagine if instead of Riko it was his own little sister/daughter??????

I mean my man here was going insane ar Riko's death, he would've definitely pulled an oppenheimer if it reader was actually related to him.

Like what if reader was his daughter, someone Gojo had coddled and loved and practically kept in a bubble, and she turned out to be the next star plasma vessel? And instead of dying, she ALMOST dies, be it at the hands of Toji or by his higher ups??? I mean, Gojo is just holding your bloody, injured body, your breathing very shallow, and he's trying so hard not to obliterate the entire world because you were this 🤏 close to dying. But rn you're his no.1 priority so he gets you to Shoko who heals you, and then he can focus on committing mass murder.

Or what if reader is actually his sister, who was forced to marry Toji by both the clans, and he was too young to understand the gravity of the situation, but when he grows up, he sees you're not happy with Toji and tells you to divorce Toji if you want to and not to worry what the clans will say because he will handle everything else. And you're so happy, because at least you'll have Gojo to support you and take care of you for a while, but when it's time for you to actually leave Toji (who by now isn't a scummy husband anymore and has become a romantic yandere for you), Gojo can't find you?? I mean, he goes to ask Toji about you, but he only shrugs and says he doesn't know except that you packed your stuff and left. But Gojo eventually finds out, after months, that Toji has actually kidnapped you and taken you to a safehouse, all while the Zenin clan is supporting him (only cause Toji does your dirty work and they're lowkey platonic yandere for you too. Besides, if they don't let you escape, Toji won't leave the clan either).

And then finally, Gojo finds you and he's absolutely LIVID to see you pregnant and shackled to the fucking ground in Toji's room (who btw is away on a clan's mission) and he catches Naoya hurling derogatory terms at you (cause he can't physically harm you. Toji would've killed him) and Gojo just- purple hollows Naoya out of existence. When Gojo gets close to you, you cower and flinch and Gojo can barely recognise you anymore because they've completely broken you down. You're crying and crying until you pass out in his arms and Gojo just collects you and leaves the estate, blood and bodies of the clan behind him, his only concern how he's going to heal you and never let you leave his sight, and how he will kill Toji Fushiguro.

For now, you can sleep against his chest while he takes care of everything.

He hopes you won't resist him when he kills the fetus in your belly.

[sibylsleaves]

wait people dont want buddie to be insane and codependent 😭 honey once you taste someone’s blood or restart their heart with your hands what else can you do 😔 (i could put so many examples here thats how crazy they are. and i eat it up!!!! i want more insane injuries in season 8 so i can watch them go crazy its catnip to me)

and like the thing is is YEAH they are insane in dramatic, life-or-death ways but they are ALSO insane in small, everyday ways. They are insane in "everyone else can't fucking stand you when you're in Clipboard Mode but I think it's cute" and "you got tired of all of our friends trying to constantly check on you and coddle you and you came to ME the one place you feel at peace and can actually open up about your feelings about your near-death experience" and "i already teamed up with a mean reporter to find the hidden treasure but the second you turned your big brown cow eyes on me i folded like a piece of tissue paper and invited you along" and "my son cant stand to look at me and i think ive just burned my entire life down and all i need right now is for you to be here" and "you seem excited about this bachelor party idea and even though the groom himself doesn't seem to want it I think we should dress up in a themed couples costume together" and "i was struggling to find childcare and you stepped up and solved that problem for me without me even needing to ask and also ive only known you for like a month at this point" and "i know i've spent the last week being a huge dick to you because i am insane but im going to go inside this ambulance with you and help remove a live grenade from a man's leg and afterward ill promise to have your back and let you have mine forever & ever"

i could go on

[maleyanderecafe]

May I recommend Deep obsession on itchio? It's 18+ tho, so heed the warnings.

Man... that sure is a r18+ game that I just played. That being said, there are some pretty interesting things after a lot of the smut parts were done. You can play the game here if you are interested. This is a game submitted to the Stained Red Yandere Jam which I will not only be participating in but also do recommendations from.

The story starts out with Hex on the news learning about how five reporters went missing after trying to go after a snuff streamer. Hex doesn't believe the news at first but becomes curious, searching into it. After some searching and getting a link, they log into one of the streams to see of course, a snuff stream. While horrified by the death of the lady on stream, Hex becomes entranced with their voice, something that they try to fight the urge to look to again. The next day, they go to the mall to get some snacks and hang out, only to have someone tap on their shoulder when resting. They find a chocolate in their pocket and presumably get their keys stolen (though they don't seem to realize this, believing they lost their keys) before going to sleep after the neighbors help them get in. After a restless night of what they presume to be sleep paralysis of being touched and watched, they get the morbid feeling of wanting to watch the snuff streamer again, to which they do. After jacking off and promptly falling asleep watching the stream, they wake up with a jolt, only to be kidnapped. Upon waking up, they find that they are indeed, captures by the person who they've been watching streaming. Hex actually gets quite into this, not only deepthroating but straight up asking the streamer to bite their thighs. They have various sexy times, with Hex seemingly into it.

If Hex is more or less chilled out, they will freak out when the streamer ends it stating that they will kill Hex. This turns out to be a lie, as the streamer actually keeps them alive as they like Hex. They reveal that their name is Victor. The last scene has Victor seemingly fighting his conscious as a mysterious person talks about how this will not last, how they are the same as the others, before he wakes up and coddles Hex to sleep.

