#trying to keep these as things that do stand on their own and do not require encyclopaedic knowledge of s4 to make sense dhdkdhdkddjd

[brainddeadd]

Hi love, hope you're doing good. I was thinking if you could write a headcannon or reactions kinda thing, skz reaction to their s/o crying during-after sex because they feel overwhelmed, loved and safe. Not because of pleasure but purely because of love, because of how much they love them. Maybe Chan and Jisung would themselves burst into tears knowing that their s/o loves them just so much. Please? Btw I'm ✨Anon if that's okay?

Stray Kids react to you crying (out of love) during sex

smut, fluff

warnings: fem!reader, crying, panicked members, mentions of safeword (Minho), cum mentioned, jisung's is funny, mentions of dying (not literal)

Chan

Channie panics the first time you cry during sex and it's not been caused by him eating you out until you cum three times.

When he's sees you have tears pooling in your eyes and spilling over, when all he's done is kiss you tenderly and make love to you softly, he's panicked.

"Baby, what's wrong? Did I hurt you?" He's pulled out of you, is kneeling over your body, his eyes scouring every inch of you looking for a physical sign of pain. You just cry harder.

"Channie Channie, come back. Need you, Channie, please Channie-" he's confused but lowers himself to you and you wrap your legs around him, bucking your hips blindly to try ans catch his cock. He holds you still by the hip.

"Baby, why are you crying?"

"Jus' love you Channie feel so loved so good need more love you channie-"

His face flushes red, and his own eyes tear up when he realises that you're crying out of the.. love you feel?

"You're crying because you feel loved?" His voice is choked by his own emotion, and you nod your head, some more tears falling.

"Makingnme feel so loved Channie."

Chan kisses you again, and slides his cock back inside you, groaning at the way you hum happily against his mouth.

Minho

Minho is rough with you in bed. That's why he had you choose a safeword and makes sure you know that you must use it if you're uncomfortable with anything.

That's why he's so alarmed when he sees you crying when he comes back from the bathroom after a session (he tied you up and worshiped every inch of your skin, making you cum multiple times and filling you with two loads of his cum).

"Baby!" His voice is shrill and he drops everything in favour of rushing over to you, panic on his face. "What happened? Baby what do you need?"

"Hold me!" You appear distraught and he yanks you into his arms.

"Baby, talk to me," he's being gentle, but he really needs an answer.

"I love you!" You cried out and he froze in confusion, his eyebrow raising as he forced you to look him in the eye.

"You're crying.. because you love me?"

"And you love me!" You're making no sense to him. "You make me feel so loved."

He keeps his wide eyes on you as you stand and more towards the bathroom, the marks he's left on you barely visible in the low light, and his cum dripping down your thighs.

"You coming?"

Changbin

Binnie, oh Binnie. He damn near loses his mind when he sees you crying before he even really gets started with you.

He's got you on your back, legs spread and your eyes blindfolded when your chest heaves with a sob.

Oh, he's got the bilndfold off and you sitting in his lap before you can blink.

"Bunny, you ok?" He's pushing your hair back, wiping your tears away and caressing you back softly, looking at you with wide eyes, and a concerned expression on his face.

"I'm amazing Binnie." He's so confused.

"What?"

"I just-" You take in a deep breath and then it all comes rushing out. "I just trust you so much and you always make me feels so good and not even only in the bedroom, although you are a fucking god at fucking me and I just love you so much that I got overwhelmed by the love for you in my chest."

He blinks at you. Then his face crumbles and suddenly he's sobbing.

"Binnie!" Now you're concerned.

"You cried because of how much you love me and now I'm crying because of how much I love you and fuck we're a mess." He tries to laugh, but it comes out choked.

You stay like that for a while, you in his lap, holding each other closely until all the tears are dry.

"So.. I fuck you like a god, huh?"

Hyunjin

Hyunjin doesn't realise you're crying out of anything other than pleasure until he's filled you up with his cum and you just won't stop crying.

"Muse, I'm so sorry." His heart is in his ass.

"I love you so much Jinnie. Feel so good. Fuck Jinnie, I can feel your cum dripping out of me, don't let it Jinnie, please-" You're babbling away and Hyunjin can't focus on anything, not even the cum dripping from your pussy - which normally you have to forbid him from touching again.

"Muse-"

"Jinnie please, please, more, need more, give me more." You're begging, but he's not sure what you want.

"What do you need baby?"

"Cum-" His brain must be making things up.

"You want to cum again?" He refuses to move until you say so.

"No, Jinnie, want your cum, love you so much, want your cum-"

And really, how can he refuse when you ask him so nicely?

Jisung

Jisung does NOT know what to do.

You're crying, covered in his cum, sitting in the bath and he's at a loss.

The sound of his phone calling out to someone catches your attention and then he speaks.

"Chan hyung! She's crying-"

"HAN JISUNG!" Chan can hear your screech on the other end of the phone. "HANG UP!"

"BUT YOU'RE CRYING!"

"BECAUSE I LOVE YOU AND YOU JUST FUCKED ME SO GOOD I CAN'T WALK!"

Chan hangs up.

"WHAT?!"

"You fucked me so good, and for some god-forsaken reason, I love you, pabo!" That really doesn't clear anything up for him, but he clambers into the bath with you and holds you close.

"You're ok?" He sounds scared.

"I'm ok." You confirm. "Just.. really love you. And was overwhelmed by it for a moment."

"I love you."

Felix

Firm believer that Felix cries when he's overwhelmed with the pleasure.

Felix has you on top of him, your tits bouncing as you ride his cock, and he just can't help himself.

"Fuck, you're so beautiful. I love you so much." He doesn't expect you to cry, but he knows from the way you lean down to clutch him to your chest and the way your pussy squeezes around him tighter, that you're about to cum.

"Love you Lixie, love you love you-"

"Love you baby, love you-"

You cum together, tears on your faces from the pleasure and the overwhelming love you feel, and he doesn't remove his cock from you after you've both cum, just lets it plug up your hole as he holds you close.

"I'm meant to be the one crying, baby." He whispers and you move to kiss him, his still hard cock shifting in your pussy and cum dripping down his cock and pooling on his balls.

You rock your hips as you kiss him, moaning when his tip hits that spot deep in your pussy.

"We can both cry, Lixie."

Seungmin

Seungmin freezes the second he sees tears on your face, despite being so so close to filling you with his cum.

"Pup?"

"Don't stop, please-" you beg him, but he stays still, dragging a whine from your lips. "Minnie-"

"Why are you crying?"

"I'm not-" You stop when you feel the wetness on your cheeks and flush red. "I-"

You buck your hips into his, searching for pleasure and managing to keep his orgasm approaching.

"Pup, why are you crying?"

"I just feel so safe in your arms and-"

Seungmin doesn't let you finish your sentence, just pushes his cock into your pussy as far as he can, his cum flowing out of his tip and filling you up, leaking out around the base of his cock. He groans and shudders, his face falling to your neck.

"I'm sorry-" He's cut off by you clenching around his cock, head falling back as you cum on his cock.

"Fuck pup-" he grunts at the feeling of your pussy fluttering around him and moves his hips to help you ride out your high.

He lets his weight rest on you for a moment before he pulls back to look at you.

"I love you pup." He kisses you gently. "I'm glad you feel safe with me."

Jeongin

You've never cried during sex before.

He's fingering you, his tongue circling your clit and puffy lips sucking when you let out a cry that's just not a sound he's used to from you.

He looks up and finds you with tears on your face.

Instant soft dick.

"Y/N, what's wrong?" He's next to you before he can get his question out.

"Innie, if you don't fuck me like you love me right now, I'll die."

"Uh- What?"

"Make love to me, Jeongin." That he can do.

"But, you're crying!"

"It's just- fuck I love you."

Jeongin is so confused, but you've got your hand on his hardening again dick, and he's finding it hard to concentrate.

"You're crying because you love me, and you want me to fuck you like I love you?"

"Yes."

"But I do love you!"

"I know!"

"Do I not tell you enough?!" He's spiralling, thinking of all the times he's thought about telling you those words, and chickened out or missed his opportunity, or forgotten because he's busy.

"Jeongin, I know you love me. I want you to make love to me."

He moves to hover over you and kisses you slowly, his hands running over your sides, thigh pressing into your still dripping pussy.

"I love you, I love you, I love you-" It's all he can say, all he can think, as he thrusts his cock in your pussy and fills you with him cum.

[moonstruckme]

can you write remus and reader sharing a cigarette together, something about that is just so intimate to me i want to cry

Thanks for requesting babe!

cw: smoking

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 808 words

Remus can feel you looking at him in his periphery. He sighs, sending smoke billowing out into the dark alleyway, even as he feels the corner of his mouth tilt up. 

“We’re terrible influences on you,” he says. 

“You’re terrible influences,” James corrects him, standing upwind and looking at him and Sirius like they’re contagious. “I am nothing but good to her.” 

“Come on.” You grin at Remus, and yeah, that mischief in your eyes is definitely a result of spending too much time with their bunch. “I just wanna try.” 

Lately, you’ve been campaigning for a cig every time he’s having one. You’d never thought about it before you had friends who smoked, but now you’re curious, and he and Sirius’ regular smoke breaks don’t help matters. If Remus was a better friend, he’d show more restraint. 

“Mm, ‘fraid this is my last one,” he says, not lying but definitely not upset about it. 

You roll your eyes. “Sirius?” 

The glow of Sirius’ cherry lights his eyes with a smug amusement. “Don’t look at me, doll. He’ll be pissy if I give you one.” 

Remus has to suppress a grin when you turn back to him, arms crossed over your chest. “Really? I could just go get a pack on my own, you know.” 

Remus exhales smoke out one side of his mouth, watching you from the corner of his eye as he does. You look back at him, obstinate if a bit playful. 

“Fine,” he says. “We can share this one, if you want to try so badly.” 

Your expression falters, and he thinks he might have won, your bashfulness about your crush on him overpowering your want, but then challenge glints in your eye and Remus knows he hasn’t. Competitiveness is another thing you’ve picked up from their group (Remus likes to think that’s more James and Sirius than himself), and now once you’ve caught a whiff of a challenge there’s no deterring you. 

“Perfect,” you reply brightly. 

Remus tries once more. “You sure?” 

“Don’t do it,” James cautions you. “You’ll be sending yourself down a path of corruption and lung problems.” 

“Just this once,” you promise. 

“Just this once,” Remus agrees sternly. 

You beckon, and he taps the ash off the end of his cigarette, reluctantly passing it to you. You take it between your thumb and forefinger and lift it to your lips. 

“Just take a shallow breath,” Remus warns. 

You do, the cherry glowing only dimly as you inhale cautiously. Good girl, he thinks to himself. You blow out the smoke just as slowly, features tightening as you try to keep from coughing. 

Sirius laughs at the obvious strain, and a small cough escapes you. They all clap, Sirius still chuckling and Remus with a small, begrudging smile on his face. 

“That’s actually not so bad,” you say, somewhat croakily. 

“Oh? Happy to hear it.” Remus takes the cig back from you, putting it to his own lips again and trying not to think about how yours were just on it. It’s not the first time he’s shared a cigarette, but somehow with you it feels different. He has an inkling as to why. 

As he takes it away from his mouth, you reach for it again. 

He dodges you. “What do you think you’re doing?” 

“I want another,” you say. 

“No.” 

“What?” A laugh trips off your tongue, and Remus holds the cigarette aloft as you make another grab for it. “Come on, you said we’d share!” 

“I’m not done with my turn yet,” he says, taking a hearty drag. 

“You’re going to finish it off before I can have any!” 

“Don’t know what you mean.” 

You reach for it again, and this time Remus doesn’t put up as much of a fight, letting you pluck the cigarette from his mouth. If the side of your index finger grazes his upper lip, he certainly doesn’t notice. 

You’re bolder this time, exhaling some of your air before breathing in. The cherry glows a fiery orange, and Remus feels his brow furrow. 

“Slower, love,” he murmurs. 

You manage not to cough this time, which Remus can tell impresses Sirius as much as it does him, blowing the smoke off to the side like you’ve seen them do a million times. It’s terribly hot. 

You keep breathing out even after there’s no smoke left, then inhale, humming contemplatively. 

“Sort of aches in your lungs, doesn’t it?”

“That’s the beginning of the end,” James says solemnly. “You’re done for, now.” 

“She is not,” Remus chides, swiping the cig from you. “But that’ll be all.” He tuts as you protest, setting his free hand atop your head under the guise of keeping you at bay. “Don’t want to hear it. You’re too lovely to corrupt. I won’t be a part of it.” 

That shuts you up.

[suguann]

an. a little 'and-they-were-roommates' drabble series to get me back into writing because it's been an age. | masterlist | part two

It starts as a situation built off convenience: he needed someone to take care of his place while he was gone, and you needed a place to stay. 

Simon never thought he’d get anything out of it other than coming home to a house that feels lived-in and the entryway clear of envelopes from months of neglecting his mail—another voice throughout the day besides the intrusive ones in his head that spun like a carousel with the word work etched on top. 

It’s not until you show up on his doorstep, three boxes and a measly duffel bag crowding your arms, that he thinks he really should’ve thought this through better. He’ll only realize this after the fact—weeks late, sleepless nights filled with images of daisy-shaped buttons down the front of a summer dress and a smile that nearly knocks him flat off his feet.

As it is, he’ll blame it on the handful of sleepless hours from tiny airplane seats and energy drinks sleuthing through his system that clouded his judgment, then admit it’s nice coming home to a woman who looks pretty reading a book on his living room couch.

Only his soap-slick fist in his bathroom late at night will know the honest-to-God truth. That is if there was ever a god he believed in. 

He never claimed to be a good man. 

(Can anyone claim to be good in his line of work?)

Just an honest one.

So it goes something like this: he tries not to come off as an obsessed, lonely fuck (the jury is out on either) by just existing in the same space as you whenever the opportunity arises—reading the paper while you make breakfast on the stove he hasn’t touched in too long to remember when, flipping through a book Simon didn’t even know he owned while you water plants you picked up on your way from work, watching whatever you have on the telly before you both go to bed—then he’s on a plane, being shipped out to who knows where with a gun holstered to his hip.

Rinse and repeat. 

The fourth time he comes home after an assignment keeps him away longer than expected, he finds you in the kitchen, covered in flour, a cute, frilly apron tied around your waist that he’s never seen you wear before. A smile curls the edges of your mouth as you look over at him, everything in your face soft and attentive—a vision suddenly takes shape.

You with a ring on your finger, Simon calling you his little wife, getting to hold your hand whenever he feels like it, and not because yours accidentally brushed up against his. His hand fisting in your hair, bending you over the counter, your cheek covered in powdery confectionery, fingers rucking up your skirt and apron because he can.

He blinks once, twice, and the little fantasy falls apart. 

Except you’re still in his kitchen, smiling prettily and happy to see him of all things. Imagine that.

Your lashes flutter, making crescent shadows across your cheeks. “How was your trip?” you ask. “You look more tired than you usually do.”

A shrug, a dismissal. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? I have some tea that might help.”

“Tea.” He repeats to fill the quiet if only to stand there a little longer, his bag still slung over his shoulder and his clothes smelling like recycled air. 

“Yeah, I got it from a friend a few weeks ago when I caught this cold that was going around the office.” Sometimes, you ramble, and he can do nothing more than let you get it out of your system—not that he minds. “I swear it’s nothing janky or anything. Just try it; it might help.”

You’re so damn earnest about it that he can’t bring himself to say no.

“Sure,” he says and watches a wide, satisfied smile stretch across your face.

It’d be easier if you weren’t so sweet and gave a sincere fuck about the comings and goings of his life. If the smell of your perfume wasn’t following Simon everywhere—sugary vanilla faintly clinging to his balaclava even after he’s washed it—as a reminder of what’s just out of his reach.

(A mindfuck is what it is.)

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Would I be the asshole if I refused to pay my phone bill?

📱🧾♿️ <- To recognize my post for later :)

The title is probably already a bit of a red flag, but I genuinely didn’t know how else to word it…

For context: I am a disabled, chronically and mentally ill trans guy who recently turned 20. I haven’t left home yet for a lot of reasons, some being that my parents promised to let me live rent-free so long as I was in college (which I am, just not currently for the summer) as well as the fact that they really haven’t raised me to be very independent and rely solely on them (which is honestly a whole other can of worms), but primarily because of my disability. It isn’t safe for me to live on my own, as I faint commonly, cannot stand up for more than maybe fifteen minutes at a time roughly, and sometimes am unable to eat for long periods of time due to debilitating nausea which leads to weakness. I also have severe chronic pain in my limbs and gut, something I’ve had most of my life, while my chronic illness I’ve only had for about a year and a half now and am still struggling to adjust to.

Because of my disability, I also can’t work a traditional job. I offer art commissions online, because I’m very passionate about art and it’s one of the few things I’m good at, and I haul in a decent amount, but certainly not enough to live off of. I make enough to set aside some good savings (I’m currently saving for a wheelchair, as that might grant me more freedom and the potential to get a job at least for the summer) while also indulging myself in buying the occasional fatty treat (I’m very underweight so that’s not an issue, and I was raised essentially in an almond mom household all my life, so this form of eating is really the only sense of control I have over my life, as I’m fully dependent on my parents elsewise).

The issue has come upon relatively recently. I feel like a huge entitled brat for it as well, and if others believe the same, I sincerely don’t blame you.

My mom sat me down the other day and said that she expected me to start paying at least one bill. She offered my cheapest bill (which would be for my phone; my parents bought it, and it’s theirs, they’re just letting me use it as my own.. I don’t own a whole lot of “my” items myself) and asked what I thought about that. I was fully honest with her: if I had a steady stream of income, I wouldn’t hesitate to offer to pay for all of my bills, but with the way it stands, I just don’t make enough month-to-month to regularly afford the bill. I also do my commissions through my phone, so if I could afford the bill, my phone would be turned off, and I’d be unable to continue.

My mom got very upset and started talking to me like a child (though she really has every right to, honestly, and I know that). She went on a very long rant about teaching me responsibility, and how I can’t rely on my parents forever, and that I need to grow up at some point… All things that I fully agree with. I sincerely want to! I want nothing more than to be fully independent. But the way it stands, my parents cover my entire medical bills and they pay for my meds… And I just don’t make enough to survive on my own, and I can just barely afford a meal or two from a sandwich shop I enjoy twice a month to keep my sanity in check because I’m usually bedbound.

I tried explaining to her that I would if I could, sincerely, and that I’m not trying to be a leech or lazy, but she wasn’t having it. She just scolded me and said that if I can afford to eat out every month, then I can afford the phone bill. But again, with the way things are, I don’t think I’d be able to do it every month without tapping into my savings, which again, is for my wheelchair so I can regain some sense of freedom for myself. I’m seriously debating just telling her no straight out, but I don’t know what the aftermath might look like…

So, sincerely: Am I in the wrong here? Should I just swallow my protests and cough up the money somehow? I really don’t know and would love an outside perspective.

[absurdthirst]

Mother's Day Surprise {Joel Miller x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 11.4k

Warnings: Menstrual blood/cramping, violent attack, near death, surgery, comma, mentions of blood and disturbing scenes, recovery, assistance with basic needs, helping Joel shower, confessions of feelings, fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, pull out method, mentions of family planning, breeding kink, dirty talk, cream pie, infertility, depression, feelings of worthlessness, death, harsh and cruel world, babies

Comments: Helping Joel Miller recover from a horrific attack leads to a life you never knew possible.

