#SHE CAN BE A MOON MENACE SO LIKE

[nulltune]

hey shorty, you look like you still have a lot of growing up to do… i hope life offers you a ladder soon or i fear ya may not survive your adulthood. (˃̣̣̥‿˂̣̣̥)

unprompted,  always accepting !   @wolvensden  ♡

to her knowledge,  the height she has was—  just average;  perhaps a couple of centimeters more than the average japanese woman's height,  if they were being more accurate.  in the face of the other's stature,  however,  she understood that all of those statistics paled tremendously.

was being tall advantageous to one's survival ?   seth's words seem to imply it  ( but then again,  these words were quite lighthearted )  ——  from the vast knowledge she knew though,  no solid conclusion could be made.  not that it matters much ...      ❛   i have long reached the age past the opportunity for that.   ❜      she states it simply,  though the truth of it is that she is unable to grow in the manner that all organic life is able to at all.

the image she was made to bear is that of a 20 year old woman,  and in a way,  perhaps one may have viewed that kind of life as  ‘ immortal ’.  but was it a life in the first place ?   and even then,  she is distantly aware that there is a limit to this time  ...  worrying about ladders and  ( the extremely unlikely chance )  of a growth spurt seemed silly to think of in hindsight.  one might say to make the most of it  —  such was the view most had with life in general  —  but hakuno doesn't really understand.

the woman merely appeared perfectly pleasant,  making a sound of a curious hum as if contemplating.  it is followed with a dainty finger resting against the curve of her chin.      ❛   however,  if you are so concerned about this height of mine,  i believe you would be an apt substitute for a ladder.    ❜

[pandoratheprocrasticreator]

huntlow shippers who cherry-pick every single frame where these two stand next to each other and TJLC it into a secret metanarrative that they’ve actually been madly in love since the moment they met, but disney forced the crew to cut the token m/f couple during The Shortening bc somehow there was no way for these two to have any meaningful conversation in the many many times they were onscreen together

vs.

huntlow dislikers who cherry-pick those same screenshots and say that because other characters blush in non-romantic contexts sometimes, it definitely means every single interaction between these two were 100% platonic on both sides and all huntlow shippers are under a collective delusion, and that dana terrace is being held at gunpoint by disney/other members of the crew to add in a romantic subplot she hates against her will. despite it also not being romantic somehow

FIGHT

[princesschimchim1325]

Sing for us, darling~

Dan Feng and Yingxing want to hear the noises their wife makes as they pleasure her, to let it be known to the whole Xianzhou Luofu that she belongs to them.

(Or you get sandwiched between your horny husbands)

Warnings: 3rd POV, fem & afab reader, reader is an adult, reader got bomb pussy game, overstimulation, groping, double penetration in the same hole, creampie, vaginal fingering, Dan Feng has two cocks and a voyeur kink, Yingxing is 41 (reader wants to fuck those old men so bad), Dan Feng is a menace, Yingxing is a charming old man, they are both possessive and horny as hell, a surprise at the end. (Fūrén - wife, bǎobèi - treasure)

Word count : 1,904 words

This can be read in the same universe as my dragoness reader idea but can be read as a standalone.

This could also be read in the same universe as my mutual's @philistiniphagottini's "god-ish" smut fic.

Likes, Comments & Reblogs are welcome!

DO NOT REPOST, OR FEED TO AI 🚫🚫🚫

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Under the pale moon, the wind made the trees rustle and flowers sway. The cold breeze would make any passerby shiver, enough to make their teeth chatter.  Everyone had worn thicker coats and lit up their fireplaces to stay warm.

Everyone except for the lovers in the High Elder's residence. Said High Elder was lounging on an armchair, his face propped up by his fist and an ankle atop his knee, an air of haughtiness befitting of man his caliber and position. Dan Feng was facing the master’s bed, calculating ocean green eyes swept over the attractive forms of his spouses.

His husband, Yingxing, was sitting on the edge of the large bed, completely bare. His long silver hair lay loose and flowing behind his muscled back. Sitting on his lap, was a jewel far more precious than any stone found in the Luofu, their beloved wife. 

And what a sight she was.

Her back was pressed against Yingxing’s broad chest, her front facing Dan Feng. Her lovely face was scrunched in frustration, sighing as Yingxing kissed and lavished her shoulders with love bites and hickeys, his large and calloused hands groped her breasts. And what was one of the most erotic sights he has ever seen in his centuries of living, her greedy pussy swallowing Yingxing’s length and if he looked hard enough, he could see a bulge on her stomach as Yingxing stuffed her full. 

Their shared bedchamber was filled with the loud wet sounds of Yingxing open mouthed kisses and their wife’s lovely moans, or as he and Yingxing liked to call them, song. His own hard cocks were pressing painfully against his trousers but he paid it no mind. The erotic sight in front of him was far more important. 

“Enjoying the show, A-Feng?” His Yingxing inquired, a smirk on his handsome face. His large hands slid from her breasts, trailing down until they slipped under her thighs, only to suddenly spread them wider, jostling the woman on his lap and causing her to throw her head back and sobbed. 