If Hex screams, they will again freak out when the streamer states that he will kill them, though they reassure them that he will not. He also pretty much gets shot at, with the mysterious person, whose name is Simon, essentially recruiting Hex afterwards for something.

So far, it is a pretty interesting premise seeing Hex actually be into more of the snuff streaming things, considering how into Victor's voice they seem to be. I do like the kind of concepts where the MC is pretty messed up at least to this degree. We don't really get to know that much about Simon or Victor though. We know that Victor has been stalking Hex for a bit, considering I don't think it was sleep paralysis that was groping and watching them. And they seemingly know where Hex lives and even seems to know their name and probably gave them the chocolate while they were at the mall. Still, again, other than knowing that Victor is a snuff streamer, has no problems with killing people and likes Hex, we really know very little to nothing about him. Same with the Simon person who apparently hires us. I think it would be a cool twist that in the end Hex ends up being a snuff streamer as well, following in the twisted footsteps of Victor. The art style mostly consists of blacks and whites which is always a fun thing to see in terms of stylization. I'm not really into that kind of dark smut as much as other people (I'm more on the side of wanting to torture someone, but I know most people don't tend ot share that sentiment in the yandere community, so that's alright), but I think it can be appealing to those who are interested in that.

Overall, a short but dark story. Considering this is likely a demo, I am really hoping that they will flesh out more of the story for Victor and Simon since the start of it does seem to leave a lot of interesting pathways that might be nice to follow.

[neonovember]

Golden Boy

part two to this request

warnings: suggestive content, miscommunication, angst if you are a tortured poet, highschool love, protective!carmen, touch depirved!carmen, mention of death

w/c: 2.8k

a/n: okay, okay, yes i know i said this would be a two part series, but god i have too much to say and it didn’t feel right to cram it into two parts. Also i wanted to add a little smut snippet and of course that required its own chapter??

The ring of the Beef doors resound through the murmur of the kitchen, the lunch time rush had dissolved to a quiet pull, regulars coming in for their pick up orders and the occasional customer seated in one of the back booths.

The soothing quiet the crew had been relishing just moments ago is interrupted by the familiar boom of Richie’s voice and the loud bang of the cartons of produce he’d left on the counter.

“Guess who the fuck I ran into down at the Market” Richie yells, beaming with the kind of smile you’d only have with the worlds biggest secret on your tongue.

The crew gathers at the kitchen station, hands rubbing tired eyes as the work day slugged on.

“What, Richie?” Sydney humours him, throwing the last of the chopped vegetables into a pot to slow cook, wiping her hand on her shoulder towel as she looks up at Richie.

“Our very own Bug” Richie replies, eyes glinting as they watch the white linen shirt of Carmen’s back stop suddenly. 

Carmen pauses, the sound of his knife falling with a clank. It takes a moment for him to turn around and face Richie, partly because he doesn’t want to meet the goofy pull of his features that told him he was playing around and partly because he doesn't want to face that what Richie said might be true. 

But he faces him anyway, because he always will for you.

“What? You saw a bug? Really Richie, you had to come all this way--” Sydney groans out, pressing a finger between her eyebrows, smoothing out the skin that has begun to wrinkle there.

“Shit, sorry, I forgot you guys don’t know her”

“Her? You got a little lady you've been keeping from us Richie?” Tina replies playfully, swatting a towel towards Richie who barely dodges it.

Carmen coughs abruptly at Tina’s comment, in which Richie bites back a grin, before raising an arm up in surrender.

“She’s an old friend of the family, Carmen and her used to be real close in High school. Come to think of it, she was your only friend actually, and was way out of your league” Richie says with a condescending tone, there is a look of thoughtfulness on Richie's face like he's actually thinking about Carmen’s high school experiencing and remembering the clear lack of friends he's had beside you.

The sound of cat calls and oooh’s resounds throughout the kitchen, the crew coddling this small but rare piece of information about Carmen’s past. Carmen wasn’t exactly conversational, whilst he regarded the crew as his flesh and blood that didn’t stop him from keeping a lot of himself and his past hidden. There was always the air of mystery that followed Carmen Berzatto, and it seemed the persona was about to deteriorate as a look of anger flashes across Carmen's face.

“Oh fuck you Cousin, She never even liked you” Carmen replies defensively, before the realisation that you were in town hits him full force.

“How did we not know this, I mean no offence Carm, but you didn’t seem like the type to be..open to friends” Sydney voices, the look of shock not hidden from her voice

“It was different with her, right? I didn't have to- she was- it was just different” Carmen mumbles, the visions of you seem to take over Carmen's mind, like visors, all he can see now is you. The curve of your neck, the smell of Lavender and shea butter from your mothers garden and your lotion. Carmen can almost taste it again, and its reminder has him craving you in a way that was all too dangerous for a man like him.

Especially since you were back in town, maybe not even a block away from him, holy fuck, you were back in town.

“Wait, uh, she’s in town?” Carmen replies, sheepishly, scratching his neck in nervousness that didn't go unnoticed by the crew. 

Carmen? Nervous? About a girl? Oh this was good.