**🚨🚨 Contains spoilers for Season 2 of The Last of Us🚨🚨**

A/N: Happy Mother's Day to all those lovely moms out there and anyone wishing to become one in the future. Being a mom doesn't necessarily mean biologically. 💜

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

**Follow @absurdthirst-writes and turn on notifications to stay up to date on all new fics.

|| MasterList || Joel Miller MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

You grunt, squinting as you struggle to see in the dark. It's the middle of the night, the sun not yet peeking through the curtains, and you wonder why you woke up until your stomach twists and you realize you're wet between your thighs. "No. No. No. No." You cry, tears in your eyes as you scramble out of bed and rush into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you. You shove your shorts down and sob at the blood that's gathered there. You got your period. Again. You sit down on the toilet and gather some paper to clean yourself up while you try to smother your cries but there's a knock at the door and Joel's voice  resonates through it, "are you okay, sweetheart?" He asks and you choke out, "the bed." Joel walks over to turn the lamp on, his eyes widening at the blood on the sheets. "Oh sweetheart." He sighs, resting his forehead against the door frame. "I'm sorry, baby. I - I am useless." You sob and he rattles the door handle, "let me in." He demands and you flush the toilet, washing your hands before you open the door. Joel immediately wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. "We will try again." He promises, "I didn't give up when I was recovering and we won't give up now." He assures you while you sob into his chest.

He sighs, not even going to deny his own disappointment, although people who used to know him in the Boston QZ would never believe it. Joel Miller, disappointed that you aren’t pregnant. The very obvious sign of his seed not taking root staining the sheets of the bed you share. He shouldn’t want a child. He’s closer to fucking sixty years old than not, just a few years shy and yet he finds himself wanting to see you round with his child. His second child by blood, his third in his heart. Ellie is staying with Dina tonight, so he doesn’t have to worry about waking her up as your sobs wrack your body. “You aren’t useless.” He soothes, frowning when he remembers your emotional words. Standing in the bathroom, he wishes there was something that he could do, fertility doctors from twenty plus years ago were a thing of the past. Most people do not want to bring children into this fungi infested world, but here in Jackson, he has hope for the future. Hope for a chance to pass on a legacy.

You cling to him, knowing he's disappointed. Lord knows you've been trying enough but you just can't seem to get pregnant. It's like you are cursed and you wonder if Joel's injuries hurt your chances.

****

You gasp when you look up to see a mangled man carried into the hospital. You set your cup of coffee down and stand up, the resident doctor rushing around to try and stop the bleeding. "What the hell?" You ask and a teenage girl is clinging to his hand as the team try to wheel him into the surgery room. "Joel. Joel. Don't leave me." She pleads, tears in her eyes, and you reach for her. "He's in good hands, sweetheart. Come here. Let the doctor work." You manage to drag her away and she wraps her arms around you and sobs, "I didn't know - she nearly - they nearly- it's all my fault." She chokes and you rub her back, frowning at the doors where the man disappeared.

Hours later, the door swings open and the doctor comes back through, his work scrubs stained with blood. Ellie had been impatiently sitting and leaps out of her seat. “Is he alive? Where is he? I want to see him.” She demands, making the doctor lift his hands slightly. “He’s alive.” He reassures her, making her tense shoulders slump with relief and tears prick her eyes. “There was massive trauma to the head, and-“ Ellie interrupts him. “Of course there is, that bitch tried to beat him to death with a fucking golf club.”

Your eyes widen at the news that he was nearly beaten to death. You wrap your arm around Ellie’s shoulder. She had rambled about how Joel saved her, how much she loves him, how he’s the father she never had. Her words made your heart melt and you silently prayed he pulled through. “It’s going to be a long road to recovery. For now, we will monitor him and see if he pulls through the night. It’s touch and go still.” The doctor warns Ellie who nods, “he will pull through. Joel is a stubborn fucker.” You chuckle and rub her upper arm, “let’s get you something to eat and a shower and we can come back when he’s settled in a room.” You suggest and she’s reluctant to leave but the doctor nods, “he’s unconscious. Will be for a few days at least. His body needs rest. Go get some food and he will be waiting for you.” Ellie nods and lets you guide her to your house. Her home needs to be cleaned up and you don’t want her to see the aftermath of the battle that occurred in her home.

Joel had put up a fight. Furniture is broken, the mirror in the hallway - one he had grumbled about every day when it showed him how old he is - is shattered. Shards of glass and spurts of blood splash the walls. Ellie grimaces and stops at the blood stain on the floor right by the open front door. Obviously no one had cared about closing up the house when rushing Joel off to the hospital. “Right.” She sighs, turning when she hears someone running towards her. “Ellie! Fuck, is Joel alright?” Breathless, Tommy stops in front of the teenager and his face almost begs her to tell him that his older brother is okay. “I tracked her, but she got away.” He explains; that being the reason he wasn’t at the hospital earlier. “She went to the river and I couldn’t track her from there.” 

Ellie straightens her back, shaking her head, “that fucking bitch.” She growls and you answer Tommy’s question. “Joel had surgery. He’s unconscious right now. Still in the air as to him waking up without brain damage. The doctor did the best he could but it…it was bad.” You admit and Tommy closes his eyes, needing to see his brother. “I need to see him.” He says and you nod, “he’s unconscious still. I’m going to get Ellie changed and get her something to eat.” You tell Tommy who reaches out to squeeze Ellie’s shoulder. “Get something to eat, kid. I’ll let you know if anything changes.” Tommy promises and Ellie doesn’t say anything else, going quiet. “Come on, let’s get you something to eat.”

You nod, “go clean up. I’ll get started on trying to clean this up.” You tell her and she makes her way upstairs. You sigh, looking over at the pool of blood and you feel sick. You’ve always had a crush on the older Miller brother since he arrived at Jackson, but you’re certain he doesn’t even know you exist. 

****

You check Joel’s pulse, his eyes moving beneath his eyelids. He’s still unconscious, has been for a few days, and the hospital isn’t equipped with equipment to test brain function. All you can do is watch and wait to see if he will wake up.

Joel hurts, every inch of his body hurts and it feels like he’s trying to move mountains just to open his eyes. Fingers twitching and he opens his mouth, groaning quietly.

You gasp when you hear him groan, watching his eyes flutter, and you let go of his wrist, calling for the doctor. The doctor comes in and you gesture to Joel, “he is waking up.” The doctor nods, checking Joel over, his bandages wrapped around his head, and they had to shave his head to perform the surgery. You wonder if he will be angry about losing his hair. Ellie is in the waiting room so you head out to see her. “He’s awake.” You tell her and she stands up, “he is. I want to see him.” You shake your head, “the doctor is checking him over. Let’s give them some time.”

It takes a long time to understand what the doctors are telling him, frowning in confusion and wondering why his head feels like it’s been squashed like a grape. Moving is slower and he hisses in pain when he learns that his ribs have been broken and his leg is also fractured. Opening his mouth, it’s hard to get a word out. “E-E-El-Ellie.” He manages, needing to see her.

The doctor nods, “she’s okay.” You escort Ellie into the room, wanting her to see her father is awake, and she rushes over to the bed. “Joel. Joel. I’m sorry.” Ellie chokes, reaching for his hand. He groans as he squeezes her hand, silently assured that she’s okay.” You watch their reunion with tears in your eyes from the doorway.

“D-d-don’t bl-ame y-your-self.” Joel rasps out, still fuzzy on what happened. He doesn’t remember anything much before waking up in the hospital. Although he gets the sense he was angry- desperate. He groans in pain when she lunges forward to hug him, but he doesn’t push her away. 

You watch Ellie hug him and you know in that moment you’ll do whatever you can do to make sure Joel gets better. Ellie pulls back after several moments and the doctor checks Joel’s vitals. “He needs some more time here so we can observe him.” Ellie nods at the doctor’s words and you walk over to rub her back.

“I’m going be honest, Mr. Miller,” the doctor tells him as he pulls back. “I am surprised that you even woke up. There was significant bleeding and swelling of the brain. Tests seem positive but there could be damage that hasn’t manifested itself yet.” He tells Joel. “It’s going to be a long road to recovery for you.”

Joel doesn’t say anything. He was nearly murdered. He knows he shouldn’t be alive right now. Ellie sniffs as she steps back and Joel attempts to squeeze her hand. The doctor grabs his clipboard and looks at Joel’s recent vitals. “Waking up was half the struggle. Let’s monitor you and go from there.” The doctor says, “and we will keep running tests.” Joel grunts out an “okay” and you offer him a smile, “you’re a fighter just like Ellie said. She’s lucky to have you.”

You’re familiar to him, he can’t place it, but his thoughts are still fuzzy and jumbled. “How- how long have I been here?” He asks after a moment. “Three days.” Ellie answers and he frowns. “Who- where have you been sleeping?”

Ellie says your name, “I have been staying in her house. She has been cleaning our house because there was too much blood and - and it was a mess.” Ellie reveals and Joel’s eyes are hazy as they meet yours, silently saying goodbye thank you and you nod in response. “Just focus on getting better, Ellie and I are enjoying some girl time.” You tease, winking at Ellie who chuckles.

****

Joel stays in hospital for two weeks and you look after Ellie, preparing his home for his return, and when the doctor declares him fit to leave, he says that he needs someone to look after him. He still can’t shower by himself, he needs help eating and he struggles to walk alone. It’s going to be a long recovery for Joel. “I can help,” Ellie says without hesitation as Joel sits on the edge of the bed.

“You can’t help me do everything.” Joel grunts, knowing that he could never allow the teenage girl to help him shower or get to fucking bathroom. “I- Tommy-“ his brother has been by to visit every day, and he’s talked to him about taking Ellie. He doesn’t know how he will manage, but he also knows he can’t burden Maria and their baby with his convalesce.

“Tommy is out of town on a scouting mission.” Ellie says, knowing Joel’s brother was set on revenge for his brother’s condition. He just had to track Abby down. “I can help.” You volunteer, feeling close to him despite not having a full conversation with him. Spending time with Ellie, hearing her stories about Joel and his bravery had made you fond of him. “I can help him at home.” You offer and the doctor looks to Joel for his answer.

His eyes slide to you, unsure why you would volunteer to help him, but the doctor immediately nods. “That would be a good idea.” He agrees. “You can check his bandages and make sure that he doesn’t get an infection.” He smiles at the three of you like it’s a done deal and Joel frowns slightly, not sure if he likes the idea of you helping him.

You nod, noticing Ellie’s grateful smile, and you look at Joel, “it’s for the best. I can monitor your health and help you. I’m a nurse. It’s a medical decision.” You tell him and he grunts, knowing he doesn’t have a choice. He’s discharged and you wheel him to the doctor’s truck, knowing Joel won’t be able to walk home. You arrive outside of the house and Joel grunts, “I can walk.” He doesn’t want a wheelchair so you let him wrap his arm around you to guide him into the house. “Take your time.” You reassure him, “no need to rush.”

The shuffle is slow and painful, making him huff in irritation that he can’t move like he would want to. Even as he’s gotten older and been slower, he’s been able to move how he wanted to. Now, in a cast and recovering from nearly dying, he needs help. Ellie jumps forward to open the door and he’s glad to see that the scene that had been left from the attack you told him about has been cleaned away. He will have to thank you for that. “Fuck.” He pants, out of breath and in pain just because of the short walk from the truck to the house. “I don’t know how the fuck I’m getting upstairs.”

“We moved a bed downstairs.” You tell him, “you won’t be going upstairs for a while.” You escort him into the living room and help him settle down on the bed. He’s only wearing socks so he groans as he sits down and you help him lay on the bed. “You need to rest as much as possible. Let me get you some water. Are you hungry?” You ask, helping him settle against the pillows.

“Can you cook better than the shit they served at the hospital?” He grumbles, having not enjoyed the food there. He’s relieved to be home and his head hurts a little bit less today than before. He’s got a plate covering the fractured portion of his skull and they actually had to remove a large chunk of the bone.

You chuckle, “I like to think so. I’m glad your appetite is back. What do you feel like? I make a mean mac and cheese.” You adjust his pillow and Ellie comes to sit down next to him. “She’s a really good cook. Like really good. I’ve been helping make cheese and we even made a cake.” She tells Joel with wide eyes, shocked at how this place is like life in books she read.

“Sure.” Joel agrees, the little fissure of pain at the mention of a cake isn’t as rough as it might once have been. The last night she had been alive, Sarah had wanted a cake desperately for Joel’s birthday. “Make something the kid likes.” He suggests. “I eat anything.”

You smile, liking how he caters to Ellie, and you know that Ellie told the truth about the man she considers a father. “What do you want, sweetheart?” You ask her and she nods, “Mac and cheese.” You ask if she wants to help you while Joel gets settled in and Ellie follows you into the kitchen so you can get started on the food and you pour Joel a glass of water. “You want to take this to Joel?” You ask Ellie who takes the glass and takes it to her father figure.

Joel listens to the sound of people talking in the kitchen and it’s so strange. He can’t make out what’s being said, but he can hear voices. It’s almost unsettling that there is someone else in the safe, cozy home that he and Ellie have managed to carve out for themselves. Tommy told him that Abby, the girl who had attacked him, was the daughter of the doctor he had killed to save Ellie. His past sins were coming back to haunt him, but he doesn’t regret not letting the teen sacrifice herself for a lost cause.

Ellie comes back out to hand Joel the glass of water and he takes it, taking a sip. “Thanks, kid.” He says and she sits down at the edge of his bed. “I- I thought I was gonna lose you.” She whispers, her brown eyes meeting his, “I was scared.” She admits and Joel feels his chest tighten, tears stinging in his eyes. “But you didn’t. I survived and I ain’t going anywhere, kid.” He promises, reaching out to squeeze her hand with his free one. “She been looking after you?” He asks her, jerking his chin towards the kitchen. “Yeah. She’s been great. She cleaned this place up. Made sure I ate and showered and slept while worrying like fuck about you. She’s a good one.” Ellie says and Joel trusts her opinion. You hear what Ellie says from around the corner, some homemade chips in a bowl in your hand and you smile, liking that she trusts you. You carry the bowl in and set it down , “hope these are good. We fried them earlier today.” You say, looking between Ellie and Joel.

Joel’s brow raises and he nods. “Thanks.” It hurts to nod so he just sends you his thanks with his eyes. “For taking care of her and me now, I guess.” He sips the water and grunts when the cool liquid slides down his throat to quench his thirst. “I’m sorry for all the cursing I will be doing.” He warns you, knowing he’s never been a good patient.

You chuckle, “curse away. You’re alive. That’s all that matters.” You promise and make your way back into the kitchen to continue making dinner. It’s going to be a long path of recovery but you’re happy to help Joel get back on his feet. 

****

“Shit.” Joel hisses as you help him into the downstairs bathroom to shower. “Do you, uh, I can help take off your pants.” You offer, cheeks burning as you try and help him shower for the first time since he left the hospital.

Joel isn’t a shy man, never has been, but the idea that you have to help him bathe like he is a helpless baby makes him burn with embarrassment. There’s not a goddamn thing he can do about it though, his body is still healing and he can’t get his head wet because of the stitches and staples. “Fuck.” He grunt, hoping he doesn’t really embarrass himself. The fact that he’s not gotten an erection since he’s woken up makes him wonder if something is wrong with that function. “Fuck, what the hell else am I going to do? Shower with my fuckin’ clothes on?”

You shake your head, “no. I- I have to help. I’m a nurse. I am a professional.” You tell him even though that doesn’t hold much weight in today’s world. “Let me help you.” You reach in to turn on the water to heat it up and you reach for Joel’s shirt. “Keep still.” You murmur, working the buttons open. He probably prefers t-shirts but the button down is required so he doesn’t jostle his head. He is still weak so he lets you push the shirt off of his shoulders. “Pants next.” You declare and hook your fingers in the sweatpants, dragging them down his legs  and he’s naked under them so it's easier for him to use the bathroom. He steps out of them and you try not to appraise his naked form. He’s still healing but he’s gorgeous.

“Sorry.” He huffs, knowing that the last thing you want to do is to help an old man bathe, his still bruised body on display. Luckily, there were still medical supply devices like a chair to sit in the shower to make it easier for him, although he knows you will get wet helping him. His dormant cock twitches slightly and his eyes widen at the sensation.

You focus on looking after him and not on his body, which even though bruised, is still beautiful. You know your clothes will get soaked but that’s okay, you don’t want to strip off and make him uncomfortable so you step into the shower and help him sit down on the chair. “Temperature okay?” You ask and he nods. You grab the soap you made last week and hold it out. “You want to do it or shall I?” You ask, knowing you’ll need to wash his face so he doesn’t get his head wet.

He hates to admit that he’s so damn tired after getting into the shower, he just wants you to do it. Grunting, he shakes his head slightly and winces when he feels a little pain. “Just do it.” He tells you, not wanting this to become some kind of pissing match. “Feel like a damn baby.”

You nod, “I understand but this is the best thing for you, honey. You need to focus on healing. You nearly died so being showered isn’t the worst thing in the world.” You put it in perspective for him. You lather up your hands and work on washing his back. He groans and your stomach twists with forbidden arousal. He’s injured, recovering, you shouldn’t feel attracted to him.

“Does it hurt?” Your soft question is almost arousing, murmuring in his ear but he grunts. “No.” His voice comes out raspy and raw. “Feels good.” He’s still so damn sore and your hands on his skin feels like a massage. “It’s feeling really good.”

You continue working on washing him, mindful of his bruises. “Good.” You murmur, “I’m so sorry this happened to you.” You say as you massage the soap into his black and blue back. “Tommy tried to find them but they were gone.” You reveal, “they are gone.”

“It’s my fault.” Joel murmurs quietly, closing his eyes and trying to forget the moment he had killed that doctor, but it plays behind his lids. “How could you deserve something like this?” You snort, but he sighs softly. “I killed her father.” He reveals. “He was a doctor, for the Fireflies. They believed Ellie was the answer to a cure.” He opens his eyes, frowning. “They were going to remove her brain.”

You gasp, your hands freezing on his back. "They - does she know?" You whisper and Joel shakes his head. "She can't." You declare, having gotten to know Ellie enough to know that she would sacrifice herself. He nods, "I can't - I lied to her. I can't lose her." He confesses and you rub his back, "you won't. Secret's safe with me." You promise, "you didn't deserve this, Joel. No one does. This world...it's cruel but we have our little piece of paradise here. We just gotta protect it."

Even though he knows it would never absolve him of his sins, your words are a balm to his spirit. Soothing him and making him relax even more. “It’s nice here.” He murmurs softly. “Sarah would love it here.”

Ellie had briefly discussed the daughter that Joel lost on Outbreak Day and you rub his shoulders, “we are lucky. Not QZ, not the Wild West. We are safe and our commune is thriving.” You hum, “Ellie is lucky to have you.” You murmur and he hisses when you press a little too hard, “I’m sorry.” You grab the rag and lather it up, “you, uh, want to wash your -” Your cheeks heat up at the thought and he takes the rag without a word.

Joel washes his groin quickly, gritting his teeth when his long neglected cock starts to stir from the simple touch and the smell of your soap. He has noticed it every time he gets your help to use the bathroom and he is now covered in it. “Help me.” He grunts, trying to push to his feet so he can wash his ass.

You wrap your arms under his armpits, helping him stand and he grunts as he washes his ass. When he’s done, you rinse him off and shut off the water, grabbing the towel around his waist. “You good?” You ask and he nods, “yeah. Just feel like a fucking baby.” You chuckle, “at least you don’t need breastfeeding.”

“Fuck.” He huffs and blurts out, “that would be more fun,” before he even realizes how inappropriate it would be. “Shit, I’m sorry.” He grunts, blushing slightly.

You snort and smile, “I think we are beyond apologies now, huh?” You say, knowing you’ve helped him to the bathroom and now helped him shower. “Let’s get you redressed and I’ll heat up the soup I made earlier for you.” You tell him and grab the clean clothes you set aside for him.