“Indeed. Dare I say, your little ‘show’ is the most enjoyable production I ever had the pleasure of witnessing.” 

He rose from his seat as he answered, taking off his white blazer as he did. Perhaps their little game went on long enough, they started at nightfall and now the moon was already high in the sky. Their poor wife must be so pent up, being cockwarmed and teased by Yingxing, but being told she wasn’t allowed to cum.

As he neared his two beloveds, their wife gazed at him with glassy eyes, cheeks wet from tears of frustration. She shakily reached out to him with her left hand and he caught her midway, holding her smaller hand and leaning down to place a kiss on her palm. 

“A-Feng…A-Xing has been so mean to me..” she whined as Dan Feng kissed her neck, trailing up to her ear, just below her earlobe. 

“Hmm, is that so?” He hummed, smirking as she yelped when he bit down on a particularly sensitive patch of skin and licked it as a form of apology.

“Oh, fūrén, this was our dearest High Elder’s idea. I am merely doing my part in his script~” Yingxing laughed, placing an unapologetic kiss on her hair. 

The High Elder pulled away to take his long gloves and the rest of his imperial garbs off, piece by piece revealing a lean yet powerful build, with broad shoulders, narrow waist and hips. 

“...You scoundrels. How could you be so mean to your wife?” she complained, writhing on top of the Furnace master’s lap, unconsciously tightening in the process and causing the man to groan. 

“Desperate now, are we?” Yingxing hissed, hands gripping her thighs in a bruising hold to stop her from squirming. 

Dan Feng, finally bare, had taken his place between his wife’s spread legs and replaced Yingxing’s hands gripping her thighs with his own. His cocks standing proudly against his toned stomach. 

Yingxing’s left hand returned to groping her breast and tweaking her hardened nipple with his fingers, while his right hand trailed up to her smooth neck, caressing it before gently gripping her throat. 

Dan Feng rubbed both of his cocks against her puffy clit, using her and Yingxing’s combined wetness as lube before taking one of his hardness and lining it up her hole that was still stretched around Yingxing’s cock. 

Slowly, he filled her up, one cock rubbing against Yingxing’s and her spongy walls, his other cock was sliding between her puffy folds and clit. Dan Feng pulled his husband into a searing kiss over their wife’s shoulder, making a show of their tongues dancing. He could feel her tighten up at the sight of their display. 

Inch by inch, he slid into her wet heat, until he pressed up against her cervix alongside Yingxing. He pulled away from his husband only to kiss his wife next, equally as passionate. 

Their beloved wife was panting when he pulled away, a thin strand of saliva connecting their lips before it snapped. 

A few moments of silence before sounds of debauchery filled their shared bedroom. Each sensual roll of their hips had their darling wife keening, throwing her head back and bumping against Yingxing’s collarbone, tears of pleasure streaming down her lovely face. 

“Mmmph! A-Xing, ah! A-Feng! Too deep! Please, too deep!” She sobbed. How cute, yet she clung to them like they’re her lifelines. 

Their hips moved in sync, when one thrusts in, one pulls out and vice versa, making sure their wife is in the precipice of pleasure and overstimulation. Their cocks were alternating in slamming against her cervix, causing her to moan even louder. 

In her desperation to keep herself grounded, her hands found themselves digging into different parts of her husbands. One hand reached behind her to grasp and pull at Yingxing’s long silver locks, making him groan. The other reached behind Dan Feng to rake her sharp nails down his back, leaving thin scratches that are deep enough to bleed. Dan Feng threw his head back, moaning at the pleasure before hissing from the stinging pain.

Yingxing, never one to let his spouses one up him, let the hand groping her breast trail down her soft stomach before suddenly pressing down on the bulge caused by their cocks. 

“Ah! Yingxing, please!” How adorable, she was starting to slur her words a bit. 

Yingxing couldn’t help but chuckle, “Close, love?” 

Their poor darling, already so close while being lovingly fucked, their cocks overcrowding her poor cunt while their hands groped her breasts, the pudge of her hips, or pressing down on the bulge of her stomach in a dazed fascination of how well she’s taking both of their cocks. 

Their normally stoic and quiet wife reduced to an incoherent mess, moaning only their names. 

Both husbands groaned at the same time when they felt her tighten, impossibly tight. Dan Feng reached down to draw circles on her engorged clit, making her cry out even louder to the point he might get complaints in the morning even though his estate is built farther away from other citizens. 

“Mmph! Ah! A-Feng, A-Xing! Please, I’m going to–ah!” Before their darling wife could even finish her sentence, she came, or rather, she squirted right at Dan Feng’s abdomen. 

Her sudden orgasm triggered Yingxing’s own orgasm and she could feel herself being filled to the brim with the copious amount of his warm and thick cum. Dan Feng followed not too long after him. 