“She came down for work, designing a whole piece of Madison Avenue. Think she’s staying for a little while” Richie replies “You should ask her when she comes tomorrow, you guys still talk..right?’ 

“Yeah uh, ‘course” Carmen mumbles, a feeling of grief washes over him like a wave, and without blinking, without a shudder of a breath you consume him again.

*

The New York winter was brutal, nothing like the December’s in Chicago, and the thought causes a grumble of cold air to leave Carmen’s mouth. Carmen couldn't help comparing everything in New York to the city he ran from, it was a habit akin to a shadow he couldn’t shake off.

Swarms of yellow cabbed taxis and car’s move through the city streets painfully slow, splashing waves of dirty street snow onto the frosted sidewalk. The rush of strangers wrapped in a decade of layers, the protective wool and fleece wrapping their hands and necks, make their way back to their apartment and homes, eager to feel the warmth of fireplaces and heaters and escape the ice cold snap of the unforgiving winds and falling snow. 

Carmen should be making his way home, in fact if he hadn’t stopped abruptly at the scene in front of the open pane window of a shop, he'd had felt the warmth of his century old apartment heater  by now. Walking back would be the right thing to do, it would be the sensible thing, but Carmen wasn’t known for his sensibility and recklessness was all he knew. Especially when it comes to you, always when it comes to you. 

So Carmen has found himself, stood stationary, looking rather strange in the middle of the street as city goers grumble and step around him, looking into the dimly lit art studio cramped between a Chinese takeout shop and a fabric store.

There you were, crouched in a chair, scribbling on a canvas across a wide workbench, papers and pens scattered messily in front of you. You haven't changed one bit, and maybe it had felt like centuries ago for Carmen when in fact it had only been a couple years but it was as if someone had taken a picture of his memories of you and placed it in front of him. 

You were so beautiful, it stole Carmen's breath away, it skipped the rhythmic beat of his heart and caused it to hammer against his chest in that nervous way you’ve always made him feel. Even surrounded by papers and stained coffee mugs and the drag of stress and sleep deprivation weighing on your sunken shoulders you are the most beautiful thing Carmen has ever, and will ever see. 

Were you real? Carmen’s feet are stone, like if he steps through the doors, if he moves even an inch you'll slip between his fingers and disappear from his vision again. He has to see you, he has to apologise and tell you everything that has happened, he has to feel your head resting against his shoulder, he needs to fall back into the gentle rhythm you both shared before it was lost to time again.

But before Carmen can move from his spot on the sidewalk, before he can even catch your gaze, he watches, in horror, as a tall haired man walks over, dressed in a brown knitted sweater and slacks that looked simple in the expensive way, and wraps his arms around you before behind.

His heart shatters completely, and he can't stop himself from watching on, you throw your head back with a laugh, hugging him back with a grin as he whispers into the nook of your neck and it's the twist of the knife in his stomach, tearing the entirety of its contents onto the sidewalk, staining the frosted pavement crimson with his innards. 

And it was like Carmen was 15 again. Seeing one of his classmates ask you to prom before he could even utter those words, watching the way you danced effortlessly in his hands beneath the gleam of the disco ball above. Your date had two left feet, and Carmen wanted to rip him off of you and replace his skittish dance moves. Carmen wanted to give you what you deserved instead of a football jock who couldn’t make you laugh.

That same childlike feeling of anger and jealousy spreads through him, that was sood replaced with anguish. He had lost you, he had waited too goddamn long and had lost you. What the fuck was he doing? How did he think he could just walk through those doors and stumble into your life again, and somehow fall back into the same familiarity of your friendship like nothing had changed? 

Carmen had done stupid things before, but Carmen had felt utterly foolish then. You were mystifying, of course you would be in a relationship, there were probably hundreds of men that threw themselves at you, and it wasn't like you were waiting for him.

The memory of saying goodbye to you was still fresh, he could remember the time when you turned your back to him, and the same way the sun shone through the hallways windows when you turned your neck to meet his gaze for the final time. 

He could remember what he had for breakfast, cereal with not enough milk and an apple, he could remember how he had two different pairs of socks on, one itching him throughout the day, he could remember the feeling of the ingrained drawings of your Geography teacher’s sketchbook, he could remember the way you looked at him when he told you to promise him not to say goodbye. 

He remembered it all like it was the day he died.

That day had been marked into his body and mind, into his subconscious until it was all that consumed him. Wherever he was, he looked for you, he searched and yearned for you in crowds and lines for coffee, in the driver's seat of cars next to him stood stationary at the traffic lights. 

Everytime he closed his eyes all he could see was the way you looked at him like you didn't believe him and it broke something, because it had been true. Carmen had promised to see you again, and he lied, and that late New York evening, it was like Carmen had died a second time.

And just like at 17, Carmen makes peace with watching you on the sidelines, bottling up any feelings he had for you in fear it would ruin everything you both shared. You were his greatest friend, and he couldn't allow himself to be selfish, not when you were you, and he was him. He didn't deserve you, and it didn't matter how hard he yearned for you because you were too good for him.

And it’s that thought that causes him to step away from his spot on the sidewalk, the imprint of his boots marking a spot on the concrete where the fallen snow hadn't touched yet, before it’s soon covered in the white flesh of frost, hiding that he was ever there.