His bedroom is what used to be the downstairs office. It’s got some doors for privacy, but more often than not, they are kept open until he needs to change. It makes it easier. “I didn’t ask, how do you like that bed?” His bedroom upstairs had become yours since they had broken down the smaller bed from the third bedroom. Joel wouldn’t let you sleep on the couch, telling you he could piss in a bottle in the middle of the night if he needed to. You deserved to sleep in a real bed for helping him.

“It’s good. Nice and comfy. I have no complaints.” You tell him, knowing your roommate, Sandra, will be enjoying the peace and quiet on her own in your house. “I hope it’s comfortable here.” You help him pull the shirt over his head and you kneel down so he can  step into the sweatpants.

“It’s a bed.” He’s going to be uncomfortable regardless of where he is because of how badly he had been beaten. The only reason he’s alive is because she had started swinging on other parts of his body besides the head. “I think I’ll appreciate it more when I can move without wanting to cry.”

“Not too long now. You’ve overcome the worst. You’ll get there in the end.” You promise him, “you’ll get better. Ellie needs you.” You pull the sweatpants up and stand up, patting his chest. “All clean.” You smile and guide him to sit on the bed. You swing his legs onto the bed and stand up, “I’ll go get your soup, Miller.”

He watches you go, his eyes dropping down to your ass, not for the first time either. This time though, there is a punch of lust that his body responds to. Making him grunt and reach down to adjust himself slightly. You are beautiful and now that he has spent time with you, he can see why Tommy called him a lucky bastard.

****

You spend eight weeks looking after Joel. Helping him bathe until he can manage himself, feeding him, making sure he has water. It’s your priority and you are so happy he’s recovering well. He can walk properly now and the bruises have faded. “You want some cake?” You ask Joel as he walks into the kitchen where Ellie is trying to lick the spoon of the jam you made to go in the sponge cake.

“God, yes.” Joel groans, the irony of cake not being lost on him. You have been positively spoiling him and Ellie and he hates to think about when you will leave. He’s getting better and it’s about time you go back to your own life. “Are we doing a shower tonight?” The stitches are out, but he still has staples and needs help in the shower.

You nod, “yes, sir. Gotta make sure you avoid a nasty infection. We don’t have any oral antibiotics left.” You sigh, knowing that even if someone found some, they’d be expired. You and Ellie put the cake together and you cut out a slice for each of you. Setting the plate down in front of Joel, you love the way he smiles at you. It’s been impossible to keep your affection for him at bay. You’ve fallen for him, knowing that you will have to return home at some point but the grumpy yet funny man has gotten into your heart.

“Thanks.” He sends you a grateful look and sets his elbows on the table as he waits for you to sit down. “It smells incredible. You seem to enjoy cooking, or is it just something you do because you know Ellie can’t?” He teases, making the teenager huff and roll her eyes. “It’s not like I’ve had a chance to learn, man.”

You giggle and nudge Ellie, “you’ve been learning. You’ll get there. No, I, uh, I love cooking. Always have.” You admit, “I missed it a lot when I was on the outside. Cooking rabbit on a fire isn’t quite the same as cooking in a warm kitchen.” You sigh, forking up a bite of the cake.

“Yeah, campfires are temperamental, and cooking on them is even worse.” He snorts. Ellie chuckles. “When you would let us have them.” Joel shrugs slightly. “It’s dangerous out there.” He reminds her. “Hell, it’s dangerous in here too, but it’s better than out there.” He glances towards the entryway where he had collapsed when Abby nearly beat him to death.

You notice his glance and you realize once again how close to death he was. “You’re here now. Hopefully you don’t have to go back out there anytime soon.” You reach out to squeeze Joel’s hand and he smiles at you, his fork in his other hand, “you are safe for now.”

You have been incredible, and it’s almost amazing to see how you have slipped past the shell of his heart, something that only Ellie has managed since Tess. It’s hard to believe Tess has been gone as long as she has, but Joel has been slowly trying to heal emotionally as he heals physically. Thoughts of you have crept into his waking hours, causing some embarrassing moments in the showers when he gets hard, or you wake him up from an erotic dream that features you.

****

“So, the doctor gave you the all clear. Just to be careful and not do too much.” You smile at Joel as you enter the living room after the doctor left. He had done a full assessment of Joel and called his surgery a miracle - the fact that he survived is a gift from God. Ellie is out visiting Dina and you sit down next to Joel on the sofa, “I guess I can get out of your hair now. You can have your bed back and I’ll go back to my place.” You finish softly, sad to be leaving him.

Joel wipes his hands on his sweatpants, still wearing them out of habit over the past few months. “You’re probably happy as hell to be getting away.” He snorts as he looks over at you and wonders how you have become even prettier than before. He’s crazy about you, how kind you are, how you have taken Ellie under your wing and how you never rebuke him for when he gets sad and introspective. You have helped so much and he hates that you are leaving. “Maybe I need to get the shit beat out of me again, make you stick around.”

You chuckle, shaking your head. "No need to do that. All you have to do is ask me to stay and I would." You confess and your eyes widen at the way you blurted that out. You close your mouth, turning your head to stare across the room, avoiding those dark brown eyes. "I'm sorry. I-" You begin but he interrupts you. "Stay." You turn your head to look at him again, "what? You - you want me to stay?" You ask, feeling breathless.

He rolls his eyes at your question and huffs. “Do you think that I’m getting hard every time you help me shower because getting clean turns me on?” He asks bluntly. “I’ve been trying to think about anything else but you, but nothing works.”

You stare at him in shock, “I- I can’t believe - I just thought you were horny because you couldn’t jerk off.” You snort and close your eyes for a second. “I think about you. All the time.” You admit, reaching for his hand, “I had a crush on you before I came to help.” You tell him honestly, “always thought you were handsome, but now that I know you? You’re - fuck, I love you.” You confess just as breathless as your prior revelation.

His own breath stops, caught in his chest as you confess your feelings. A year ago, hell - a few months ago, he would have been denying that you felt that way. Ignoring it or being unable to respond in kind because his world was still ground to a halt, but that had changed. You and Ellie, that attack, it had changed things and made him realize that even though he had lost so many, he still had those to live for. He lunges forward and presses his lips to yours. “Love you too.” He murmurs as you gasp.

You can’t believe he’s kissing you but you reach up to cup his cheek, pressing your lips back to his, and your heart is pounding in your chest. You shift closer, cupping his other cheek and you rest your forehead against his when you pull back, caressing his stubbled cheeks. “I love you, Miller.” You smile, unable to fathom that the man you’ve fallen for loves you too.

He's panting and his heart is beating wildly in his chest. Already turned on again and starting to tent his sweats and all you've done is shared one kiss. Reaching up, he caresses your neck and shoulder. "Are you sure? I'm fuckin' old, baby." He jokes. "And a little decrepit."

You shake your head, "you're not decrepit. Or too old. I love you, Joel. No matter what. Hell, if I can look after you like I have and still think you are sexy, you're good to go." You promise with a giggle, sliding your hands down to his chest. "And I haven't stopped thinking about you between my thighs. Inside of me." You confess in a hushed tone.

The kid is off with her friend and Joel groans quietly, having thought of nothing else for the past few days. "I don't know if I can perform worth a shit." He admits with a shake of his head. "Haven't cum since I woke up."

"I don't care. Just want to be close to you." You murmur, "don't care if you cum right away. I can ride you." You want to be close to him, to feel all of him. "I keep thinking about how you'd feel inside of me."

He's still in his downstairs bedroom and he nudges his nose against yours. "Close the doors." He rasps out, nodding towards the French doors that close off his makeshift space. "I don't want to tire myself out trying to get upstairs."

You stand up, hands shaky as you shut the doors and turn to face him. You take in the details of his face, his head shaved from his surgery so his hair is growing back patchy but he’s still so attractive. You reach for the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head and you swiftly remove your bra. Hooking your fingers in your leggings, you push them down along with your panties to stand naked in front of him. “I’ve seen yours, figured it’s only fair if you see mine.”

"It gets bigger." He jokes, aware that you have seen and politely ignored the times he's gotten hard from you helping him in the shower. "Fuck, you are beautiful." He praises breathlessly, eyes drinking in your body as he licks his lips. It's been a long goddamn time since he's been with someone, the last person was Tess, but he feels like he's about to bust if he doesn't touch you.

“So are you.” You respond as you walk towards him. “So brave. A fucking fighter.” You murmur, shifting to straddle him as he sits back on the bed. His hands immediately find your ass and you chuckle, knowing he’s watched it enough times. You cup his cheeks and lean in to kiss him, “wanna see if it gets bigger.” You joke, grinding down onto the tent in his sweats.

Joel groans, twitching underneath you and he knows he won’t have any problem performing. The problem might be that he doesn’t please you before he cums. His hand slides around your waist to dip between your thighs. Hissing when he finds you starting to get slick as he starts to slowly rub your clit.

“Oh God.” You pant, rocking down onto his hand. It’s been far too long since anyone touched you and you are whimpering at the way his thick fingers rub your bundle of nerves. You tilt your head back and he leans in to kiss along your neck, your fingers digging into his shoulder as you absorb every touch.

He groans as he learns your body. He and Tess had been comfortable, completely familiar with each other and what the other liked. The whimpers and groans rockets his arousal higher as you grind down against his fingers and he feels like he’s going to bust in his sweats. Turning his wrist, he presses his thumb against your clit and slides his fingers through your slick folds so he can press them inside you.

“I want to touch you.” You whimper and he shakes his head, “not yet. Otherwise this will be over sooner than you thought.” He grunts and you rock onto his thick fingers, stretching you out in the most delicious way. “Fuckkkk.” You exhale as he presses his finger against that spongy spot inside of you. He’s good. He knows what he’s doing.

He loves the way you respond to him, how wet you get. Sliding his hand up and down your back as he kisses along your shoulder and down to your tit. Wrapping his lips around a stiff nipple as he continues to pump his fingers in and out of your wet heat.

“Shit.” You hiss, caressing his head as he suckles on your nipple like he’s trying to root. It has you quivering and you’re so close. So many nights of imagining how he’d touch you has led to you getting worked up faster than you have ever known. “Joel. Oh God, Joel. You’re gonna make me - I’m gonna-” You don’t finish your cry as you cut yourself off with a strangler choke and clamp down on his digits, soaking them with your cum.

“That’s it, fuck, good girl.” Joel pants against your breast as he pumps his fingers to help you ride out your orgasm. “You’re so goddamn good to me, ain’t ya? You creamin’ all over my fingers, making me harder than a fucking rock.” He coos praises into your skin, enjoying the way your nails bite into his shoulder through the shirt. Your pretty cunt soaked his fingers and he can only imagine how good you will feel around his cock.

His words make you choke on your breath as he works you through your orgasm. You never imagined he’d be so dirty but you love it. “Fuck, baby. Yes. I need - I need you inside of me but I want to suck your cock.” You whine, reaching down to tug on the hem of his shirt, wanting him naked beneath you.

“You can’t.” Joel moans, shaking his head. “I wouldn’t last a minute. And I want to feel you, fuck, imagined it so many times.” He pants, pulling away from the back of the bed so you can pull his shirt off. “Maybe- later, if I can get it up again.” He chuckles.

You pull his shirt over his head, still mindful of his injuries, and you slide your hands down his chest, admiring his broadness. “You’re so sexy.” You murmur, reaching down to pull his cock out of his sweatpants, wanting to see him in this light. You’ve seen his cock plenty of times but now you know he’s hard for you and it’s intoxicating. You pump him and he groans out a warning so you shift to lift your hips, positioning him at your entrance and you slowly sink down onto him.

“Fuuuuuuuuck.” His hands grip your hips harshly and he clenches his jaw as you take him. You are hot and tight like a glove around his cock, clenching around him as your walls flutter. Your ass presses against his thighs and he rocks his hips up. “Fuck, that’s - fuck, gimme a minute.” He begs, feeling like he’s about to cum. “Let me- calm down.”

You nod, stilling on top of him, and you caress his chest. He exhales shakily and you lean in to kiss him, “take your time, baby. I’m in no rush.” You promise and kiss along his jaw, loving how he stretches you out.

It’s been so long since he’s felt this close to anyone, your breath blows against his skin and he shivers. Closing his eyes as he holds you still. “Fuck, I love you.” He murmurs quietly, aware that this is something that he shouldn’t even have, he should have died. But he’s here and he’s going to live for the moment and bask in the forgiveness of your touch.

You close your eyes at his words, loving how he caresses you, and you tilt your head to look at him. “I love you too. You’re so much more than you think you are.” You murmur, caressing his cheek, and you experimentally rock your hips. His groan makes your stomach clench and you rock again, starting slow as he moves inside of you.

“Shit.” He hisses quietly, opening his eyes to watch as you start to move. “You’re so pretty, so fuckin’ pretty.” He promises as he starts to slide his hands up and down your back. “You feel so good, does it feel good for you?”

His words make your heart pound in your chest and you nod, “feels so good. You feel so damn big inside of me.” You confess breathlessly, “stretching me out. It’s been so long since I had sex. You need to- to pull out so tell me if you’re close.” You remind him, not wanting an accidental pregnancy right now.

Joel grunts, looking into your eyes as he nods. “I will.” He promises. Safe sex isn’t really a thing to be had but hopefully there’s not something to come of this. You are right to remind him. “I’m good baby, ride me.”

You take his word and start to move faster. Your hands gripping his shoulders as you start to move on top of him, moaning at the way he twitches inside of you. "Fuck, you feel so good." You pant, chest heaving as his cock curves just right inside of you.

Joel grunts and leans forward to press his lips to yours, biting your bottom lip after he kisses you. Your breasts brush against his chest and he pulls you closer, craving the feel of your skin against his.

You moan into his mouth, loving how strong her feels, how he’s recovered and he’s stronger for it mentally. You rock down onto his cock, loving the way he twitches inside of you, and you are getting close. Just the feel of having the man you love inside of you is pushing you higher. “Oh shit.” You whimper when you find the right spot and you reach down to rub your clit, pushing yourself closer to the edge.

“That’s it pretty girl, making yourself cum.” Joel groans, watching you touch yourself with dark eyes. It’s so sexy and he can’t get enough of it. “Make yourself cum on my cock. I want to feel it, see it. Show me what you look like.”

You nod, mouth open as you work yourself higher until you finally fall over the edge. A cry escapes your lips as you cum, moaning his name and you clamp down on his cock, soaking him while your orgasm rocks through you.

His eyes roll back in pleasure as he feels you squeezing him and he knows he will be cumming any second. “Sweethea-rt, you gotta-“ he grits his teeth as he jerks your body up off his cock so he can keep his promise to you, panting as he spurts all over his stomach and chest.

You watch him as he cums and you love it. The way he looks is intoxicating and you lean in to kiss him. “Fuck, I love you.” You murmur, leaning in to kiss him as he pants your name.

He kisses you back eagerly, reaching for his shirt to wipe away the mess so you can lean against him. “Fuck, that was- I can’t even-“ he chuckles quietly and kisses you again. “What do you think about moving in permanently?”

You smile as he looks at you, his dark eyes soft, and you cup his cheeks. “Yes. Absolutely.” Your smile turns into a grin, excited to explore this next step with Joel. “I was dreading going home and I would miss you and Ellie like crazy.” You confess, “I want to stay.”

“Good.” He pauses for a moment and then he admits, “it’s felt like a proper home with you here. Ellie, she loves you too.” He tells you softly. “I think she imagines we are a family.”

“I imagine that too. She’s like a daughter to me.” You confess, “I want to make this a home and I want to be yours. Be in your bed every night. Be by your side no matter what.” You promise and Joel smiles, cupping your cheek, “sounds amazing, baby.”

****

“Joel.” You say his name as he takes a sip of whiskey. Ellie is watching a movie with the other kids in the barn and you decided to cook a romantic dinner for Joel, wanting to ask him something. He looks at you and you tilt your head, appraising him. You pick up your glass and take a sip, your throat suddenly dry. “Everything okay, baby?” He asks and you nod, squaring your shoulders. “I want a baby.” You announce, bracing yourself for him to say no.

Joel freezes, waiting for the familiar ache to take over his chest. For this vision to blur and his breathing to turn into short bursts as thoughts of Sarah take over. As the sounds of her rapid, panicked last breaths fill his ears. It never comes. 

He doesn’t panic at the thought of having a child that could remind him of Sarah. Ellie does in some ways, but she’s a completely different type of girl. One raised in the world outside the safety of the walls of Jackson. If you had a child here, they would be innocent in some ways Ellie was not, more like Sarah. “A baby, huh?” He murmurs after a moment. “With me?” He asks. “I’m nearly sixty, baby. You want that?”

You sense his hesitation and you feel like backtracking but you think about the nights you’ve spent awake pondering this, weighing the pros and cons of having his baby in this world. You reach for his hand, “I know and I still want it. Spending time with Ellie, helping with your nephew, it’s made me realize that I can do it. It’s hard, always hard being a mother, but I’m ready and I want a baby. I want a baby that will carry our legacy, a baby that will grow up safe and capable. We will make sure of it. Unless you don’t want that, which is - it’s fine. I’ll handle your decision. We both have to want this, Joel. Not just me. Don’t do it for me. I want you to want this too and if you don’t, then that’s case closed.” You promise, not wanting to pressure him.

Joel squeezes your hand gently, reminded of the nights he had woken in a cold sweat, sometimes from the broken memories of him being attacked or the memory of losing Sarah. You have been right beside him, offering him comfort and solace. He’s told you about that night, sharing with you memories that he has kept bottled for over twenty years. You had cried in his arms like you had been Sarah’s mother, assuring him that he had done everything right to try to protect his baby girl. The fact that he’s not immediately said no is very insightful and he bites his lip and watches you with a softness that even a year ago, he was unsure he was capable of. “It’s been a looooong time since 2 AM feedings and my hearing is shot.” He snorts, smiling slightly. “You’ll have to poke me to wake me up if you want me to get up with a baby.”

You smile, loving the way he has agreed to having a baby with you. “You’re forgetting the best part about deciding to have a baby….” You trail off and smirk, “the trying.” He returns your smirk and you giggle, standing up from your seat and you round the table to sit in his lap. “I love you.” You murmur when you’re settled in his lap, reaching up to caress his cheek. “I want you to fuck a baby into me, Joel.”

“Fuck, that’s hotter than I ever imagined.” Joel grunts, twitching underneath you. His sex drive isn’t completely on par with yours, but he keeps up and keeps you satisfied in other ways. You’ve told him you don’t regret being with him at all. Which is another balm on his battered soul. “You want me to cum in that pretty pussy?” He asks, squeezing your ass. “Imagined how you would look dripping me a few times.”

You moan, kissing along his jaw as his words wash over you. “I want you to cum inside of me. Put a baby in me.” You plead, wiggling on his lap. His hair has grown back now, more gray in it, but you love it, and you reach up to run your fingers through his hair.

He groans and captures your lips with his, licking into your mouth immediately as the easy passion blooms between you. His hands move to start stripping you down.

It doesn’t take long for you and Joel to be naked. You stumbled up the stairs to your bedroom, clothes scattered on the trail upstairs and when you lay down on the bed, Joel is immediately hovering over you. Your heart is pounding in your chest and his hand slides along your thigh, cupping your pussy. “I don’t want foreplay. I just want you. Want to feel all of you.” You murmur, caressing his shoulders.

There are times when you want the burn of his cock stretching you out and tonight is one of those nights it seems. That’s good because Joel is impatient to get inside you. He takes his cock in hand and pumps it a few times as he shuffles forward to press against your entrance. “I love you.” He murmurs.

He pushes inside of you, stretching you out, and you gasp out “love you too.” He pushes inside of you until he’s fully seated and you take a deep breath, enjoying the weight of his body on top of yours and the weight of the moment. Deciding to take this step together has your body primed and ready for him. He starts to move inside of you and you wrap your legs around his waist, moaning at the way he rocks into you.

Nearly dying hadn’t had the lasting effects that the doctors had feared when Joel had been brought in. His thrusts are steady, if not a little harder than normal, although he keeps the pace sedate. Not rushing, but he enjoys burying himself as deep as he can go and watching your eyes roll back in pleasure. “Gonna knock you up.” He grunts out.

His words make you clench around him, your hands sliding down his back to squeeze his ass. His recovery has been a miracle from the man who was on death's door to the man currently making love to you trying to get you pregnant. You whimper when his lips find your neck and you rock your hips up to try and meet his.

Every time the two of you come together, Joel remembers how lucky he is. His kisses trail along your throat as he groans into your skin. Both of you give and take from each other. “Fuck, baby.” Joel moans, his body tensing when you clench down around him again. “You gonna cum before I fill you up? Love it when you soak my cock.”

You nod, "yes baby. I - shit - you always feel so good." You slide one hand down between you so you can rub your clit. He immediately bats your hand away after shifting his weight onto one elbow. You moan when he rubs your clit just right, his hips pushing into your ass as you take him deep inside of you. "Shit. Joel. You - I'm - God." You cry out as you clamp down on his cock, soaking him.

“That’s it, good girl, goooooood girl.” Joel moans, clenching his teeth as you come apart around him. He feels his own body is ready to cum, excited by the situation and it only takes a few more thrusts. Instead of pulling his hips back, he plunges them forward, embedding himself deep as he paints your womb with his seed. “Fuck, fuck.” He pants, closing his eyes as he rides out his orgasm, amazed at how good it feels. “You’ll be pregnant in no time.”

You smile against his lips when he leans in to kiss you and you’re so hopeful for the future with Joel. A baby that looks like the two of you combined. You are excited and when he pulls out, you keep his cum inside of you, trying to make sure that it takes. You’ll be pregnant in no time.

****

“Sweetheart….I’m supposed to go ride the southern border and check the area.” You’ve quieted down over the past few hours, but he can still see the sadness lurking in your eyes. You’ve stopped blaming yourself but he knows those thoughts are bouncing around and he’s reluctant to leave you. “Do you want me to have Tommy go? Stay here with you?”

You shake your head, eyes sore from crying, “no baby. Just go. I’ll be fine. Ellie will be back soon.” You murmur, keeping your back turned towards him. You feel useless, you feel broken, and you feel exhausted. You’ve tried so hard to get pregnant. You even researched old wives tales about how to get pregnant. You’ve taken herbs, teas, anything you can to get pregnant and after trying for so long, you’re exhausted.

He worries about you, leaning over and pressing his lips to your forehead. “I’ll be back as quickly as possible and I’ll make dinner tonight.” He offers. It’s the historical Mother’s Day today, and he knows you will be extra glum since you are once again not pregnant. Sometimes he wonders if he should just tell you that he’s changed his mind, taking the guilt and worry about it off your shoulders. You can blame him for not having a child. “Okay?”

“Sure.” You murmur, closing your eyes as a cramp contracts in your stomach, making you curl into a ball. You really thought this was it. Your period was two weeks late and you didn’t tell Joel because you wanted to surprise him and then you got your period. You sniff and Joel sighs, shuffling out of the bed to get ready for his shift. You can’t blame him. He’s had a kid. It’s got to be you that’s the issue.

He’ll look for some wildflowers for you while he’s out. They always make you smile and tonight, he will do his best to make sure that you know that no matter what, he loves you. He thinks about all this while he puts his clothes on and brushes his teeth, coming out of the bathroom to find you still curled up. “Go soak in a hot bath, baby.” He suggests, walking over to the bed and kissing your cheek. “I’ll be back soon.”

You listen to him go and you know it's technically Mother's Day today. Salt in the wound. You swallow harshly and wait until the front door closes before you allow yourself to sob again. You can't believe you aren't pregnant. You've tried so hard. Maybe you aren't meant to be a mother.

Saddling the horse and getting let out of the gates of Jackson has Joel on autopilot. Most often the scouting parties are in groups, but today had been just singles, most men in the community wanting to spend time with their wives and celebrate them. The grass is green and lush; there's a certain beauty to the mild spring transitioning into warmer weather. Urging the horse forward, he is eager to finish the patrol so he can get back to you.

You have your bath, eyes sore from sobbing, and you try to come to terms that you’re never going to be a mother. It’s just not in the cards. You love Ellie and you think of her as your daughter but you wanted a baby, a combination of you and Joel to love and care for in this new world. That isn’t going to happen and you curl around yourself in bed after you’re dry, trying to cope with that fact.

Pulling the reins, Joel listens carefully, certain that he has just heard a cry. His hand goes to his rifle to pull it off his shoulder. Wary of traps or ruses to draw unsuspecting people in, he scans the area. Silence lingers long enough until he’s almost convinced he was hearing things when there’s another, louder cry. A baby. His eyes widen and he nudges the horse forward again. “Hello?” He cups his hand and calls out, wondering if there is a group traveling nearby. There must be, if there is a baby. Mountain lions and things that can sound like a baby crying are farther up in the mountains. Instead of the sound quieting, the crying turns into screaming, giving him a direction to head towards. Joel keeps his rifle up and guides the horse with his knees when he almost stumbles upon the scene. 

“Shit!” There’s a woman lying on the ground, face down with a carrier on her back, a small baby - no more than three or four months old - screaming from the restraints. He scans the areas again, looking for a trap, but there’s nothing moving. The baby's howls prompts him to dismount and move towards the woman, his rifle pointed at her until he reaches them and nudges her with his boot. Wondering if she’s been changed and cannot get to the baby, although he’s never seen one go dormant with a human around and making noise. “Hey…” prodding her doesn’t make her move and Joel scans the area again, the open range not a good spot to plan an ambush, but someone could be hiding in the tall grass. Carefully kneeling down, he grabs a bony thin shoulder and turns the woman enough to see that her gaunt face and shrunken eyes are lifeless. “Shit.” He hisses, looking back at the baby who is almost as bad as the mother. From what it looks like, this poor woman had been traveling to find shelter, food, anything for her and her baby and she collapsed less than two miles from salvation. 

Joel sighs as he sets the rifle down and rolls the body on its side. “I’m sorry.” He murmurs quietly, his heart clenching at the reality of the situation, reaching out to close the woman’s eyes before unbuckling the strap for the carrier that is across her chest.

Ellie returns before Joel does and you offer her a smile as she says hello. “I, uh, I made you something.” She says, handing you a piece of paper. It’s a card. “Happy Mother’s Day” it says and your heart clenches. A genuine smile on your face as you realize she made this for you. You open it and tears sting in your eyes as you read her scrawled handwriting. “Thank you for being the mom I never had.” She wrote and you choke, reaching for her. “I love you so much sweetheart.” You pull her close, reminded that you have a beautiful daughter who loves you. “I love you too.” She murmurs, holding you just as tight. The front door opens and you pull back as you hear a baby crying. “Joel?” You gasp when your partner walks into the kitchen.

“Ellie….go to Tommy’s and get a bottle.” He orders the teenager as he starts to pull the baby carrier off his own chest to take the baby out. He had brought the body back, but this baby needed milk as soon as he could get it for her. “I found her,” he explains. “A woman collapsed two miles away from Jackson, she starved to death.” He motions you over. “At least, I think it’s a girl.”

Your eyes widen as he cradles the baby and you reach out to take them into your arms. The baby’s diaper is dirty and you shush them as you walk over to grab an old dish towel from the drawer as a makeshift diaper. “It’s okay, sweetheart.” You coo, unwrapping the baby on the kitchen table and you tell Joel to get a wet cloth. You work on cleaning up the baby, “it’s a girl.” You announce and wrap her in the dishtowel, using the pin from her old diaper. “It’s okay sweetheart. You’re okay, sweet girl. You’re safe and we are going to get you milk.” You promise, cradling her as you turn back towards Joel. “Her poor mother. So close to salvation.” You sigh, shaking your head at the tragedy.

“I brought her back.” Joel tells you quietly, watching as you bounce the baby girl in your arms and coo at her to calm her down. “Hoping something in her bag would tell us where she’s from, what the baby’s name is.” He sighs softly. “I couldn’t leave her out there.”

“Her mother deserves a service, a burial. We must give this little one a place to visit her mother.” You murmur, stroking her cheek. She’s gorgeous, her eyes watching you, and you try to not get too attached to her, knowing that Maria and Tommy will be handling the situation.

Ellie comes bursting into the house. “Got a bottle!” She yells, thundering down the hall to rush into the kitchen. “Tommy and Maria are coming too.” She pants, quickly handing the full bottle of milk to you. The baby is obviously hungry because the second that you brush the nipple against her mouth, she shakes her little head furiously as she tries to get it in her mouth, crying out before the nipple is in and immediately starting to suckle hungrily with great, greedy gulps.

“We will need more. Tommy and Maria have everything for a baby. We - they should take her.” You murmur, knowing it will be hard to hand the baby over but she isn’t yours and the leader needs to make a decision on her placement.

Joel takes one look at the way you hold this baby while she’s eating and knows that’s not what needs to happen. This baby is your chance to be a mother, to feel like a mother. It’s like it was fate for him to be out there and find her today, to bring her to you. “I think we should keep her.” Joel tells you, coming up and laying his hand on your shoulder. “Tommy and Maria have a lot on their plate with one baby already.”

Your eyes widen as you look at him then back at the baby. “We - us - are you - Joel.” You whisper, a soft smile on your face as you dare to hope that you can keep the little girl. It feels wrong. Her mother just died, but she can’t be left alone. She needs someone to look after her.

The front door opens. “Joel?” Tommy’s voice floats through the house and Joel keeps looking at you with the baby. “In the kitchen.” He calls out. The guards at the gates had kept his horse with the poor woman’s body and he had known Tommy and Maria would come to find out what the hell happened, but he wanted to get the baby here first. Footsteps quickly sound out, two sets of them like he expected and the baby is still greedily sucking away at the milk when his brother and sister in law come into the kitchen.

You look up as Maria walks in, her baby strapped to her chest, and she immediately comes over to see the baby in your arms. “Oh, she’s a sweet little thing. She needs fattening up. Poor girl, her mom was so close to our gates. She needs a mother. You should be her mother.” She says and you stare at her, “are you sure?” Maria smiles, stroking the head of her son. “She needs a mother and you are a more than capable applicant.” She gestures to the way you’re holding the baby. “I- I know this sounds insane but I feel like this is my purpose.” You murmur, looking down at her as she suckles.

Tommy smirks at Joel, who is obviously relieved by the decision. He’s talked to Tommy about the issues you’ve had trying to conceive and wished that there was some way for you to figure out what was wrong, but there just aren’t the medical resources here in Jackson. Joel had even been thinking about trying one of the universities, but couldn’t risk it again. “We both feel that way.”

You smile, cooing at the baby. “Did we find out what her name is?” You ask and Tommy nods, holding up a note that was in the mother’s satchel. “Her name is Hope.” Tommy reveals and you smile, “Hope.” You murmur, pulling the bottle away when she’s done. You shift her to your shoulder to burp her and you cradle her once she’s burped. “She’s our hope.” You declare as you look at Joel and he comes over to wrap his arm around you, looking down at the baby. “Our new daughter.” Joel murmurs, kissing your hair and he beckons Ellie over. “She’s kinda cute.” Ellie says and leans in to stare at the baby. “Hi Hope. I’m Ellie. Your big sister. I’ll teach you everything you need to know. Especially about our grumpy dad.” She jokes and Joel chuckles and rolls his eyes. “We will gather everything you’ll need and we will make sure her mother has a proper burial. For now, you guys settle in as a family.” Maria says, stepping back towards Tommy. “Oh and Happy Mother’s Day.” Maria says to you and you smile, “you too.” You may not be able to have a biological baby but you have Ellie and you have Hope. The two girls who have made you a mother.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You — Part 16

Azriel x third-oldest-Archeron-sibling!reader

a/n: kind of pleased how simple this chapter is compared with the last one

word count: 7,892

-Part 15-

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

Feyre paces quietly through the halls of her home, bare feet sticking slightly to the waxed wooden floors as she repeats the corridors. Her throat is raw and hoarse, already short nails bitten shorter, eyes red and swollen as she tries to think past the turmoil in her stomach, ringing in her head. 

Footfalls approach her, steady so as not to startle her, but she jumps anyway until the familiar scent enters her lungs, and she turns to find those deep starlit eyes gazing back down at her, a hint of worry passing by. Warm palms graze up her bare arms, pausing at the roundness of her shoulders, thumbs stroking faintly as Rhys watches her quietly. She knows he’ll understand how distraught she is, devastation written across her gaunt features, harrowed by the past months of being torn between her family and her court, her mate and her baby. He reads the words she can’t bring herself to voice, hands moving to cup her jaw, thumbs brushing the skin coaxingly, violet eyes soft with an understanding she can hardly bare to recognise—to acknowledge where that understanding comes from is a wound she’s only beginning to understand the depth of. 

“She’s alive,” Rhys tells her quietly, keeping her gaze locked and focused, her own trembling hands wrapped around the bone of her elbows. “Madja will be free shortly to perform an analysis on her current state, but she’s still here, Feyre.” 

“She tried to kill herself.” 

The words are cold and raspy, voice hoarse from disuse, and it cracks through her again—who had so nearly been ripped away from her. “She tried to kill herself, Rhys,” Feyre rasps, and his eyes shine before he’s dipping down, lips brushing the skin of her cheek as he kisses away the tears that must be falling. She falls into the sure lines of him, forehead resting against his chest helplessly, too tired for any more sobs to come up yet she feels the sting of her throat closing up, the ache of pulling a muscle stuck in her neck, trying to swallow past the lump. 

“She’s alive, Feyre,” he repeats gently, palm settling over her hair, having lost its silky shine, a little knotted at the ends. “She’ll live.” 

————

The room is so dark you struggle to recognise anything, and for long, stretching moments, you don’t. 

The bedroom isn’t yours, the light-ish sheets unfamiliar to you, the entire layout strange and unknown. But you can recognise that scent, or at least a few small notes of it—you’ve been moved into the strange sanctuary of the River House. It’s your room. 

Silently, you push the duvet back, bones aching with the movement as fatigue remains thick in your mind, making it difficult to stand. But you manage anyway, quietly making your way across the floor to the heavy curtains draping thickly on the ground, exerting surprising force to push them aside, wide enough for you to be met with— the night’s sky. It’s night. 

You ease the window open, allowing the crisp air to wash over you, kissing along sweat-dampened skin, and you soften beneath the tender touch, craving the gentle caress so deeply you worry something might crack open inside of you. Swallowing thickly, you have to pry your tongue from the roof of your mouth, craving water. Turning for the door, you hope everyone will be asleep at this time, you aren’t ready for any sort of confrontation. After being alone in the House for so long, you’re unsure how to behave in a shared building—with fae hearing do you need to worry about being quiet, or are they used to sleeping through things in the night. 

Twisting the handle, having grabbed a shawl from the top of a chest of drawers, you squeeze your eyes shut at the small creak, freezing as you pray nobody will have heard. When no footsteps sound, you release a silent sigh, pulling the door open and quietly stepping out into the corridor. Keen hazel eyes greet your own, and your breath catches, causing you to cough slightly as you press back into the door, hand on your chest as your heart thunders beneath your palm. 

Cassian watches you silent, sat on a chair set beside your door, wings folded peacefully at his back, a book held between his giant’s hands that he’d been reading by candle light. “Something you need?” He asks. It’s quiet but not unfriendly, and you aren’t quite sure what to do. All at once you’re staring at him, eyes flitting fearfully across his features, darting from his gaze, to the edge of his lips, the set of his brows, the tension across his skin—what’s going on? Are you in trouble? Why are you here? Why is he outside your door? Is Azriel okay? Oh Gods, is Azriel okay? Did you kill him? 

Cassian is unable to answer you unasked questions, so waits patiently in the quiet dark of the hallway. 

“I…was getting some water,” you murmur hoarsely, unsure whether to continue or to run back into your room. Cassian nods slightly, hazel eyes flicking back to your closed door. “There’s a glass by your bed,” he supplies, and you blink. 

“I didn’t know if that was for me or not…” you hedge, wondering still why he’s outside your door. What your situation is. Why isn’t anyone telling you anything? 

Tension wells in your chest but you swallow it down, the questions about Azriel pushed away—how are you supposed to ask something like that? Like you’d be deserving of an answer. But is he dead? 

“Is… How is…?” You ask hoarsely, words croaking from your throat, too afraid of insulting him to speak his name. “Been through worse,” Cassian asks, a slight gleam in his eyes, but it fades swiftly and you feel your temperature cool further. “Okay,” you reply, giving a small nod. “Goodnight.” 

You hurry back into your room before he has a chance to reply, heart pounding in your chest as you slide down the door, sitting on the floor as you stare blankly across the room. Breathing shallowly, the night air making your skin shiver. You aren’t sure how long you sit there before emptying the glass of water, heading over to the window to open it a little wider, disliking the scent in your room. Your fingers fumble with the latch, unable to push it any further than a few inches wide—the hinge must be stuck, or rusted. You don’t want to go out there again. 

Reluctantly, you settle back into bed, falling into a restless sleep. 

————

When you next wake, it’s light. Foggy, grey morning sitting just outside your window. 

You lean back into the deep cushion, falling further into the soft heat of the bed, wishing the world away—or to at least have it pause temporarily so you don’t have to worry over—

Three soft knocks are landed to your door, but you nestle further into the bed, limbs curling up into a ball as you pretend not to hear anything. Muffled voices come from the other side of the door, jarring with their unfamiliar hurry, words flurrying in whispered rasps between mouths from behind the wooden slab. Male and female—you can’t make out what’s being said and neither do you particularly want to, but you can hear the distinct sharpness of the female’s tone, cutting and harsh as it quietly hisses like steel through the air. The second voice then is likely still Cassian, but you bring the pillow over your head, trying to block out the analogy. 

After long minutes, the knocks repeat, and your name is called softly from the entrance of the room—it’s Nesta. She’s asking if you’re awake. You keep very still, hardly even breathing so as to hopefully fool her into thinking you’re still asleep. She sighs. “You need to eat something,” she says firmly from the doorway, “Madja says it’ll help if you have something in your stomach.” You tuck yourself a little tighter, hiding away from the world beneath the cream covered duvet, dipping into the softness of the mattress. 

She calls your name again, but silence follows. 

The door clicks softly shut, like an arrow clicking into place, and tears drip over the bridge of your nose, sliding back into your hair as they dampen the fresh sheets. 

————

By what you guess is lunchtime, you’ve managed to prop yourself up, though it took three tries to be successful. 

On the first, you’d peeked over the hem of the covers, mind aching and eyes straining, everything a little blurry and bleary at the edges but preferring to be upright rather than remaining on your sides for the rest of the day. You’d managed to get as far as shifting in bed when you’d glanced down at yourself, wrapped in a long nightgown, but you could make out the pastiness of your skin. Up to your elbows, the skin was flaky and grey, flesh bumpy and lumpy in places, small swellings of tissue grouped together with crusted edges. To have taken over so much more of your body from that brief release of magic… You’d fallen back into the bed, unable to look at yourself, the gross wrongness of your skin. 

The second, your head had been pounding enough you’d forced yourself to roll through the tangle of sheets to reach your bedside table, but as soon as you’d stuck your arm out to hold the glass then tears had been rolling again. Arm so speckled with flakes and lumps, grey and ugly and so distinctly not yours you’d almost spilled the water over the floor on bringing it to your mouth. On your chest had been other small lumps and bumps, though closer to the size of spots, and your stomach had sunk further, disgusted by the state of your own body—what illness could ravage you in such a cruel way? 