From that moment on, Carmen watches you from afar, the unyielding desire to ensure you were safe at all times consuming him until his protective gaze fell over you like a blanket. He had kept up with your moves, silently cheering you on with each award and recognition you received throughout the years, whilst he himself began to climb the culinary ladder, or knife. He had never let his eyes waver, and then Mickey died and he came running back to Chicago with his things and a broken heart.

“Yeah, you all will meet her tomorrow at the dinner” Richies words cause Carmen to shake himself from his vision, what did he just say?

“You, You did what?” Carmen questions, unable to keep the shrill from his voice as the crew look towards him in confusion.

“Yeah I invited her, it’ll be like a catch up for the fam, she could see all the work I’ve done and see how you haven't changed-”

“Fuck Cousin, you- you should’ve told me before, now i got to make sure everyone has something to eat, and- and i got to add a a second chair” Carmen begins to mumble out, running a hand through his curls stressfully as he began to pace around the kitchen.

“Hey, Carmen relax, we've got room for one more person” Richie chuckles

“Wow, Jeff, just the sound of this girl’s name has got you shitting bricks. I think someones in loveeee” Tina singsongs with a grin, but there was something soft behind her eyes, in fact everyone in the kitchen smiled with a hint of happiness at Carmen's behaviour.

They had thought their Chef was closed off to love, and having felt its strength, each of them in their own ways tried to get Carmen out there, whether it be blind dates or meet cute’s, but it never worked out, and Carmen had always kept that part of life secret from even Richie and Sugar.

It seemed now, that you had been the mysterious woman that had stolen Carmen's heart, and they were giddy with excitement to finally meet the person who had gotten Carmen Berzatto scared shit less.

“Hey Cousin, why don’t you help me unload the rest of the cartons from the truck?” Richie replies, a subtle way of getting Carmen out of the kitchen and into a space that had fewer faces watching his every move.

“Yeah, uh okay” Carmen replies, following Richie to the back of the Bear, resting his back against the brick wall of the alleyway.

There is a silence that stretches between Richie and Carmen at that moment that Richie would usually fill with slanted jokes or rambles. But even Richie knew you were a sensitive topic for Carmen, and he waited patiently for him to approach the topic on both of your minds.

“So, we haven’t spoken in nearly 8 years and she's coming tomorrow to my restaurant” Carmen replies, and Richie nods along.

Carmen shakes his head scoffing, looking up at Richie with a look of fear and embarrassment and elated happiness all in one.

“I don’t know what i’m gonna do Cousin, I- I don’t know what to do with myself with her, fuck what if ruin everything?” 

“Hey, hey easy, I was poking fun at you before but you and her, that was something else entirely that the rest of the Family would never come close to understanding. When you were together, it was like, it was like I could see the anxiety and stress physically leave you, you fucking laughed with her Carm, when you weren’t in the mood to even smile, even after everything you’d see her and it was like nothing else mattered, like no one else mattered.

I mean, the whole family was betting on you both running off and getting eloped, you were both in your own bubble, and did not give a shit about anybody else.” Richie chuckles, resting a hand on Carm’s shoulder to stop him from pacing.

Carmen looks up at him with furrowed eyebrows, pressing his canines into his lips

“What if she doesn't want to speak to me?, Ya know, what if she came for- for you and Sugar and-and she doesn't even want to see me” Carmen rambles, fear taking over any sense

“Are you kidding Carmen? You both hadn’t spoken in nearly a decade and she still said yes to coming to the fucking Beef of all places on a Friday. She wants to see you, Carm, you've just been too stupid to see it, you've always been.” Richie replies, shaking Carmen like he was trying to shake the sense into him.

“You know what you have to do now, right?” Richie says, when you've both rested on one of the stools, lighting a cigarette for warmth against the bite of the cold.

“I’ve got to make tomorrow fucking perfect, thats what I’ve got to do. Which is almost impossible for this goddamn place” Carmen groans out, taking a drag from the wrapped tobacco stick.

Richie lets out a laugh, rubbing his stomach as he leans against the brick layered wall.

“Don’t know about that, they just might for her” Richie replies, before getting off of the stool, dusting his jeans and walking towards the pick up truck.

“Where are you going?” Carmen calls out

“You thought I was kidding about these boxes? Chop chop cousin, we gotta get them in before it fucking rains” Richie yells back, letting out a laugh at Carmens loud groan.

[lucysstoryworld]

Lease of Life | Azriel x Reader Part 1

Summary: The youngest Archeron sister had been plagued by sickness her whole life. Her family just had to watch as she endured a slow, agonising death. However, the events of her sister’s transition into Prythian has the Archeron sisters having to endure the change of their very existence. It seems to be a new lease of life for (F/n), but her new life is not as sweet as she would like as she realises that she is slowly falling for the Shadowsinger, whom only has his sights set on her elder sister. 

Warnings: Death, violence, angst, dark thoughts.

Series Masterlist

Hey! This is my first Azriel fic after having so many ideas! I hope you enjoy and let me know if you have any feedback. I’d be willing to start a tag list for anyone who might be interested, but I will not accept anyone who is under the age of 18, so please either state your age in either the ask/message/comment or just have it in the bio of your blog!