The third, you had resolved simply to not glance down at yourself at all, resolutely shoving your arms out of sight as you pushed yourself up, propping yourself against the pillow and pulling the duvet firmly up to your shoulders so you wouldn’t have to even think of the ugly state of your flesh. It had been then the knocks had come again, and the door had opened slightly, silver eyes finding your own across the room. “May I come in?” She asks. 

You look away uncomfortably, unsure if you’re allowed to ask her to go away. Would that be too much? This would be so much easier if any of them were being openly hostile to you, but it feels like they’re hiding it away, silently encouraging it from the light, harbouring and nurturing it where you can’t see until resentment is strong enough to slither out and strangle you with a single, venomous bite. 

Nesta pauses, then pushes the door open with her foot, coming in with a tray of food and setting it on the bed. There’s a brief silence, then, “how are you feeling?” You dip your head slightly in a vague answer, but it sends an ache through your skull so you decide you’ll try not to do it again. Silver eyes drift from the tray then back to you. “Madja will be here this evening to have a look at you. You should eat.” You swallow thickly, not looking at her. 

“I’m not hungry,” you manage softly. Another silence passes, and you hope she’ll leave soon. “You need to eat,” she says firmly, a touch gentler than before. 

But you stay quiet, not looking at her. 

She moves abruptly, sitting down on the edge of the bed, making to reach gently for your hands beneath the duvet. You flinch, recoiling to the other side of the bed, upsetting a small carafe of cream as it spills across the tray, bleeding into the toast and pastry, softening them into mush. Your eyes unwillingly flinch as they meet her own set, sharp and silver and hurting, her brows curved, but she puts it away swiftly, recovering.

Nesta nods her head faintly, wordlessly, standing elegantly from the bed, collecting the tray in her warrior’s hands. “I’ll go find you something else. Just rest here, okay?” She requests softly. But you’ve already torn your eyes away, looking low elsewhere. “I’m not hungry.” 

————

Nesta had returned with another tray of food, instead setting this one on your bedside table so there would be no risk of it getting upturned. You don’t look at her, keeping your gaze to the floor on the other side of the room until you’d heard the door click shut, and again the memories swell across your skin, and you fall into sadness. 

Madja appears in the evening, Elain accompanying her, and you can’t help but be certain she’s been kept this long attending to Azriel. You have no idea what state he’s in, only that he’s been through worse, according to his brother. Little assurance that gives, knowing what’s probably a small fraction of the things he’s experienced. And now you’ve added to that list. Shame tugs at your gut, guilt starving hunger away. It would be better if you didn’t eat, at least that might be some way to begin atoning. 

“Will you show me your hands?” Madja asks gently, having brought in a chair to sit by your bedside. Reluctantly you pull them out, apologies naturally falling from your mouth as they’re presented to her, and you’re embarrassed by their stark ugliness in contrast to her own withered hands, but she shakes her head, assuring you there’s nothing to be sorry for. But you suppose that’s part of her job, too. To make even the most unnatural creature feel seen and reassured. 

A faint warmth ghosts across your skin where she’s touching you, and Elain watches from beside, a wariness in her cocoa eyes as Madja’s brows narrow in concentration. “Is it—” You swallow thickly, heart pounding in your chest, “can you fix it?” You scan her features eagerly as she opens her eyes. It would be nice to not have to find arm-length gloves. But Madja offers a quiet smile, “let me finish with my examination, then I can tell you my findings.” 

You flush a little at your haste, but nod briskly, leaning back into the pillow as one hand settles over your forehead, the other over your sternum. Elain meets your eyes, and you give a small smile that belies your excitement. None of the nurses you had as children could hold a flame to what Madja can do, the experience and knowledge she has, and it’s exciting being treated knowing you’ll be able to get better. You’re in a land of magic, after all. They have a cure for every known illness. 

That tingling feeling sharpens into something a little uncomfortable as it passes over your lungs, but Madja makes no reaction so you guess it can’t be anything bad. Her hand drifts over your stomach, Elain having helped to push the duvet down, and her middle and second finger begin pushing and prodding at different parts of your abdomen, feeling either side of your ribs, above your belly button, close to your hips, gently over your stomach, each time keeping that faint tingly warmth in her touch. At last she pulls away, gently settling her hand over your sternum again, eyes closed as she does her work, and you give Elain another excited look. She smiles faintly back, and an unfamiliar warmth tingles across your chest, independent from the magic of Madja’s fingertips.

When she’s done, you look at her expectantly, arms resting more easily at your sides. You look at her with eyes more bright than they’ve been in a while, and her features remain peacefully neutral, kind. She takes your hands in hers, and you cast a hasty glance at Elain to make sure she’s watching with as much attention as you are. “You asked me if I can fix your hands at the beginning of this session,” Madja begins, watching you kindly, and you manage a small nod, all your attention on her. Madja shakes her head a little, “I cannot.” 

You blink, the smile fading from your mouth, heart picking up in your chest. “What? You can’t? What do you mean you can’t?” You ask in a quiet flurry, confusion muddling your thoughts. Madja gives a patient smile, squeezing your hands lightly, “your skin is exactly as it’s supposed to be. There’s nothing wrong with how they are.” 

“There definitely is,” you urge, panic creeping into your voice as you stare into Madja’s warm brown eyes. “Madja they look…” you flush, humiliation creeping in as you lower your voice, “Madja, it’s hideous. You can’t tell me you can’t fix it. You must be able to… There has to be something wrong for you to fix.” 

She gives you another smile, this one sad but understanding, but you don’t feel understood at all. “I agree it might appear as though there’s cause for concern, but there’s nothing in your body I can identify as wrong. With wounds or bruises there are clear patterns within someone to follow that have been damaged, and that is instinctively how a healer knows what must be corrected without causing external changes or mutations. But with your skin, it’s simply different. There’s nothing wrong standing out to me. I can only assume this is the way your skin is meant to be, possibly to facilitate the use of your magic.” 

“What do you mean assume? Possibly? Do you— Don’t you know what’s happened to me?” You ask quietly, frantically, hold tightening on her though she doesn’t seem to mind at all. “Madja you can’t tell me I’m alright,” you urge, pointedly forcing yourself to look over the lumpy, discoloured flesh. 

Madja gives a pause, glancing down at your arms, before again returning her calm gaze to yours. “I have never seen something like this; all I can tell you is at this moment I can only observe what is happening inside of you. I cannot tell you whether it is good or bad, only what it is doing. I will continue with these check-ups—if you’re okay with them—and document your development so we can learn. Though my instincts are leading me to believe this is a phenomenon caused by however your magic is choosing to manifest. I would guess learning more about your magic will give us some insight into what’s happening, but for now all I can offer is to report on what I find in you over these coming weeks.” 

————

Another day has passed, it having started with you awkwardly wobbling over to your bathroom to throw up, heaving saliva into the toilet as flaky fingers gripped the pristine porcelain-looking shine of the seat. The grey sheen to your skin stands out more against the blinding white of the bathroom, and you feel like grime clinging to the tiles. 

————

Your next visitor is Feyre, and your stomach hollows out when she steps through the door. She looks worse than you do: her hair isn’t as resplendent as you remember, looking slightly greasy at the roots, little light in her eyes, slight lines carved beneath them and around the edges of her mouth. Indeed, she looks older than when you last saw one another, haggard and strained, and guilt kicks you hard in the unprotected soft part of your stomach—it’s your fault she looks like that for at least partly contributing to her worries. 

Feyre manages a small smile, walking over to your bed like a ghost and you watch silently, how she’s changed. “Hi!” She says softly, eyes crinkling at the edges as she pauses at the edge of the mattress, looking at you expectantly. “Hi,” you manage, hardly more than a horrid whisper as you stare at your younger sister. She looks like she’s been dragged from one end of the world to the other. “Can I sit down?” She asks, and you remember the last time you spoke together, alone in your room. You aren’t sure if she’s remembering too, but you manage a small nod and she smiles, crawling onto the foot of the mattress and crossing her bare feet over her lap. “So?” She asks gently, conversationally, “how have you been?” 

“Fine,” you answer instinctively. Both of you pause at that, unsure which of you should call the lie. “I’m fine,” you repeat, trying to speak it into existence, and Feyre watches you quietly, something changing in her gaze. It might be sorrow, but you look away before you have time to examine it. 

“How was the visit from Madja?” She asks at last, switching to an equally awful topic, and you shift beneath the bedsheets. “She doesn’t know what’s wrong,” you reply. At least you can be truthful with this answer. “She thinks…” you almost tell her Madja encouraged you to look into your powers, but after what’s happened… “What does she think?” Feyre asks when you’ve seemingly drifted into space. You blink, then sigh, “that this, is— that’s it’s fine.” 

Feyre’s brow furrows, a look of concentration settling over her features. “Does any of it hurt?” She asks, but you shake your head. 

“Not anymore.” Her expression shifts at that, concern deepening and you internally shrink away from the small lines deepening on her face, how you’re carving the worry lines into something more clear. “It used to hurt?” You sink into the pillow—you don’t want to burden her with all those strange pains and sharp discomforts, the blood and pasty flesh. “It’s fine.” 

Quiet passes, full and heavy, but you have no interest in continuing the stunted conversation. 

“Feyre, I’m tired, so…” You begin, but she speaks abruptly, looking directly into your eyes like she’s been preparing herself for this question. “Why did you do it?” 

As soon as the question is out however, her eyes are filling with tears, shining in the early light, her nose reddening as she hastily wipes at her cheeks with the sleeves of her top, trying to pull herself together. Her own tears make your eyes heat so you look away, sniffling so you don’t have to wipe your nose on the sleeve of your nightgown. “I don’t know,” you mumble defensively. “I don’t know. I was just— I was just scared, and tired, and I—” You cut yourself off, realising you’re mumbling out nonsense that you aren’t properly thinking about. “I don’t know,” you settle on, hardly a whisper. 

“Were you,” —Feyre stumbles, drying her eyes— “I mean, did you not feel like…like you could speak with us?” She manages, voice wet with tears. 

“I don’t know,” you cry softly, covering your face. “I just—… I didn’t want to be forced to…to kill someone. I didn’t want to be a murderer, Feyre. I just— I didn’t know what to do, so I guess I just figured it would be easier if I…if I wasn’t here…” your voice breaks on the last part, shoulders shaking as you try to muffle your sobs. “It would’ve been easier,” you whisper. 

The mattress dips as she crawls further up, settling at your side, and her arms wrap around you, both of you shifting to face one another as you cry, hiding your face in her hair as her own tears wet your night gown. “Please,” she whispers. “We’ll find a way through this. We’ll get through it. It’ll pass, and things will get better. You have to trust that they will get better.” 

“I can’t,” you whisper hollowly onto her shoulder. “What is there?” 

“So much,” she breathes, clutching you tighter, “there’s so much out there. And some of it’s awful, but a lot of it’s good, too. You just have to find it.” 

“I’m tired,” you cry quietly, fingers shaking as they hold onto her, wary of leaning too much on her. “I can’t. I don’t want to.” 

“Please,” she repeats. “Please.” 

You’re quiet, allowing tears to fall as she holds you tight, refusing to back off even as your own hold lightens, and you lean closer into her, both of you settling against the pillows for support. “I’ve been so worried,” she admits softly. “I thought you wanted space.” 

“I did want space,” you whisper back. “I still do,” you cry, grip tightening on her a little. 

“Should we— We should have been around more. I should have visited you more,” she murmurs, sniffling lightly. You shake your head, more tears falling, “you couldn’t’ve done anything. It wouldn’t’ve…it wouldn’t’ve worked.” 

“What about…what if it happens again?”

“It won’t.” 

She gives you a slight squeeze, and you know she doesn’t believe you. “Feyre, it won’t. I was just— I thought I was going to kill him,” you plead quietly. 

“So you tried to kill yourself first? Why? That wouldn’t have solved anything,” she cries, and guilt washes through you. As well as something like relief… She pulls back, gripping you firmly by the shoulders. “You would have been missing instead of him,” she breathes, pain-soaked words like a balm to a wound you didn’t know you had. But you still shake your head, “it would’ve been better.” 

Feyre’s brows curve in pain, and she looks like she wants to continue the conversation, but a soft set of knocks come from the door, and you raise your head enough to spot gentle cocoa eyes peering in, silver looking from overtop Elain’s silky, ringleted hair. “Can we come in?” Elain whispers, pausing at the door as Nesta watches from a little further back. Your lower lip wobbles as fresh tears fall, and you nod your head, allowing the other two to enter, closing the door behind them. 

They settle seamlessly on the bed, arms tangling as bodies are pressed together in a familiar mess, leaning back into the plump cushions as tears fall heavier. Both you and Elain are pressed in the centre of the bed, Feyre hugging close to your back with one of your own arms wrapped around Elain and the other in Nesta’s hand who lies solemnly close behind Elain. It’s so strange to be lying like this again, and you feel so stupid crying that you try to muffle your sobs, embarrassed by how you want to grip onto all of them now that they’re here. You hadn’t been aware of missing them, but now they’re lying at your side, and you can feel the heat of skin and the familiar press of joints and limbs you wonder how you’d made it this long without them. 

Everyone seems to be holding the others equally tightly though.

It’s not just you who’s scared of losing. 

————

The evening has come, and you’re feeling surprisingly awake. 

Despite having spent the afternoon locked inside you bedroom, spending the time lazing with your sisters, you don’t feel at all fatigued. Maybe some weight on your eyelids, a slight stiffness to your joints, but you’re awake. A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as you search the cupboard for a mug, having departed from the group temporarily to find yourself some tea—the others were fine without. It feels good to get along with them, though you know it won’t stretch for longer than a day. This is your one small blessing, which makes it precious. There will be no reason for you to spend time so lazily together tomorrow, nor to sprawl inelegantly upon your bed, nor play cards until your mind hurts from all the schemes being cooked up. 

Footfalls come quietly into the kitchen, and you turn, expecting to find Feyre, only to find Rhysand stood at the threshold, just the other side of the border. His features are neutral, but there’s something different in his eyes that you don’t know well enough to make out. You stiffen at his presence, temperature cooling suddenly as the warmth leaves your body, smile dropping from your mouth. 

“Rhys,” you greet anxiously, wondering if you can get away with excusing yourself now while the tea is still steeping. You can drink it without milk…without sugar…there’s no way he wouldn’t notice your rudeness, and after the mess you’ve made for all of them…you push your hands anxiously behind your back to hide their tremble as you try for a friendly look, forcing a strange curve to your mouth, hoping your eyes will reflect the smile. He inclines his head in greeting but remains by the threshold of the kitchen. “You look well,” he remarks. 

You blink. Because you don’t. You know you don’t. Is it just a compliment? Is he trying to make you feel better? Is it a test to see how you’ll react? See if you’ll try and play up how ill you are in attempts to excuse yourself? What if he’s waiting to see if you’ll ask about Azriel? Or Cassian? You haven’t seen Cassian since you were first brought to the River House. Are you supposed to ask after him? Or should you just reciprocate the compliment? But what would you say to not sound insincere? Or what about Nyx? Should you apologise for causing Feyre to worry? Should you apologise to him for causing Feyre worry? For causing him worry? But what if he wasn’t worrying? You don’t want to assume care where there’s only duty? Maybe you should try and make normal conversation? But what about the House of Wind? Is it wrecked? Did you ruin it? Should you ask about that? Oh gods does he know where you were? Nobody’s mentioned Eris yet, is that what this conversation will be about? Mother above can he read your thoughts? Feyre mentioned sometimes thinking loudly. Are you thinking loudly? Goodness, is this weird? 

“Thank you,” you manage to choke out, though it sounds obviously strained, and you clear your throat. 

Rhys smiles faintly, then enters the kitchen, and you swiftly turn back to your tea, stirring the cup. You nearly spill some liquid, and slow your rotations of the spoon. Are you stirring too slowly now? Can you stir a cup too slowly? Everyone has their own pace. It’s fine. Out of everything that’s happened surely he won’t decide to call you out on this. You’re fine. It’s all fine. Everything’s fine. 

A silver ringed hand waves lightly at the corner of your vision and you blink, realising he’s speaking, flinching slightly how you hadn’t heard him. “Sorry, pardon?” You ask, peering at him. He smiles again, and you wonder if he’s doing it for your sake, if he’s actually incredibly irritated and busy. He totally is. Your temperature cools further. “I asked if you’re feeling well-rested,” he repeats, opening a cupboard and glancing inside. “Oh,” you swallow, nodding your head, “yes. I mean, no. I mean, I slept well, yes, but I’m still physically fatigued, I think?” Is that an okay answer? Was it too much? There was a lot of information he hadn’t asked for. Should you ask how he slept? No that would be weird. Or would it be polite? 

Rhysand nods, pulling out three mugs, and you wonder who they’re for. “Az said more-or-less the same, just more grumpily,” he replies lightly, and you glance at him. You’re lost. Is that an invitation to ask about him? Should you ask about him? Would it be rude not to? But given everyone knows how you feel about him wouldn’t it be weird? Kind of invasive? You don’t want to bother his space… “He’s well?” You ask hesitantly, metal spoon warming your fingertips. 

“He’s well,” Rhys confirms, catching your nervous gaze. “Well enough to receive visitors, at least.” 

Now what does that mean? 

His gaze is still on you, and you’re unsure whether to look away or to continue holding it. Is your tea ready? 

“It might be worth speaking with him,” Rhys says with a tone in his voice that you can’t figure out. “He can be tight-lipped when he wants to be. Though I suppose that’s what makes him excel at his position. It would be nice to know a little more about what’s going on, in my own Court though.” Do you tell him? Is he asking you to volunteer the information? Does he not know Azriel brought you back from the Autumn Court? Oh gods that makes everything so much worse. You had assumed they knew, and they might not be angry with you, but if he hasn’t told them… “Azriel hasn’t told you?” You manage to get out, fear crawling up your spine. 

“No,” Rhys replies, “but I can put some theoretical pieces together. One thing I can’t figure out, however, is what you were doing with a bow tipped with ash. I trust you know that’s our weakness?” You manage a small nod, ice practically dripping down your spine despite the pleasant temperature of the kitchen. “So? Would you mind elaborating?” He asks, setting the three mugs down to brew. He has the time to wait. 

“How much…did Azriel tell you?” You manage, voice strained, fingers gripping one another and you slide the ridge of your nail beneath the other, playing with the ring on your index finger. “Enough to lead me to believe you were somewhere in the Autumn Court,” Rhysand replies, violet watching you intently. You freeze beneath that look, words failing you. Why hadn’t the arrow flown true? Just another second…and everything would’ve—

“I don’t believe you did anything to intentionally harm Azriel,” he says quietly, and you want to tear your eyes away, feeling as though he can read something secret, something you want to keep hidden despite everyone already knowing. “You were in the Autumn Court, weren’t you?” He asks, voice a touch gentler than before. You answer with no more than a stiff nod, unable to lie to him. “And were you with Eris?” He asks. Your heart pounds in your chest, turning preternaturally still as you blink at the question, brows worrying slightly, too scared to answer—but it seems to be answer enough, as Rhys nods. 

“And the arrow?” He pushes, in the same quiet, light voice of his. 

“Eris,” you reply softly, panicking. Rhysand pauses, regarding you quietly. 

“Eris gave you the arrow? The ash arrow?” He questions, and you wonder if your mind is fabricating the note of doubt in his voice. You want to shrink away somewhere, hide in some dark corner, go back to your bedroom, sprawled across the mattress with your sisters. Why had you wanted to get tea? 