Soft light peaked through curtains, bringing with it a gentle breeze from the cracked window. It would have been serene were it not for the pain that accompanied your existence in this world. Another day of being coddled like a child by the maids. Perhaps your sisters would grace you with their presence again today, letting you know that they had found yet another healer who claimed to have the ability to nurse you back to health. 

Health. Not a day in your twenty years had you ever paired yourself and the word healthy in one sentence. Sick from birth. Living from one ailment to the next, waiting for the day where you did not awake again. When your father had lost his wealth, you and your three sisters were forced to move into more “modest” living circumstances your father had called it. Not that you considered slowly starving to death modest. The gain that Feyre had hunted was barely enough to scrape by on, let alone having to spend any spare coin she had to provide you with medicines so you did not meet your maker within the following days. Guilt consumed you when you realised she would give you half her serving of food, see her forego a new cloak to get her hands on some sort of treatment for you. Often you had wished that your next bout of flu or fever would suck you into the darkness just so Feyre, Nesta, Elain and your father might have better quality of life. 

But then, Feyre had left. Gone with some distant, well off aunt. From living in a hovel, to being reintroduced to wealth you could just barely remember. Feyre took with her Nesta’s shame, your father’s sadness and Elain’s desperation. If only she had taken your sickness too. You had hoped that the sudden wealth would provide some cure. That would give you a new lease of life. However, healer after healer, remedy after remedy had dashed all hopes of you ever living a normal life. Though, Nesta and Elain seemed determined to scour to the ends of the earth for a healer that could give you your life back. 

It had frustrated you. Their sudden willingness to help when they watched Feyre give everything but the clothes off her back for you. They sat and judged her. Nesta’s pride was just as strong as her protection over Elain. Two women content with sitting around, waiting for a man to take their hand in marriage. Pathetic. You wanted to shake them out of their silly daze, tell them to go live the life you yearned for. Travel, go horseback riding, anything. Anything other than sitting around the house, gossiping with those who turned their noses up at you and your family when poverty had the Archerons in a chokehold. Those same people who now looked at you as a charity case. Spoke about you as if you were not in front of them. 

How terrible for such youth to be bed bound. 

So disappointing for a lady of your age to be unable to get married. 

Never to have children — such a shame. 

The maid entering the room tore you from your pitiful thoughts. “Good morning, (F/n). How are you feeling?” 

“The same as I have all my damn life, Dina,” You all but bit back. 

“Language, child. You won’t get better with that attitude.” Another optimist. Great. It took every modicum of self control not to tear into her. But you would not. Dina was about as kind as they got. She was the closest thing to a mother you had known, after losing your own before you were old enough to walk. 

“Sorry, Dina. What’s on the schedule for today?” You hoped there would be no visits from any of your sisters’ aristocrat friends. Not today, today you were tired and wished to at least pretend as though you were normal. 

As if the gods above had answered your prayers, Dina spoke “Nothing, for once, sweet one,” She replied softly as she helped you to sit. “You may do what you please today.” Her voice was like honey as she took a brush to your thin hair. Dina was the only handmaid who had treated you like a human. Although she was cautious, she allowed you some freedoms that often had your sisters reeling with concern. Nesta had tried to dismiss her the first time you walked around the manor with Dina by your side, claiming that a seizure could take you at any moment and that Dina was not fit to look after you. She had relented when she saw how genuinely happy you looked at the mere prospect of walking .

“Great! I would like to have breakfast in the dining hall with my sisters today.” With a ‘hmph’ of agreement from Dina, she prepared you for the day. She smoothed each article of clothing over you as if you were a living, breathing work of art. 

Once she was satisfied, her brows furrowed slightly as she held her hand to your forehead, “You have a slight fever, child. You better take it easy today.”

With a sigh from deep within your soul, you breathed a “I always do.” 

The walk from your bedroom to the dining hall was more taxing than what you were used to, a tell tale that you would likely be completely incapacitated in the following days. Though you did not let it show. If there was even so much a whisper of your health taking another turn, Nesta and Elain would have one of the butlers carry you back to your room. As you approached the doors to the dining room, you could’ve sworn you could hear Feyre. You knew it wasn’t true. She hadn’t visited once since she left for your aunt’s. However, the closer you got, the more voices you could hear. “I thought you said there were no plans today.” 

“There wasn’t.” Perhaps it was one of Elain’s wedding planners who had an appointment. Ugh. 

Nothing could prepare you for what you saw when you opened the door. Fae. There was no doubt about it when you beheld the wings, the pointed ears and the ethereal beauty each of them possessed. In spite of the fact that the creatures you were taught to fear were standing a mere few feet from you, what sent your mind into a haze was seeing Feyre with them. Standing among them with pointed ears, with a frame more elongated than what you remembered, with that same otherworldly presence than the others.

“What the fuck,” You breathed, not entirely sure if this was a dream your fevered brain had concocted. 

“(F/n) what are you doing out of bed?” Nesta barked, rushing over to you. Within an instant, she was shielding you from the guests. Her hands brushing over your cheeks and forehead. “You’ve got a fever, you shouldn’t be down here. Go back to your room.” Nesta’s voice did not leave much room for argument.