“And what did he tell you?” Rhysand questions, seemingly accepting your answer and not pushing for any more details. You’re glad, because you don’t think you could recall any in that moment. You blink, repeating the question in your head. “About what?” You ask nervously—was there anything he’d mentioned that’s rising to your mind now? No. Rhysand’s violet eyes narrow almost imperceptibly, and you feel your feet itching to step away, becoming conscious of how little warmth the shawl is providing. “No one’s angry.” He says, watching you still with that look in his eyes, and he looks like he might speak again but you’re already shaking your head. “I— He didn’t tell me anything… or, nothing I can think that would be important?” Had he? Should you have listened harder? Was Rhys expecting you to have gotten something? Were you supposed to have overheard something? Seen something? You hadn’t thought to do any of that. Were you supposed to? Your stomach plummets through your feet, blood turning cool in your veins—is he angry with you? 

“Nothing?” Rhys questions, still watching you closely. You shake your head, trying to prove your innocence. He pauses, and you feel like your heart is thundering in your chest, slamming against your ribs. Will he be angry now? “I promise,” you try uselessly, “he didn’t tell me anything.” 

But Rhys nods, “I believe you.” Your brow furrows, perplexed and desperately confused. Are you okay then? 

Rhys sighs, running a hand through his hair, glancing absently at the three mugs of tea, and they vanish abruptly from the side. You blink, still not entirely accustomed to the minute facility of magic. “You don’t know why you were given the arrow?” He asks, and your shoulders slope, completely lost. Should you know? Either way, you shake your head truthfully, and he nods again. “Alright,” he murmurs, making to step away from the counter, sighing heavily. He glances at you before leaving, a gentle but slightly stern look on his features. “Rest well, and look after yourself. You gave us all a scare.” Then he’s walking away out the kitchen, letting you breathe away the remaining tension that had worked its way into your body while you were speaking. 

You add milk, and the right amount of sugar, stirring your tea and sipping at it, finding the taste to be pleasant and relaxing as its heat washes through you, able to feel as it spreads throughout your body. 

Your name cuts through the silence, and you flinch at the naturally sharp intonation, tea dripping over your fingers. You glance over your shoulder to find Nesta leaning slightly against the kitchen doorframe. “You were taking a while,” she surmises, glancing around the kitchen suspiciously, then her nostrils flare delicately and a look of distaste passes behind her eyes. “I thought I’d come and check on you.” You swallow, nodding your head, hastily wiping up the small mess you’d made before gripping the hot cup and turning to go with her. 

When you approach, her gaze sweeps over you analytically, and you pause, shying slightly from the cutting look. “Rhysand was here,” she states, a note of displeasure in her tone, and you nod. “Did you two speak?” She prompts, turning on her feet to head back the way she’d come, with you in tow, and you nod again. “It was a little unnerving,” you mumble quietly, keeping an eye on your tea to make sure none of it spills again. “He’s an asshole,” Nesta mutters under her breath, teeth flashing briefly, and you settle into step with her. “Feyre loves him,” you murmur, not entirely sure why you mention it. “Still an asshole,” she replies bluntly, doing nothing to soften her voice, and you wince, hoping fae hearing isn’t good enough he’ll be able to hear her. 

“He can be scary,” you concede quietly, taking another sip of your tea before ascending the staircase. 

————

Your head is quiet and buzzing at the same time. A dull drone having a cool sensation settling wetly against the nape of your neck as you make your way down the unfamiliar hall to the closed door on the right. Behind it, you’ll find out what condition Azriel is in. What condition you’ve left him in, after… You’d rather not think about the situation that had led up to now. The forced vulnerability is too much; it’s too soon for you to begin sorting through the events. 

Having been asked directly by Feyre why, you answered the first thing that came to mind—that you were scared, that you hadn’t wanted to murder someone, a choice she would understand with more clarity perhaps than any of them, having been forced to take the lives of three innocent fae to save Prythian while she was still human. Perhaps if Elain had asked, you would have instinctively chosen something relating to an embarrassment of rejection, of how it felt to be left to yourself out of disinterest and the humiliation of being pushed aside because you aren’t good enough. Perhaps if Nesta had asked why you would have answered with a dislike for yourself, might have told her it felt so wrong to continue you’d had no choice but to remove yourself, the strain of simply living far too much for you to struggle through each and every day. When every morning is spent wishing to return to sleep, and each hour is counting closer to oblivion, but knowing deep down you’ll never pass eternally…how could you resolve that restlessness? 

None of it would have been a lie, each answer would have offered a peek at a single shard, but there are lots of shards scattered inside of you. A complexity that’s been metaphorically shattered, so many reasons messily broken on your floorboards. It’s cruel in a way to be asked why, quite simply if she doesn’t understand you can’t hope to explain. It’s a heaviness that’s relentless, not always appearing as a deep sadness but sometimes just a constant fatigue each morning. When every day is grey it’s hard to remember the sun, even if there’s no storm. 

Would you have been able to tell any one of them the conflict between yearning for company and knowing you’ll never know the kind you desire? 

The door comes into view, and you steady yourself before it. You’re fairly confident Rhysand had wanted you to speak with him, or at least see him. You shouldn’t worry about what to say, the conversation will either flow or not on its own. But you will not thank him for saving you. 

You knock lightly on the door, easing breath into your lungs to help with the tension as you listen for a sign to enter. Instead you hear muffled footfalls, and your heart jumps in your chest, stepping back into the hallway and you smooth down your clothes out of habit, making sure your hair is a neat as possible—you should have checked a mirror before coming here to make sure you don’t look unpresentable. 

Instead the door opens halfway through trying to smooth your hair out, and you freeze when amber eyes meet your own through the break in the door. The breath catches in your lungs, and after a pause you remember to settle your hands to your sides, unsure where to look as your breathing quickens. “Is Azr—… Is he awake?” You ask softly, looking away as your hands join in front of you. Mor is silent for a beat before answering. “He’s asleep.” 

“Oh…” 

Since stretches between you, and you wonder why she was in there. 

To check on him, obviously. They’re close. They care about one another. Why wouldn’t she be there, even if he’s sleeping? 

“I—… Is he okay…?” You ask quietly, not wanting to cause any excess sound that might wake him. You’ve done enough harm already. 

Again Mor pauses, then she’s stepping out into the hallway, softly shutting the door behind her, and your heart begins pounding in your chest. She remains stood in front of the door, but makes no motion to speak, and you shift uncomfortably on your feet. You fumble for a conversation topic, unsure whether to try persisting or whether it would be wiser to subtly excuse yourself. 

You shift on your feet, fingers mindlessly playing with the ring on your left hand, twisting it around lightly, pulling it up over the knuckle then sliding it back down again. “I…thank you for…for when we went out,” you manage thickly, heart still pounding as you keep your gaze firmly on your ungloved hands. “I don’t think I…I’m not sure if I mentioned it, or really felt it at the time, but thank you. For just…being around. And—…trying. Thank you, for…” you trail off, nodding subtly. “Thank you.” 

She’s still silent, and if it weren’t for the fact that you can see her shoes in the tops of your vision, you’d think she walked away. You blink, and shift nervously, unsure what to do now—should you continue or try to excuse yourself? You won’t get anywhere if you don’t reach out for help. 

You shift on your feet, steeling your spine how Nesta would, meeting absent amber eyes. Swallowing, you know what you want to say. “I would…” the words choke you, warmth flushing your skin as your eyes dart away, before returning to her own. “I’d like to do it again, sometime,” you manage to tell her, heart pounding in your chest. “I’d like to go into Velaris again. With you,” you add on for the sake of clarification. 

Mor regards you quietly and time stretches far between you; you can feel your pulse thundering in your ears, blood rushing through your body as your heart pounds. But her eyes soften marginally, lips curving with a hint of a smile, and you permit the tension to ever so slightly drain from your shoulders. She closes her eyes briefly, glancing down as if finding something amusing, and you can’t help the way your own mouth begins to curve with relieve she isn’t angry. Or at least, not as angry as you had convinced yourself. 

Amber eyes meet your own, and you allow the smile to tentatively spread across your lips. 

“I’d like that,” she says quietly, but not softly. Mor sighs, then stands straighter, the amusement flickering out of her gaze. “You’ll pay this time though, right?” She asks, and the floor falls out from under your feet. She glances down at her nails briefly, examining them before again meeting your own gaze, distraught. She tilts her head, “I paid last time. It’s only fair, don’t you agree? And if this is your way of apologising…” 

You stare at her, the smile having dropped clean from your mouth, splattered on the floor far below. Mor makes no effort to change what she’s said, no attempts to amend the choice she’s made, but you can’t remove your gaze, staring at her, lost. She doesn’t take it back, but she doesn’t smile either. This is more than a small jab from her—it’s resentment. A line in the sand. 

A line you crossed without care, or even thought. 

You remove your gaze, lips closing as the understanding begins to settle into your skin, the way pain disperses through flesh after a blow is struck. There’s no changing how your actions impacted her, no cleaning the mud you’d mindlessly splattered on those around you from running so recklessly.

Neither of you speak as you turn from her silently, understanding the conversation is at its end. You know when you aren’t wanted, and you know not to push if you won’t be accepted—if you’d known that from the start, you would have been saved a life’s worth of upset. You hardly register the steps you take as your feet carry you away back down the hallway, unable to raise your eyes from the floorboards. Head lowered as you make the walk back to your…to the bedroom you’ve been assigned. 

“You know, it’s better this way,” Mor calls, and you pause in your steps, casting a glance over your shoulder. “Even if you hadn’t done what you did, even if we had become friends…you’d always have been second to Feyre.” She quietens then and shakes her head gently, some golden hair shifting over her shoulder with the motion. When she meets your eyes again they’re…pitying. 

Of you. 

“Maybe you just aren’t made for first choice.”

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

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria

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[wonbin-truther]

inspired by @diorcities imagine

chenle was stubborn and you were too, if not more. your friends always said it was a match made in hell. you two pushed and pulled against each other but it was never anything the two of you took serious. if anything chenle admired the fact you always stood your ground, backing up what you believed in, and you felt the same about him. arguments happened often but nothing had ever went this far.

"so you hate me?" your voice was low and shaky but chenle didn't pick up on it. "who said that? you're so delusional sometimes I don't even know where you get this bullshit from," chenle was practically yelling across the kitchen. you had never felt so small in your life. you tried to keep the tears at bay as you continued on, "but then why wouldn't you tell me she messaged you?"

"it's not that serious. you're being overdramatic about it."

"chenle it's your ex for fucks sake why wouldn't you tell me your ex sent you a nude," you felt a tear slip down your cheek but you quickly wiped it away. chenle let out a scoff as he watched the tears slip down your cheeks one after the other. he always knew you were stubborn, but he didn't think it was so bad you would try to guilt him by faking tears.

"i can't believe you're crying right now. what's wrong with you? i told you i blocked her right after so i don't see what your issue is. god you're so insecure sometimes," he continued to spew, eyebrows crinkled as he rolled is eyes at you. you couldn't say anything back. your vision was blurry and all you could do was stand there as you took hit after hit from him. choked sobs were the only things that left your mouth as chenle stared at you.

even if you were faking it, seeing you cry made a pit form in his stomach. yet your boyfriend was too stubborn to back down, even if it did feel as though his guts were being turned inside out. "can you stop crying already? it's not gonna work." his expression shifted as he stared at your figure. he stood and stared as your crying didn't stop and your breathing got quicker, quiet gasps leaving you as you tried to take in the smallest amount of air you could get between the tears that wracked your body. as you crumbled to the ground, knees pressed to your chest and your own arms wrapped around yourself, chenle realized you were genuine and it ate up his entire being he let it get this far.

it took his body a minute to move from the shock but he ran to where you were, crouching down in front of you. he gathered you up into his arms and held you close to his chest. you tried to push his arms away from you but he held you tighter. he knew if he were to let go this could possibly be the end and it scared him. you eventually gave in, sobbing into his chest as your breathing remained frantic and uneven. "fuck im so sorry. baby breathe with me please. slowly," chenle counted slowly as you tried to follow along with your breathing. you started to calm down and the tears subsided, turning into small sniffles. you two stayed on the floor of the kitchen in silence for a while.

chenle was the first to break the silence, "you were right. i should have told you. i'm so sorry for yelling at you and arguing."

"do you really think i'm dramatic and insecure?" your voice was low and sounded broken. it was shaky and chenle wanted to punch himself.

"i don't. i'm so so sorry. i didn't mean anything i don't know why i said any of that," chenle pulled you away to kiss the tip of your nose that was now red from your sobbing. "you're perfect. if anything i'm the dramatic one between the two of us."

"i know," you rubbed at your eyes and let out a small laugh.

"i love you. so so much. and i'm so sorry for saying all those hurtful things," chenle stood up and brought you up with him.

"i love you too. think before you speak next time though," you cupped his cheeks. he just nodded and let you pull him in for a kiss. you gasped as he pulled away, lifting you over his shoulder and carrying you into the bedroom. you giggled and lightly punched his back, "lele what're you doing?" he tossed you down onto the bed and laid down, "cuddle time and a nap. i think we need it after that."

[mopopshop]

Can you do Emily and reader doing those cute couple TikTok’s?

Emily X Reader Couple Tiktok’s

emily doesn’t like making tiktok’s but she’ll do them for you

refuses to do the dances tho😭

you’ll do little grwm’s and emily will poke her head in any chance she gets bcs she doesn’t need ur followers thinking ur single (even though you never shut up about her)

outfit transition tiktok’s like this one

doing the “saying my gfs favorite words” trend on her LMAO example

THIS ONE

“my gf does my makeup voice over” trend 

You had filmed a tiktok of you doing your makeup and wanted Emily to try that voiceover trend, the two of you were sitting next to each other as she held your phone. You’d opted to sit next to her while she did it just to help out some.

“Alright so she wants me to do her voiceover for this get ready with me thing, so first she’s gonna put a headband on to keep her hair out of her face”

“Starting off she’s putting on.. moisturizer? Skincare?” She turns to you with a chuckle “I’m already fuckin confused” 

“It’s primer babe” you smile 

“Primer, right right. She’s rubbing the primer on her face, next step is brows so she’s taking a little baby brush and combining through those thick ass eyebrows of hers” she laughs again and you scoff smacking the side of her head.

“Then she’s taking fou-foundation?” Emily turns to you again to double check and you nod approvingly “Okay wait period, ate that up. Anyways she puts that stuff on then blends it with a blender. Remember to beat the fuck out of your face with it, key step” you burst out laughing from beside her as she talks into the phone.

“Then concealer, I know that one for sure for sure, and puts it under her eyes and on her chin, remembering to punch herself in the face with that sponge thingy”

“Okay next is this um? brown… cream.. thing” 

you whisper to her “Contour”

“C-Contour and she puts it on her nose and cheeks to you know.. accentuate the lower part of her face. Did that sound smart?” she looks at you again for assurance.

“Not even close Em but keep going” You continue to laugh, as you haven’t stopped since you started filming.

“Now for some white powder and she’s just gonna pat that all over her face until she looks like a pretty little powdered donut”

“Then we brush it all off and put on blush. Look at her lookin all cute y’all, with the pink cheeks” She literally smiles at the phone 

“Now for mascara, the only thing I actually use and then she’s gonna take this… overpriced spray bottle-“ 

You elbow her to whisper out “setting spray”

“Oh excuse me,” she says sarcastically, laughing “setting spray and to finish everything off she puts some lip gloss. That’s all and she looks fine as fuck with or without it so don’t be in my girls comments trying some slick-“

You quickly take the phone from her, shoving her arm and finish the video “bye everyone!” and you click out of the voiceover tab.

she lets you do that one coquette trend where you tie a bow around her bicep and she flexes😭😭she’s very shy and  embarrassed by it btw 

comments begging her to make her own acc 

ynfan123

when will emily make her own acc🙏🙏🙏🙏

ynaccount replied

“i’m never doing that shit” direct quote from emily herself 

doing the “spin 15 times then try to kiss” trend

OOOH OMG THE “MINE VS HERS” TREND ACTUALLY SOBBING example

there’s multiple videos like this on your page cus ur a certified horndog 🙏🏾🙏🏾

this one’s so cute too omg

comment’s definitely are filled w ppl being “jealous” of y’all’s relationship 

ynfan123

the way she looks at you MY GODDD 

ynfan123

parting my hair w a chainsaw ❤️

ynfan123

so me and who

ynfan123

CON😭GRAT😭ULAT😭😭IONS

so many tiktok’s of emily just chilling under your shirt 

showing off ootd’s together but she’ll literally stand in front of you if you turn around cus ain’t nobody need to see your ass but her LMAO

this is so her

you guys do the “your spinning me around, my feet are off the ground” trend and that’s the ONLY “tiktok dance” she’ll do

WILL respond to ppl who thirst over you in her comments 

please don’t hate there’s so many links in this one bcs i wanted y’all to have like visual representations of what i’m saying 😭

also couldn’t decide between a fic or headcannons so i tried to do both, snuck a lil drabble in there

and lastly this might be my favorite one out of all the ones i’ve done so, very proud of it and hope you enjoy!🫶🏾

[syrupfog]

Zoro hates it here. 

“Tough shit,” says Nami. “You have to suffer through the evening to meet your fucking FIANCÉ.” 

Zoro scowls. He’s never met the man. They’ve been engaged since he was young enough to still fight with bamboo swords. “It’s not like I’m going to marry him.” 

“I keep saying a political marriage would really help your image,” Nami lectures, “but regardless, this is PROTOCOL. Your parents would be ashamed of you trying to skip out on this.” 

“My parents died when I was six, and you never met them.” 

“Yet I know better. Now come on.”

It’s a lavish ballroom that Zoro never uses, and he’s in clothes he never wears. He’s itchy. Standing next to his throne, as is PROTOCOL, thanks Nami, he watches the procession as they enter. 

Their king is tall and clearly pompous. His outfit gaudy. His children come behind him.

Zoro’s people, his most trusted, are fanned throughout the room, but the king and his children stand a head above everyone. Zoro counts one daughter and three sons, each of them standing equally proud and in equally flashy clothes. 

No, wait. 

Is that a fourth son or a servant?

He’s shorter than the others, thinner, almost sickly in comparison. But he’s wearing the royal finery. His head is bowed, in contrast to theirs. A cousin maybe? Why is he here? 

The king marches directly up to Zoro and does not bow, which he SHOULD do on Shimotsuki soil.

He stands straight, and says, “Crown Prince Roronoa, I present to you my children; Reiju, Ichiji, Niji, Yonji, and Sanji.” 

The— the sickly pale one? HE’s the one Zoro’s been promised to? 

Sanji keeps his head down, but unlike his siblings he does a slight bow upon introduction.

Zoro scowls until Nami kicks him. Then he bows back, EVER so slightly, and gestures to the room at large. “Please enjoy the evening,” he says. “You’ve come a long way.” He can feel Nami breathing down his neck. “Let me personally escort Prince Sanji, so we have time to… talk.”

He holds out his arm and Sanji, obligingly, slips his hand into the crook of Zoro’s elbow. He hears snickering behind him as he leads Sanji away.” 

The crowd parts around them, and Zoro grinds his teeth. He’d really prefer not to break up with someone he’s never even met.

Still, such things must be done. Leading Sanji out onto the balcony, in the cool night air, Zoro lets his arm fall and then turns to him. “So,” he hedges. “Our parents betrothed us.” 

Sanji inclines his head. “Yes, sire,” he says, staring resolutely at the floor.”

“Well I don’t know about you, but I’m my own person now, and I don’t particularly feel like getting married to someone I’ve never met.” 

At that, Sanji’s eyes shoot up, wide and searching. 

“So I release you from this bond,” Zoro says. “Or whatever it was Nami says I should say.”

“You—“ Sanji stutters. “N-no, wait.” 

Zoro crosses his arms. “I don’t know you and you don’t know me,” he says. “I have no interest in marrying someone I’ve never met.” 

“Y-you’re meeting me NOW,” Sanji cries. “You can get to know me! Give me a chance.”

He looks like he would collapse in a strong wind, already standing with one arm braced against the railing. Zoro is a warrior, he needs someone who can challenge him, not… whatever this is. “I’ve made up my mind,” he says. “Sorry you had to come all the way here.”

Sanji starts tugging on his hair. “No,” he says again. “You can’t do this! You— I’ll—“ 

“What?” Zoro asks. “You’ll tell daddy on me?” 

Breathing heavily, Sanji looks at him with wild eyes. “Please,” he says. “I’ll— do anything. You won’t know I’m here. Just don’t—“

Then, in what seems like a snap decision, he turns around and takes off running. 

Zoro follows, languidly, watching him race back through the ballroom. He figures he’ll run to his father and start telling him what a monster Zoro is, but instead Sanji takes the first door out.

Shit. Zoro speeds up. That’s the door to the rest of the castle, not the way out or the way to his family. What the hell? 

He keeps his pace slow enough to not alert TOO many in the ballroom (though he sees the thunderous look Nami throws his way), but as soon as he’s through the door Sanji left through, he also takes off at a run, seeing Sanji at the end of the hallway. 

The castle is enough of a maze for Zoro on a good day, he’s certain that if he slows down for even a second he’ll lose the prince somewhere in his own halls.

The one point in his favor is that Sanji does seem to truly be sickly, even at a run he’s not particularly fast. It takes three turns and a set of stairs before Zoro catches him running into an open door that he KNOWS doesn’t have an exit.

He follows Sanji in and slams the door behind him. It’s a bedroom, and Zoro knows immediately which one, namely because it’s in use. 

“Hey Luffy,” Zoro says. Nami had banned Luffy from attending, to prevent “incidents”. 

Luffy waves. He’s reclining on his bed with a turkey stick.

“You see a prince come in here?” Zoro asks. “Scrawny, pale, can’t take no for an answer?” 

Luffy laughs through his teeth. “I don’t know about any of that,” he says. “But there’s a guy in a fancy outfit in my wardrobe.” 

Aha. 

Zoro rounds on the wardrobe.

One hand on each knob, he pulls it open with a flourish. 

Sanji is there, curled with his knees to his chest, staring up at Zoro with watery eyes. 

“Asylum!” He yelps. “I claim asylum!” 

Zoro blinks. “You that ashamed of getting dumped?” He asks. 

Sanji grits his teeth.

“Grant me asylum,” he says, voice firmer. “Or you’re going to be at war with Germa by sunset for killing their prince.” 

“I’m not fucking killing you, I’m just—“ 

“I will throw myself out that window before I have to go back there.” 

Luffy whistles. “I like him,” he says.

“You’re being dramatic,” Zoro growls. 

“I’m a dead man if I go back there,” Sanji says. “If you’re going to take away the only chance of freedom I’ve ever had, the least you can do is grant asylum. I’ll live a beggar on your streets before I chance returning.”

He’s shaking, but Zoro sees determination in his eyes that he respects. “What’s so bad about it?” He asks. “Why do you think here would be better?” 

Sanji’s hands flex around a fallen coat. “I like to think you won’t keep me in a windowless dungeon for a decade,” he says.

“I’d imagine you may even allow me more than one meal a day.” 

Zoro stares at him, feeling uncomprehending. That can’t be right. 

“Sounds like you should marry him,” Luffy says from the bed. “That’s not a great life.” 

“What’s wrong with you?” Zoro asks. He’s looming over Sanji. “As in, what did you do to deserve that?” 

Sanji blinks, then looks down, curling in on himself. “I was born of my mother’s blood,” he says. “He sees her in my eyes and he hates me for it.” 

There’s a strength in him. To have lived this long. Zoro sees that and something in him gives way. He doesn’t want it to, he doesn’t want this veritable stranger to have his respect, but— 

“Luffy,” he says. “Escort the Vinsmokes out of here.” 

Luffy gives a crooked salute that in no way resembles the way he should refer to the crown prince. “On it, boss.”

Sanji’s grip tightens around the clothes. “Please,” he chokes out, desperation rising. “Please, you won’t even— you don’t have to even officially accept my plea for asylum, if you just turn the other way so I can—“ 

“Shut up,” Zoro says, taking a step back and rubbing his face.

“Fucking hell of course I wasn’t referring to you.” Luffy’s already out the door or he’d make Luffy clarify. “He’s kicking all of THEM out, you’re obviously staying here.” 

“Oh…” Sanji trails off. “Th-thank you. I— I’ll take whatever position you deem acceptable. I’m an excellent chef, I can work in your kitchens! You’ll never know—“ 

Zoro, tired of this, reaches down and pulls Sanji out of the wardrobe. Suddenly upright, Sanji stumbles into his arms with a yelp. 

“Slow down,” Zoro grouses. “You wore me down. I’ll fucking marry you.”

“You’ll— what?” Sanji, whose hands are on Zoro’s shoulders and whose face is so very close to Zoro’s own, blinks. “WHY?” 

“Because your family seems like a fucking nightmare so I need to keep an eye on you,” Zoro says. He doesn’t say, and you’re strong. You survive.

He doesn’t say, your will to escape and to live makes me want to do everything to protect you. 

He doesn’t say that because that would make him sound idiotic and like Sanji needs saving. He’s clearly doing that on his own. 

Zoro’s just going to help him along.

He takes a step back and steadies Sanji. There’s the faint sound of shouting in the distance. Zoro grabs Sanji’s hand. “Luffy should be done soon,” he says. 

“Uh,” says Sanji. “Is he going to be okay…?” 

“Oh yeah, he’ll be fine.” 

Zoro grabs Sanji’s hand. He squeezes it.

He says, “You seem like the type to care about wedding planning.” 

Sanji seems dazed. “Uh,” he says, wavering. “I have plans.” 

“Good. I don’t give a fuck. You can talk to Nami about them. Just tell me where to go and what to wear.” 

Sanji fishmouths at him. 

The door opens.

Luffy steps in. His shirt is a little torn and there’s leaves in his hair. “Vine Smackers are gone,” he says, giving his crooked salute to Zoro. Then he looks at Sanji. “You need me to beat up your family too?” 

“Luffy you dumbass,” Zoro says. “That WAS his family.”

“I don’t have a family,” Sanji corrects, voice small but gaining confidence. “I-if you’re willing to marry someone without a family, that is.” 

Zoro shrugs. “Suits me perfectly, actually. I didn’t want to be connected to that shitty country anyway.” 

Sanji laughs. “Me neither.”

“You’re both weird,” Luffy says. “I’m going to raid what’s left of the dinner that I assume isn’t going to happen now.” 

Then he’s gone again. 

Zoro’s still holding Sanji’s hand. 

Nami’s going to murder him. 

He raises up the hand and kisses Sanji’s knuckles. That sounds like a protocol thing, right? No one can make fun of him. 

“Come on,” he says. “I’ll introduce you to… everyone.” 

He pulls Sanji out of the room, gets lost in the hallways, then finds the ballroom again. 

Time to introduce his fiancé. 

He’s strong. Zoro will help him be strong.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

just a girl 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as possible cheating, low self-esteem, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you move in with your sister when your luck turns for the worst.

Characters: Walter Marshall, possible Andy Barber

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

It isn't your proudest moment. You don't have many of those. There is little remarkable about, nothing of note, nothing admirable. You might stand a bit taller than most but it's rarely given as a good thing. 

You never expected much of life. You resigned yourself to living in the shadows. In particular, you knew you would always bet outshone by your sister's light. You can't hate her for it; it's your own shortcoming. Besides, no one can hate Riannon, she's just that nice. 

You are dark smear on the family name. It's why you didn't even think to ask your parents for help. You didn't even ask your sister, she offered, insisted really. You could never deny her and in this instant, you couldn't afford any other option. 

It’s just for a while, you keep telling yourself. You’ll find a new job and a place soon. For now, you’ll just stay out of the way. It isn’t very hard; you take up much more room than your few possessions. 

You keep yourself holed in the guestroom as you settle into your second day. You have your laptop on your thighs as you scroll the job boards. You have the experience but you expect your reference would be any good. You didn’t exactly end on cordial terms. Starting from square one, though the industry isn’t exactly even ground for men and women alike. 

You hunker down to search through the various postings within your purview. Every classification is ticked off, even the years, it’s just that little note about contacting your previous employers that makes you nervous. Well, you at least have to try. 

A knock comes at the door as you edit your cover letter once again. You sit up and close the computer. You slide it aside and get up. You cross the room and crack the door open. You sister smiles from the other side. 

“Am I making too much noise?” You ask as your music plays music from its tiny speaker. 

“No, no, not at all. Um, so you know Andy is out of town for the day so it’s just us,” she rocks, “and there’s a barbecue down the street so... I thought you could get to know the neighbourhood.” 

You look down at her, the offer catching you off guard. You were prepared to spend the whole day hidden away and poring over job listings. Even when you had your own place, you tended to spend most of your own time inside. 

Still, she is doing you a huge favour and it would be rude to say no. You shrug, “okay.” 

“Great, I have some potato salad I'm bringing,” she chirps.  

“Uh,” you look at her blue checkered capris and pristine white blouse, “should I change?” 

“It’s up to you. I'm just going to get packed up. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.” 

Her excitement is palpable. She probably expected you to say no. You don’t want to let her down again. You’re tired of that feeling. 

You close the door as she bounces away and you retreat to search through your still unpacked suitcase. Your clothes hang over the sides. You pick out a band shirt and a pair of dark grey jeans. You don’t have any shorts and you know your repertoire of dark colours only draws in the sun’s fury, and like of the vaunted HOA, but you don’t have many options. 

You emerge with a pair of converse in hand and head into the kitchen. Rhiannon snaps the lid onto a big bowl as she beams up at you. You don’t understand how you share the same blood, she’s so different than you. Where you’re tall and gangly, she’s small and dainty; where your dour and reticent, she’s bright and bubbly. Your parents even kidded that you must’ve been switched at the hospital. 

“Ready?” She asks. 

You nod and look down at yourself. 

“If you want to borrow a skirt or something, it’s pretty hot out.” 

“It’s fine.” 

You don’t take her offer as any comment on your choice, only genuine concern. If it was your mom, you would know it was more than that. To be fair, your mother is very direct with her critiques. Besides, even if her clothes would fit you, you don’t want to risk ruining any of her things. 

“Alrighty, well, Marge will kill me if I’m late again,” she sings and sweeps around with the bowl. “It’ll be nice to get out, huh?” 

“Mhmm,” you grumble and follow her down the hall to the front door. 

She steps into her wedged sandals as you sit to pull on your converse and lace them up. You stand and get the door for her as she prances towards it. She thanks you and you trail her out. The sun hits you like fire. It’s so hot, though you think some of the heat comes from your own self-consciousness. 

As you catch up to your sister at the bottom of the steps, you slow down to keep from outpacing her shorter legs. Even with her platformed soles, she’s still ahead shorter than you. You turn down the sidewalk as you shy away from the strange faces headed in the same direction. 

“You want me to carry that?” You offer. 

“Hey, I might be small but I can handle a salad,” she chirps. 

“I know, I wasn’t--” 

“I’m teasing. It’s fine, I got it,” she assures you as she hugs the bowl to her stomach, “I just want you to have a good day. Don’t think about everything else, okay?” 

“Mm, okay,” you keep your head down as you slink next to her jouncing steps, “sorry, I'll try not to be too grim.” 

“Whatever, you’re awesome,” she nudges you with her elbow, “you just be yourself and I know you’ll find some good friends around here.” 

You try to smile but it hurts. She always sees the best in others, even when it’s not there. You keep pace with her and turn up another curated lawn. The walk is perfectly laid and the blossom tree sways overhead. 

Rhiannon is welcomed through the open gate by one of those blonde women she has her book club with and you shuffle in with your hands in your pockets. You feel the woman’s harsh gaze and peek up. She looks at you the same way your mother does. Her name is Marge and her friend is Callie and there are dozens of the Stepford-like figures posted throughout the yard. 

“Come, let’s put your salad out,” Marge insists. 

Rhiannon looks at you and you chew your cheek, “go, I'll be fine.” 

She looks reluctant but you’re already walking away. You ignore the smell of sausage and beef rising from the barbeque and the splash and laughter of children from the pool. You aren’t going to find any friends here. That much is clear. Housewives and little kids, you don’t really fit the bill. 

You find your way to the far end of the lawn and stand by a tree you might just blend into. Or maybe you might bury yourself in the rose bushes. You pull your hands from your pockets and hook your fingers into your belt loops, swaying as you watch a bumble bee hover over the grass. 

“Foo Fighters, huh?” A low drawl brings your head up as a man approaches with a beer bottle in hand. 

“Um, yeah,” you look down at your shirt, tugging on the hem. 

“You go to a show?” He asks as he stops near you, drinking from the bottle as he waits for your answer. 

“Never been to one,” you cross your arms, “but I listen to them.” 

“Ah, yeah, well, they put on a hell of a show,” he wiggles the bottle as he talks, “lot more fun than these things.” 

You look up the yard towards the mingling of voices and sound. Despite your efforts to hide in a corner, you must have stuck out like a sore thumb. Shoot, maybe he thinks you’re trespassing. 

“I came with my sister,” you point and shift towards the party, “sorry, um, Rhiannon. I didn’t... I was just looking at the roses.” 

“Not my party,” he scoffs, “I don’t care.” 

“Oh,” you blink and look at him. He's about your height, dark curly hair, and vibrant blue eyes. His dark beard is thick and stubble prickles along his neck. He wears a plain white shirt and jeans; the bare minimum. “Right, er, well...” 

“Not a bad idea, hiding behind a tree,” he remarks, “but you're missing the key ingredient.” 

He stops and stares, crooking a brow as if you should know what he means. 

“Alcohol,” he raises his bottle, “they got a keg even. Probably the only good part about these bull—these things.” 

“I don’t drink,” you mutter, “but thanks.” 

You put your head down and stare at the grass around his shoes. You don’t know why he’s bothering you if it isn’t to make you leave. Obviously, you don’t belong. 

“Never too late to start,” he snorts and stays as he is. 

You don’t know how to make him leave you alone so you say nothing. The bee dips into a tulip’s mouth and you turn to watch it. Maybe he’ll take your silence as a hint. 

[nottsangel]

hi guys. I’ve thought long about doing this post, especially since I’m trying to stay away from drama as much as I can, but this is going too far and i can’t ignore it any longer. I want to warn people and stop her, because this person’s behaviour is unacceptable and it has gotten to a point where people feel unsafe. besides my experiences with this person, there are many other people who i’ve talked to that have similar experiences, some even worse than others. this needs to stop.

the person I’m talking about is @/vampyshlut (formerly known as rafesbimbo).

this person has been harassing people, ignoring boundaries and not showing any respect whatsoever. she is manipulative, becomes obsessive real fast and will start love bombing. an example of this is intense clinginess; she gets upset and angry when you don’t respond in a certain amount of time and will spam you with many, many messages (e.g. saying that you hate her just because you weren’t online). another example is jealousy; she gets jealous when you interact with other people and will continuously push you (e.g. to commit) and make you feel guilty for not replying.

this was the case with one of my friends. she started acting like she owned them, and got mad when my friend would drink or smoke. after a while, my friend got fed up with this behaviour and blocked her, but even then she’d still send anon asks. when they texted her to stop sending asks, she said “i don’t want to, i miss you.”, and continued harassing them.

with one of my other friends ( @drudyslut ), she found out her real name, which she had never once mentioned on her blog before. when she asked her about it, she said “i did my research.” this is very scary and not okay.

to give another example, in my case, besides the fact that she was two separate emoji anons of mine and continuesly spammed me and asked me for attention with both, she also began degrading me at one point and called me names. it was very triggering and when i was evidently uncomfortable, she kept going and going. she never once asked if it was okay. she has zero respect.

mind you, these are just a few examples of the many things she has done to different people on here.

however, when people are fed up with her disrespectful behaviour and block her, she continues to contact them through many anon asks. and even when you block the anons, she somehow still finds a way to send anon asks from many different accounts and continue to harass.

and even though she claims that she has certain people blocked (and vice versa), when those people post something, she would post an indirect response on her own blog, meaning that she was/is still secretly lurking on blogs that have her blocked. not only that, for some weird reason she also wants them to know that she is watching them.

this kind of behaviour is NOT okay and being blocked means that that person wants nothing to do with you anymore. leave them alone and respect their boundaries.

the reason i decided to write this post is because this is still ongoing and it sucks that me and others don’t feel safe anymore on our own blog. with every anon ask we get, we fear that it could be her. it sucks that we can’t freely interact with other anons anymore because of this. it sucks that even though you block someone, they still find ways to harass you and you can’t do anything about it. i hope that this post will stop her and make her realise that she can’t keep going like this any longer. we all just want to feel safe on our own blogs.

to her: all we’re asking is that you leave everyone alone. if someone has you blocked, they have done it for a reason and do not want anything to do with you anymore. don’t try to get into contact again, don’t try to send anon asks through different accounts, don’t dm their side blog, don’t send texts to their phone number. move on with your life. and no, no one is ‘ganging up against you’, we’re standing up for ourselves and our friends because your behaviour is simply unacceptable and we are fed up. the way you treat people is not okay and it’s getting to a point where it’s really, really scary. i hope you can reflect on your own actions and will heal.

[nico-di-genova]

Strollonso College AU Snippet

A/N: please see the vision 🙏 (this may be nothing, idk, it plays a tiny role into the larger plot, but barely)

This was also written on my notes app in a flurry at 1 a.m., please excuse any typos.

“This ‘college experience’ enough for you?” Lance asks, wincing when Fernando presses the cheap bar napkin to his nose harder, trying to staunch the still steady flow of blood. Lance can taste bitter copper coating his tongue when he gathers it and spits onto the gravel.

They’re standing in the washed orange glow of a street lamp, Lance leaning against the drivers side door of Fernando’s Aston Martin that looks out of place amidst the cracked pavement of the parking lot. Fernando looks out of place, half unbuttoned shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows doing little to distract from the slacks and dress shoes he’s still wearing. In the crowd of undergrads wearing jeans and t-shirts, sneakers splattered with liquor, he’d stood out - even more so when he was stood next to Lance with his backwards cap and fraternity shirt clearly marking his age.

Fernando doesn’t answer him, instead just grabs Lance’s chin with calloused fingers and pulls his head down.

“Don’t tilt your head back,” he demands, pinching the bridge of Lance’s nose with the same force he’d pulled Lance out of the bar with.

Lance hadn’t meant to throw the first punch. But he feels he can hardly be blamed. Sure, Brenton had been drunk, it still didn’t excuse the way he’d jabbed at Lance and joked about his sex life.

“That the old man you fucking?” He’d asked, pointing back at Fernando with a grin, like he and Lance were friends. In truth, Brenton was his least favorite fraternity brother, a feeling that had only grown as Brenton kept pushing.

“He’s a fucking asshole anyway,” Lance grumbles, like that somehow excuses the black eye Brenton will most likely be sporting at the next chapter meeting. He can taste bits of bloody napkin on his tongue when he speaks, the poor quality of the thing causing it to shred under the amount of blood Fernando is forcing it to soak up.

“This will be reported, no? You will get in trouble for this?”

He might, but he doubts Brenton wants to pursue it. To explain his black eye he would also have to explain why he was drinking underage, so voraciously that his breath had smelled of nothing but vodka and vomit when he threw an arm around Lance at the bar and leaned fully on him for support. Both of them would be suspended then, or fined, which wouldn’t do for Brenton who was running for a leadership role. More likely, Brenton would wake up tomorrow with a sore face and no recollection of what had happened in the first place.