“(F/n),” Though Feyre looked different, her voice was just the same. The only difference, that she sounded more mature from when you last saw her in your dilapidated cottage. Pushing passed Nesta, you walked to just in front of your sister, who seemingly held her breath as you assessed her. Face filled out, strong body and she looked happy. Happy with her company and the beautiful man with violet eyes standing next to her. She opened her mouth, then closed it again. You had never seen her at a loss for words, not with you, not ever. The man by her side placed a hand on the small of her back as you continued to scan her silently. She did not break your gaze once, but visibly relaxed just at the touch of her partner, you had gathered by now. “(F/n), I’m sor-.” 

Before she could even finish, you flung your arms around her, holding onto her as though she had risen from the dead. And when Feyre returned the embrace, you buried your head into the crook of her neck to hide your tears from her company. “Don’t,” you sobbed, “Don’t you apologise to me. Not when you are the only reason we did not die in that cottage.” It was now Feyre’s turn to cry. Pulling away from her, you smoothed your hands over her hair. Eyes taking in every single detail and committing them to memory. You wiped her tears with your thumbs and placed a kiss on each of her cheeks. “Do you want to introduce us to your friends before this gets awkward?” You joked. 

Feyre stepped back into the arms of the man, while Nesta and Elain approached your side. Nesta looked as though she was ready to rip Feyre to shreds and Elain looked entirely bewildered by the situation. “Nesta, Elain, (F/n)... This is Rhysand. The High Lord of the Night Court in Prythian and my mate,” you looked to the man standing next to Feyre, his eyes piercing yet kind. Both Nesta and Elain stood stationary. Assessing him. Calculating whether or not he was a threat. Looking from them to Rhysand with a slight roll of your eyes, you approached him and offered your hand.

His hand was large and strong, you could’ve sworn you could feel the magic thrumming in his blood. With a gentle smile, you looked deep into his eyes. “Rhysand, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise, (F/n). Feyre has told me a great deal about you.” His voice was like spiced rum, filling you with warmth akin to the heat of a fire on a frigid snowy night. 

Your eyes shot to Feyre’s with a knowing smirk, her cheeks rosy as she beheld her... mate she called it. She gestured towards the blond woman next, who appeared to be very eager to meet you, “This is Morrigan. Rhys’s cousin. She oversees the court.” 

“Nice to meet you, Morrigan.” Shaking her hand, you laughed gently as she smiled at you excitedly.

“It’s great to meet you, (F/n).”

“Next is Amren, Rhys’s second in command.” You barely registered Feyre as you moved to look at Amren. Amren seemed different than the others, though you could not quite place your finger on it. Nonetheless, you shook her hand and introduced yourself. Feyre moved on to to the tall winged men next. “This is Cassian, the general of the Night Court’s armies.” 

Cassian had his eyes trained on Nesta, the two in a staring contest. Each of their expressions were about as sour as they got, daring one another to say or do something brash. You snorted slightly, drawing Nesta and Cassian’s attention to you, “I haven’t seen anyone that didn’t wither under Nesta’s glare,” You could feel her burning holes into the back of your head yet you remained fixed on the general, “It’s nice to meet you, general.” 

“It’s nice to meet the sister Feyre speaks nothing but fondly of,” He replied quietly, taking your hand in his and looking at you with so much emotion. You weren’t sure where it came from, but he was clearly troubled about being in the presence of Nesta. You were sure you’d find out soon whether you wanted to or not. 

Feyre ushered you along to the final member of the group, not without a pointed and warning glance at the general. “Last, but not least, (F/n) this is Azriel. The spymaster of the Night Court.” 

For once, you felt at a loss for words. The being in front of you was the most striking man you had ever seen. As if the gods themselves had forged him. His dark skin, golden eyes, short black hair and domineering wings jutting out each side of him. His gaze sucked the breath from your lungs. Azriel held his gloved hand out, and you absentmindedly lifted your own to meet it. The heat of his grasp jumpstarted your brain back to reality. With flushed cheeks and a smile you found your voice, “Pleasure to meet you, Azriel.”

Azriel nodded in acknowledgment as his eyes swept over you, “Pleasure is all mine.” Gods, his voice was unlike anything you had ever heard. It sent a wave of shivers gliding across your body. Although, you were aware of the way he was analysing you. Scoping out whether you were any sort of liability to his court. Figures. 

Letting go of his hand, you stepped back and addressed the group as a whole, “While it is lovely to meet you all, I’m sure you are not here to just reunite Feyre with her family.”

This seemed to bring Nesta to life as she stood in front of you, taking command of being host instead, “I agree. What do you want, Feyre?” Nesta’s demeanour sucked the joy out of the room within the second, Feyre’s face turning grim.

“We should sit down,” She replied quietly. Unease settled in your stomach. Grabbing her hand, you guided her to the table and sat yourself next to her. Rhysand placed himself on her right, and the rest of her… friends sat around you both. Your remaining sisters sat across from you, Nesta making sure she gave you a disapproving stare before she refocused on Feyre.