He shrugs, “Maybe.”

“It was not worth it.”

“Neither was coming here, I told you we should have just stayed home.”

Lance likes partying, is normally the first to suggest going to the club with Pato and Esteban. He likes partying with Fernando even more, when they go to some upscale place in the city and Fernando buys bottles and a private lounge. He likes it when it means grinding on Fernando in the privacy of their own secluded space, borderline fucking in the shadows. The rundown college bar is a far cry from that, and Fernando’s Aston looking comedically out of place amidst the sea of Jeeps and Camaros should have been the first indication.

“You should be here, Lance. Not hiding at my place.”

His place. Right.

He pulls back, as far back as he can with his back pressed to the car and Fernando keeping him against it, enough that Fernando’s grip on his chin slips.

“I wasn’t hiding. I like your place, I like being there.”

“Lance-.”

“If you’re sick of having me there you can just say that Nando. We don’t have to play this game of you caring about my college experience.”

Fernando grabs him again, presses a fresh napkin to his nose, rolls his eyes.

“You are still looking for a fight.”

Lance starts to argue, before he realizes his fists are clenched at his side, his jaw tense like he’s bracing for another punch. But Fernando would never stoop that low, no matter how much Lance pressed. Instead, he soothes the tension from Lance’s jaw with the pad of his thumb, and stares at him with a look that demands he take a breath.

Lance does, in through his mouth, out through his mouth, tasting beer and regret.

“I hate this place,” he grumbles. Despite the fact that it’s the hot spot for college aged kids looking to unwind. Kids he should have related too, but instead had found very quickly weren’t like him at all. Pato liked it here, being social and charismatic, the bar had quickly made a space for him. Lance on the other hand was too tall, stood out too much, was too queer for a space that prided itself on a true southern welcome. They’d accepted him enough when he wore Greek letters and flirted with girls from his major, but drew the line at Fernando taking up a barstool. Lance had felt that, seen it from the moment they’d entered, been on edge in a way that made him impulsive.

Fernando nods, “So we don’t come here next time. You choose the next one.”

“Somewhere with better liquor,” he jokes, grimacing when he shifts to stand taller and his shoes, sneakers Fernando had bought him only a few weeks ago, stick slightly to the pavement. “Where it doesn’t all end up on the floor.”

They stay there until Fernando staunches the blood. Lance spits one last glob of it out, watches it land next to an empty beer can and then kicks the can across the pavement for good measure. It skitters to a stop against the wheel of a suped up Honda, dented and scratched from other student’s poor parking.

Climbing back into Fernando’s Aston fills him with satisfaction.

—————————

“This better?” Fernando asks later, when he’s got Lance naked and spread across his mattress. Silk sheets cool against Lance’s warmed skin.

He wants to nod, say something to agree, but the wine that Fernando is pouring into the hollow of his throat prevents him from doing so. It’s red, threatens to stain the sheets if it spills.

Fernando, straddling his hips, leans down just enough to suck the wine from his skin, licks at Lance’s throat until it’s gone. He keeps one finger hooked around Lance’s chain, keeping the Star of David pendant out of the way. The wine is expensive, pulled from Fernando’s own collection, opened solely because Lance had asked upon their arrival home.

It’s better than whatever bottom shelf liquor Rusty’s would have been able to scrub up, better than the jungle juice he’s used to chugging from trash cans at frat parties. Lance jots this moment down as another reason his college experience can go fuck itself.

And then he opens his mouth to let Fernando fountain some of the wine into it. Straight from the bottle, some of it escaping, trailing down his chin and then dripping onto the pillow case Fernando has so carefully propped him against.

Fernando hardly bats an eye at the stain, just licks the sticky trail from Lance’s neck up to the corner of his mouth.

“Much better,” Lance breathes, closing his eyes, letting Fernando kiss him and tasting the lingering wine on his tongue.

[ghouljams]

Goose beats the shit outta König, that's the fic. Yay :) Dedicated to all my König haters, I get it.

cw: fighting, highly opinionated internal monologue, Goose is #1 König hater

You'd hate this man even if you didn't have two brain cells to rub together. You'd hate him just for bein' alive, but mostly you hate him for the jagged scar he's left around your husband's neck, and the audacity he has to glare at him from across the ag hall like it's Simon's fault. Simon's fingers steady against yours as you reach for your hip, his grip firm, warning. You're not supposed to be starting fights at town halls, and you certainly can't go about firing a gun in a room full of trigger happy hicks. But God Dammit you're a trigger happy hick and you want to shoot this motherfucker!

His stupid mug points its eyes your way and you level your glare at him. If he thinks that sort of smolder is going to scare you he's got another thing coming. You'd stick your hand in a fire and call it cold before saying that look did anything to you. Which seems to startle König a little(dumbass motherfucker, callin' himself a king when he's barely a cowboy). He blinks, his brows draw together, his eyes move back to glower at Simon and then sort of dart to yours. You'd spit if you could.

Simon leans heavy against you, the same way he always does when you're getting agitated, wraps a big hand around the back of your neck and turns you to look at the front podium. You do your best to keep your attention on the town happenings, the updates to summer reading lists, the town bylaws being up for a rewrite, all the minutia of small town living. But that fucking guy won't stop itching at you. You keep checking him out the corner of your eye. He's distracted by the city girl, which is good, gives you a chance to glare at the back of his head before Simon turns you forward again.

You're all but grabbed around the middle by the time the town hall ends. Simon working to keep you in place as you jump to your feet and attempt to go over and talk to König. Maybe some polite conversation will keep him from eyeing your husband like he wants to finish what he started. It doesn't matter, the man brings himself within swinging distance. Obviously too big for the brain rattling around in his head.

"König," Simon stops him, his fingers holding tight to the back of your jeans, "try keepin' your eyes on yer own work, hate havin' to lay you out again."

König's eyes narrow, his annoyance palpable as he looks for something cutting to say. Whether or not what Simon claims is true doesnt matter, the tension of a long standing grudge is one you know well. Youre just glad your man is being more civil than you are for once. König's eyes settle on you, and his head tilts. "And perhaps you keep your dog on a tighter leash, I would hate to deprive the town of a good-"

Simon lets you go and you fly at König. It's enough of a surprise that he raises his arms first to shield his face, before you crash into his middle to tackle him. Simon's on his feet, quick to grab the city girl when she tries to intervene as you bring your elbow down hard on König's nose. His hand shoots out to grab you by the neck, leveraging his reach as he tries to sit up. It's a good strategy, your arms are certainly shorter than his, but your legs aren't, and you're not the Captain's daughter for nothing.

You grip his wrist and throw your weight back, twisting to wrap one of your legs around his arm, your foot hooking behind his shoulder. You twist hard, and feel the joint dislocate with a satisfying pop. His fingers twitch, torn between letting you go and squeezing tighter. You unhook your leg from his arm and drive the toe of your boot up under his chin. Pulling at the dislocation as you push his head back, driving the pain clear through his arm from both angles. König howls, his free hand coming to clock you hard enough you're forced to let go and roll away from him.

"Hey!" your dad yells, "No fightin' in the ag hall."

"I'm not fightin'," you spit, pushing up onto your feet again, "I'm winnin'."

König says something in German you don't care enough to translate and attempts to rush you. He trips and whips his head to glare at Johnny's smile. You take the advantage, shifting your weight to your left foot. König preps for a right side strike, which is really too bad. You jump to your right, spinning as you hit the side of his knee with a hard left kick. König goes down a second time, taking the blow and dropping to one knee.

He's too reliant on his reach, swiping at you with blind fury as you slip right and cut his cheek with your elbow. You're really aiming for a knock out when you're hauled up and out of reach, König's arm closing around the space you'd been occupying. Gaz holds you out of the way with a mumbled apology.

"Captain's orders," he tells you.

"Nutte," König spits at you, you feel Gaz bristle.

"Mate, really..." Gaz grumbles, his hold loosens and you give a solid kick in König's direction. It doesn't matter. You watch Simon tap König's shoulder, watch König turn, and watch you lovely husband's fist collide with his jaw.

König goes sprawling and you see your mother rush over to check his injuries. The city girl is crying, you feel sort of bad for her. You should invite her to dinner sometime.

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Omega Adam x Alpha Lucifer

What if:

What if Adam made his mask to help surpassed his heat cycles. It worked up until the fight when Lucifer broke it which caused his heat to start up.

I guess you could say someones fucked lol

Smut under the cut

Adam crawled out of the skylight, grunting from the pain he felt from the impact. "Okay, how many more of you freaks do I have to fight!?" He paused when he noticed his mask was broken, half of it missing from his face.

Oh no.

Maybe it would be okay? The half that was still there seemed to be working, the LEDs still glowing.

But the beginning of a cramp in his lower abdomen told him that no, it was not going to work. Adam wore his mask all of the time and hadn't had a heat cycle in years.

No, no, no, no, no, no, NO! NOT NOW! Not with HIM here, this fucking close!

"Oh I'm the only one that matters. You see, you mess with my daughter and now..." The wind blew a gust in Lucifer's direction and a sweet smell filled his nostrils. A smell he hadn't known for a very long time. "I'm going to fuck you!"

Everyone was silent as they looked at him confused and in horror.

"It's fuck you up, dad."

Another wave of that beautiful scent assaulted Lucifer's senses and yeah, he knew. "No sweetie, I mean that literally." Lucifer admitted his own power scent, as an alpha it was sure to make Adam stand down.

Adam could smell it and had to swallow a whimper. He forgot how good the devil smelled. "Stay away from me asshole!" He backed up when Lucifer got closer, another cramp hitting him. Adam knew he didn't have much time before basic instinct would take him over, it has been way too long since he's slept with an alpha.

Since earth with Eve.

Adam nearly moaned when Lucifer grabbed his wrist. They were gone in a flash of magic.

Charlie couldn't believe her eyes. "What the fuck just happened?"

Angel smirked. "Someone's getting a baby sibling!"

-

Adam was pinned to the bed, his mask fully gone now. All he could smell or feel was Lucifer on top of him, the devil licked at his neck over his sensitive scent glands making him shiver. "Fuck off!"

"Sweetheart, your mouth says one thing but your body..." Lucifer pressed his erection against the wetness of Adams clothed opening. "Says it missed me. I can make it good for you like I did in Eden." He rolled his hips making Adam squirm.

Fuck, Eden. The last time they fucked was right before Adam and Eve got kicked out of the garden.

"Do you want me to knot you again, darling? I could pump you so full of my seed I give you another baby. Would you like that? To have another child of mine?" He was referring to Cain, Cain was Adam and Lucifer's son.

Too far gone in his need and natural instinct, Adam's mind blanked out. That was all he heard.

Baby, baby, baby, he wants to give me a baby!

"Yes! Knot me Luci.~" He was practically vibrating and drooling with need.

Lucifer growled, liking the answer. Under a normal circumstance he'd tease Adam more, but it's been a long time since he himself got laid and he really wants to be inside of him again after all these fucking years.

He removed the tights that Adam wore under his robe and unzipped his own pants shoving them down. Lucifer didn't waste any time sinking himself into the awaiting wet heat.

They both moaned at the long awaited feeling. "How long has it been since you've been properly fucked through a heat, darling? Long time I'm betting."

"Ahhh! L-long time!" Adam withered and moaned like the bitch in heat he was, his senses getting overloaded with pleasure that only his alpha could give him.

"Did you ever try? Did you ever want to seek me out? I bet you would have fantasies about me." Because Lucifer certainly had fantasies about Adam.

Adam couldn't even think straight enough to answer, the cramps having died down all he could say was 'yes' wanting the knot that was so close to filling him. He'd say anything to get it in that moment.

"This time I get to keep you." Was all Lucifer said before he came deeply inside of Adam, knotting him. He placed a hand on Adam's lower belly, oh how he hoped he got pregnant. He'd never let him go this time.

Adam felt the relief that came with his own orgasm and the feeling of being filled with the king's release. Oh how he missed it.

They could deal with the consequences of their actions in the morning.

[tizniz]

Inspiration Saturday ✨

Tagged for this day by @hippolotamus & @cal-daisies-and-briars And tagged by so many lovely people over the week :)

I'm back!!! Despite being sick for most of my trip, I had an amazing time. I did absolutely no writing or thinking about anything except being in the moment and enjoying myself. Okay, there were a few things I shared with Al, Hippo, and Caroline that screamed Buddie but they didnt' expand into anything. I simply lived in the moment. I am so ready to dive back into writing. Well, after I sleep a little more (still sick. I have spent majority of the last 24 hours asleep). But I did want to share this little moment that popped into my head before the trip and once again on the flight home.

Enjoy a moodboard of Buddie at Disneyland and a little something something under the cut ;)

Eddie lifts his eyes from where he'd been swiping his thumb along the screen, checking the wait times, "Want to do Indiana again or—Buck?” He looks around, only spotting strangers. Pocketing his phone, Eddie forces himself to not panic, because it’s not that busy today, and Buck couldn’t have gone that far, right?

And just before he can start to actually panic, Eddie spots his missing best friend. He’s standing there with a bag of cotton candy in his hand and grinning over at Eddie.

“I thought I told you to not wander off.” Eddie half snaps as comes to a stop in front of Buck, having dodged a mom on a mission with her stroller plowing through the people walking casually.

“I went like…three feet.” Buck says, pulling away some of the spun sugar to pop into his mouth. A few strands catch on his lips, and Eddie definitely doesn’t watch as Buck’s tongue darts out to lick at them, dissolving the sugar quickly. “I wanted cotton candy.”

Eddie snaps his eyes up, “How did you even get through that line so quick?”

Shrugging, Buck pops more cotton candy in his mouth, “I got lucky. No one was there.”

“And you didn’t think to go ‘hey Eddie, I’ll be right back’?”

“You found me.”

“You’re a little shit.”

“You love me.”

“Why did I agree to come here again?”

“Because it’s fun.” Buck grins, “Come on, you’re loving this. Admit it.”

Eddie had been skeptical at first, because a day at Disneyland with just Buck? They’re adults. It seemed weird. But Buck had told him how many adults go on their own, and how fun it would be, and wouldn't the little boy in Eddie love this?

So that’s how Eddie had found himself spending the day with his best friend. Admittedly, having a great time.

Avoiding answering, Eddie looks at the bag in Buck’s hand, shaking his head, “You opened that like an animal.”

Buck also looks down at the bag, where he’d obviously torn into it and completely avoided the simple knot that would need to be untied to get access to the sweet treat. He looks back up at Eddie, “I wanted cotton candy.”

“You said that.” Eddie snorts, reaching for some, only to have the bag pulled away. “Hey!”

“Get your own.”

“I only want a little.”

“You just got mad at me for getting it!”

“I was mad at you for disappearing on me.” Eddie fires back, grabbing hold of Buck’s wrist, the spun sugary treat held between Buck’s thumb and index finger. “I’m not mad about the cotton candy.”

“You can’t have it. It’s mine.” Buck retorts, trying to pull his wrist away, but Eddie keeps his grip firm. And then, because apparently he’s not thinking rationally today, Eddie ducks his head down and is eating the cotton candy that is between Buck’s fingers. His teeth graze the pad of Buck’s thumb, tongue licking the last bit of sugar from Buck’s index finger, and then Eddie’s straightening up, staring into Buck’s wide blue eyes.

Eddie’s mind reboots and he stares back, heart hammering in his chest. The sugar is dissolving on his tongue and tastes so sweet, but he swears he can taste Buck’s skin amongst it all.

“Uh—”

“Pirates!” Eddie blurts out, releasing Buck’s wrist and spinning on his heel, marching through the crowd, cheeks burning.

What the fuck did he just do?

Tagging for sharing since it's so late on Saturday!

@actualalligator, @actuallyitsellie, @perfectlysunny02, @bidisasterevankinard, @spotsandsocks, @fortheloveofbuddie, @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove, @theotherbuckley, @daffi-990, @exhuastedpigeon, @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming, @monsterrae1, @epicbuddieficrecs, @elvensorceress, @eddiebuckley-diaz, @eddiebabygirldiaz, @wildlife4life, @devirnis, @loveyouanyway, @smilingbuckley, @watchyourbuck, @loserdiaz, @excuseme-greentea, @wikiangela, @dangerpronebuddie, @kitteneddiediaz, @underwaterninja13, @bigfootsmom🩵

[bi-badass-geek]

Hades 1 vs Hades 2 Designs

● Hermes besides Hypnos was first character that made me think when i saw him oh some time has passed since Zag's escapes indeed, makes you feel that time skip. In this particular debate between those i'm really digging both but if needed to say which i prefer would go with second. I feel it should be said he sure rolls nicely with longer hair i would say darker outfit too but that's probably because pallet that's used for levels.

Ps. I saw post that mentioned how his ring is the same as ones Charon is wearing in first game and if it's a hint at something i'm here for it!

● Zeus for this god specifically there is discourse about how his pose is less dynamic and oh boy if i don't agree with that so much. In first game you see him and his look makes you think yeah this is the king of gods while in second game man is just there with posture i take often because i'm useless gay that don't know what to do with my hands and feels like they took all this might and put it into chiseling his nipples & abs into his golden chestplate. Not to mention the detail of missing the iconic bolt! Don't think it needs to be said but 100% would pick Hades 1 design out of those options.

● Poseidon the King of the Sea another example in my humble opinion where they went with flattening that dynamic looks exchanging it for man that just standing there chilling which is good for him but where first screams cool uncle second one goes uncle that wants retirement. I really like how we can see the trident now tho and need to point out his outfit sure got more print on it. When it comes down to pointing out which one is the winner in my eyes it would be 2020 one.

● Aphrodite if she wasn't the one that got thrown into drama because people double standards and hypocrisy. Design from first game and the pose straight up makes you think of love, lust, seduction all the things that are associated with said goddess. As for Hades 2 version i have no clue why it feels like this considering it's actually the opposite because we can see armor on her legs now but she feels less covered for me, do i find it negative or in any way problematic? Not one bit let the woman show off all her assets all day long! Really love the adds of her weapon and shield makes you immerse in the store of oh fights are happening around these parts. From seduction to i stand here at the ready kinda vibe and i'm really digging it.

Ps. Another post i read was about fact that her war paint i will call it (not 100% sure if that is it or just line for the giggles) is reference to Ares and considering her myth i really like that touch!

● Hypnos was the first OG i saw and was like man not only catching up on his sleep but also got such glow up i absolutely adore the design. Not to say he looked bad in Hades 1 but there it was like okay nice to Hades 2 like Damnnn and his lil helpers that keeps him up! Love the fact that of all things they made him be tucked into his cape like burrito.

Ps. I really do hope by the end of the game we get to wake him up so he can try out that nectar that we all leave there waiting.

● Chaos so many things to say and at the same time silence says it all. Seen people focusing on fact some out there call them he or how it's a downgrade from previous but don't even elaborate why they think that because everyone has right to have their own preference but at least put it into words instead of going trash next..there was also notion how they resemble Meg and while i see where people get that idea from for sure before reading that my mind didn't went there at all. I think both designs really work with someone who is primordial originator and how time goes so can their form. I find it very fascinating that they put old skeleton with new one and adore galaxy under suit makes me think of Nyx right away and how they're connected. Can totally see how between those two gamers got major stance that left reminds them more of male and right of female beings but at the end of the it chaos is chaos. Gotta take chair routine from Meg while they at it! The face on the shoulder surely throws me in loop tho fits? Sure. Does it disturb me in micro scale? Yes. About frames and poses don't have much to say cause both caption the essence of i mind my business everything unrelevant until i say so.

Ps. I know it's about physical aspect but let me say Chaos roasting Mel about how her brother is amusing one out of two Hades spawns is living rent free in my brain.