The talking went on for what felt like hours, Feyre explaining the war across the wall which seemed to have the end of the mortal worlds written in its destiny. The thought of it made you sick, the fighting that was approaching. Approaching fast. And you knew, that you would have to lie in your bed and wait. Sit idly by as your dearest sister fought a war that was not hers to start with yet she had embraced because of the people sitting around you both. A family. That’s what they were. Rhysand and his peers were a family. Part of your soul ached at the notion of Feyre leaving you and your dysfunctional family in order to find one that suited her better. That she had not visited once, to try and work on her relationships. But you quickly dashed all thoughts, understanding flooding your senses. When she was human, she gave up everything so everyone else would thrive around her. She hunted so you had food, she got money in whatever way she could so your family stayed clothed. Most of all, she had to fight tooth and nail in a losing battle to make sure you did not die. So she left.

And did not blame her for it.

In the brief moments you were stuck in your thoughts, Nesta and Cassian were nothing short of brawling.

“That’s enough,” Feyre all but boomed. Her sudden burst seemed to hit Nesta like ice cold water.

“You do not get to come into my home and order me around after you left!” Nesta spat in reply, “You do not get to come here and ask of us what you are asking!”

Feyre took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders, “I know that, Nesta, I know. I wouldn’t put you three in this position if I didn’t think it was-.”

“Don’t finish that. Don’t you dare. Because this is not the first time you’ve done this. Not when you showed up a year ago wailing about another fae you just had to save, leaving us in the dust again!” It was rare that you ever saw Nesta this riled up. Her anger was something you tried to avoid at all costs. You believed that if she had the ability, Nesta’s rage would burn the world down around her.

That was not what you were focused on in that moment. No, it was what she said about Feyre already having been there. A year ago. “What are you talking? When was Feyre here last?” Heat spread across your body, the fever catching up with you. Nesta’s eyes shot to you as she realised what she had just let out of the bag. “You’re saying Feyre was here a year ago and you didn’t let her see me. Is that what you’re saying?” Your body began to feel strange. A slight sweat was breaking out across your forehead as a thrumming began in your head.

“(F/n) you were very unwell when Feyre arrived last year, you were barely hanging on and we didn’t want to stress you out more than what was necessary.” The first time Elain had spoken this whole time. She spoke gently as though you would break at any moment.

“Oh please, spare me!” You snapped. “I’m so sick of you treating me like this! Would you all get a grip! I’m dying, and have been since the day I was born! Just accept it!” You shoved your chair back from the table with trembling hands. Standing brought with it a wave a dizziness that you did not allow anyone the time to observe before you continued your rant, “For once, I just want you to think about me and not yourselves. Just once! You would have let me die a year ago without the chance to see my sister one last time. Whether you like it or not, these are not your decisions to make. They’re mine.” You began walking towards Dina, whom you hadn’t realise has been tucked away in the back of the room this whole time.

It took one look at you for her to realise you were going downhill, and fast. She quickly approached you and placed her hand on your forehead once again, “You are burning up, child. Come, you need rest. This was too much for you,” She spoke quietly, sending a quick but not unnoticed glare at your sisters. Feyre included.

“Dina…,” You whispered, vision swimming. “Dina, I don’t feel good.” Your body began to hunch as the nausea took hold.

With speed you didn’t quite understand, Feyre was next to you with her new family in tow. She placed a hand on your back, looking at her mate with concern. Gods, she had never seen you so weak. When you entered the room, she felt as though she was looking at a living corpse. You looked so different from when she left the cottage and not in a good way. Cheeks sunken, dark bags, skin clammy and a body that was so thin that it looked like a breeze could’ve knocked you over. Her heart was like led as she realised that you were, in fact, close to the end. Your mortal body would not hold out much longer.

As if fate was playing a cruel trick on her, Feyre watched as your body crumpled on the floor, laboured breaths leaving your body as consciousness slipped away from you. Rhys was on his knees next you in an instant, about to take away any pain you were feeling when “Don’t you lay a hand on her,” Nesta barked.

“Nesta please! He can help,” Feyre pleaded, grabbing your hand in a panic.

“Now is not the time for bickering. Help me take her to her rooms and I will look after her,” Dina ordered. The group looked toward one another. No one missed the way you looked for your maid. They saw how much trust you put into her, so they did as she said. Azriel stood forward and carried you to your room, with everyone following close behind.

As he set you on the bed, he stood back and watched as the maid began placing damp washcloths onto your head. Every time he had been in the human lands, he had found it unsettling to see how illness could kill so easily. How fragile human life was. And seeing the way Feyre paced the bedroom made him realise just how much she had forgotten it as well.

“Dina,” Nesta finally spoke, though her eyes did not leave your struggling form for a second as though she was afraid you would die the moment she moved her gaze. “How long does she have?”

“It’s hard to say,” Grim, that was the only way to describe her tone, “She has a strong heart. And she has pulled through worse. But there’s only so much her body can take.” Dina began stroking your hair gently. “She knows this too. (F/n) told me recently that she can feel her time approaching. She is giving up. I have tried to keep her spirits up but she has lived her whole live like this. She only wants us all to give up too so she may die peacefully.” Elain began to cry softly, each and every being in the room coming to the realisation that they were witnessing your death. Witnessing your death before you had truly lived. “She isn’t likely to wake again before tomorrow and if she does, she won’t make much sense with her fever.” While Dina was not directly dismissing the group, they were all clever enough to read between the lines; leave and let (F/n) rest. 

* * *

Coolness draped across your forehead is what eventually pulled you back to consciousness. A wave of violent shivers had you trying to pull the cloth from your head, when a gentle hand kept it in place. Opening your eyes took more effort than you were willing to admit. Dina was standing over you, her slightly wrinkled face smiling gently down at you, “You know the drill, sweet girl. I can’t let you take the cloth off.”

Grumbling a sigh, you attempted to sit up. The pain that clamped down on your head rendered your attempt useless as you settled back into your pillow. “How long was I out?” 

“A few days, Feyre and her friends left the same day they arrived.” Dina spoke softly, taking your hand and massaging it gently.

“So it wasn’t a dream then, she was here,” Tears gathered along your eyes. Frustrated that you had only gotten to spend such little time with her. 

“I’m afraid so, child. But she will be back within a few weeks.” 

“You and I both know I don’t have a few weeks,” You whispered, afraid that if you spoke any louder, despair would rip you apart. For so long, you had accepted your fate. But now, things were changing. Your sister was fae and had come home to ask for help. It had been a long time since you felt this way. Felt like holding on, just to see this out. But it was too late, your body was giving up. 

“I know, (F/n), I know. Your sisters asked me to alert them when you awoke. I will go get them now.” You appreciated Dina not trying to convince you that this wasn't the end. 

“Don’t bother, it’s late and the conversation can wait until tomorrow. I don’t fancy listening to excuses about why they didn’t tell me that Feyre was here a year ago.” 

“Very well. I am going to bed, but as always, if you need anything just ring the bell and I will be straight up. Sleep well, sweet girl.” Dina leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on your clammy cheeky before fluffing up your pillow and securing the washcloth to your head before taking her leave. 

Staring up at the ceiling, thoughts rushed through your head. Feyre’s new existence, Elain and Nesta’s betrayal, your own fate. It was all so confusing. For the first time in your life, you wished you had the normal life of an aristocrat girl of your age. The only drama occurring in their lives was what member of nobility had found themselves in compromising situations, like a family member becoming pregnant before wedlock. A humourless chuckle left your lips, how mundane that life seemed yet so appealing in your current state.

It felt like hours before you were ripped from your thoughts by the sound of distant crashing somewhere in the manor. Despite the barking pain across your body, the noise had you sitting upright in an instant, heart thumping painfully in your chest. A second later, Dina was in your room, her face and body the epitome of panic, “Stay quiet,” She whispered. She made quick work and pushing some heavy furniture in front of the door. 

“Dina, what’s going on?” Panic was gripping you, the adrenaline making you stand with little effort. 

“I do not know, child. Stay back, you are still weak.” Ushering you to the furthest point from the door, she stood like a rock in front of you, as if she could protect you from whatever the world was throwing at you in that moment.

Not even a few breaths later, the door and all the furniture in front of it was ejected across the room, wood splintering and crashing to the floor in pieces. A scream rattled through both you and Dina, the latter curling herself around you to prevent the wood from impaling you. The sound of heavy footsteps had Dina turning her back on you once again. 

“Step aside, human.” It was fae who had invaded your home. From what you had gathered from Feyre’s visit, it was likely their enemies. Leverage. That’s what the intruders were seeking. 

“Leave, creature. I will not ask you twice,” Dina growled. Her courage was unmatched, such a strong woman that you wished you could be like. However, your trembling body represented quite the opposite of the bravery your handmaid was presenting. 

A cruel snicker escaped the fae’s mouth, and his smile sent every hair on your body standing on end, “Interesting. Brave humans are always the most fun.” 

Before Dina had a chance to open her mouth in retort, the beast was on her in an instant, grabbing her by the neck. You could not tear your eyes from her body being lifted from the ground, the noise of her choked sputters had you begging the intruder to let her live, “Please! I’ll do anything, just let her go!” 

The creature locked eyes with you, his gaze looking through rather than at you, “Good, that’s what I like to hear,” He started lowering Dina slightly. 

“..R-...Run!” She squealed, voice cracking under the grip of her attacker.

Gods you wanted to, but fear anchored your feet to the ground. Dina’s eyes pleaded with you, begged you to run for your life. As if the fae attacker knew what you were gearing up to do, he snapped the Dina’s neck and lunged for you instead. Your screams ripped through the manor as Dina’s lifeless eyes looked to the roof, unseeing. You barely registered Dina’s murderer grabbing you and hauling you towards the exit as your soul seemed to stay in your bedroom with Dina’s corpse. It just didn’t make any sense, just a few hours before she was kissing your cheek before bed. She was supposed to be sound asleep, resting for another day of looking after you in your sickly state. 

“(F/n)!” Nesta’s panicked shout shocked you into action, pulling and scratching at your attacker. 

“No!” You attempted to pull yourself away as Nesta and Elain’s own captors knocked them unconscious. Yet, before you met the same destiny as your sisters, the stress your body was under had black tunnelling your vision. Blood began to trickle from your nose, and the pulsing in your head rendered you limp in the arms of the stranger. 

Before your awareness evaded you, you faintly heard the group laughing with a taunting, “Bet you wish your one went down this easy.” 

Following that, the world went black. 

*** 

Any feedback would be greatly appreciated! Also if there are any mistakes, just let me know!