She hiccuped in pleasure as she’s filled again, this time by Dan Feng’s cum, warm and thick, and just as abundant as Yingxing’s. 

Once the cloud of pleasure had dissipated, she watched in mortification how her cum that splashed her husband, dripped down the planes of muscles his blessed body has. 

He didn’t even look mad, if anything, he looked downright pleased by the turn of events with his telling smile and the mirth present in his eyes. Behind her, she could feel the rumble of Yingxing’s barking laugh. 

“Oh, you did so well, darling. Look, you even made his other cock cum.” Yingxing cooed, nuzzling into her hair. 

She looked down and saw that Yingxing was right, Dan Feng’s neglected cock had cum as well, his spent dripping from her chest to her stomach. 

“Hmm, you took both of us well. How are you feeling, băobèi? Are you hurt?” Dan Feng kissed her forehead while checking her for any signs of harm. She could only shake her head in fondness. 

Dan Feng was the first to pull out, Yingxing following soon after him. She whimpered at the feeling of their cocks rubbing against her sensitive walls. 

Dan Feng watched in fascination how his and Yingxing’s combined cum dripped from their wife’s slightly gaping pussy, staining the bed and dripping onto the floor. 

Before anymore could drip out from her lewd hole, Dan Feng scooped the excess cum and fingered it back inside her, causing her to jolt and gasp

“Let’s not waste, shall we? It would be such a shame, no, fūrén?” He looked at her with such an infuriating look on his handsome face while his fingers played with his and Yingxing’s mixed cum inside her sore cunt. 

Yingxing’s large hands found their way to her breasts again, playing and groping her soft tits. All he gave her was a not-so apologetic kiss on the top of her hair.

“Ah! You-you scoundrels! Give this body of mine a break, won’t you?” their wife scowled but it broke into a pleasured moan when Dan Feng once again bit the sensitive part of her neck.

“Well, we did say we want you to sing, didn’t we, bǎobèi?”

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Dan Heng shot out of his mattress, panting. Sweat dripped down his forehead as he tried to regulate his breathing, his heart beating so hard, it almost felt like it was going to burst out of his chest. 

He pressed his hand against his chest, his heart finally calming down. As he calmed down, he realized he had another problem, the hard on between his legs. Dan Heng groaned.

‘What the hell was that dream? No, that was too vivid to be something my mind conjured up. Was it a memory? If so, why the hell did I have a wet dream of Dan Feng and his spouses?’

He looked beside him, the woman sleeping next to him thankfully lay unaware of his dilemma. Her appearance had a striking resemblance to the woman in his dreams. He shook his head

He reached down to brush away the hair against her face, fingers slightly caressing her feathers. 

Well, whatever it was, he’ll deal with it tomorrow. 

••••••••••

Ren’s eyes opened, trying to adjust in the darkness of his room. He sat up before placing a hand on his face.

There was a moment of silence before the sounds of his hysterical laughter filled the room. 

“Of all the times, the memories of Yingxing decide to resurface now?” 

Ren laid in his bed again, facing the ceiling while his large and scarred hand dragged against his face, a smirk on his face. 

“Hah, I guess there is no escape for either of you. My bǎobèi, it won't be long until we're reunited...... And there is no place for you to hide, Yǐnyuè-jūn.”

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[evilgwrl]

TF 141 x Reader (Apocalypse!AU)

Immune: Six

WARNING: This is a 18+ Poly!141 series (MDNI)

CW: Oral (f & brief male receiving), barn sex yeehaw, PIV (no protection), praise, I love gaz sm he’s so fucking sexy and hot, titty sucking, more hickies!!!!

Masterlist

Your brow cocked towards the Scotsman, his arms folded against the width of his chest as he stared at you, Arctic blue orbs swirling with mischief as he stepped closer to you, chapped lips flushed against the heat of your forehead before he was strumming upstairs.

The day was sombre. The sky was roiling, a pall of menacing clouds enveloping the forest with a darkened haze, the soft jingles of the wind chimes sounding out to you as you rushed the horses into the barn, snouts whining and hissing out breathy grunts as a roll of thunder cracked through.

Bubbling heat simmered in the pit of your stomach; your body flushed with fervour as you scurried outside, your legs turning to mush as anxious feet padded against the soil, parched digits digging into reins. Your body ached with a needing demand, a need to be satisfied, not only by Price but by them all.

It was taboo. It should feel wrong. This wasn’t you. The growing ache that seethed between your thighs, only fed into the perpetual insistence that needed to be met. You needed to be fucked. Again, and again and again.

You rolled your eyes at yourself, the flush of iris visible as you trembled into the barn, pulling on Nancy as she trotted along, heavy hoofs skating across the already dirtied floors. As you secured the horses away, your eyes trained in on the door, the sound of heavy footsteps coiling into your stomach before Gaz appeared.

You weren’t quite sure what it was about him. He gave you a sense of comfort, his eyes gentle yet zealous, speckles of gold flaking through the endless diversions of umber. His presence was homely, settling around you like a forest fire, fusillading the anguished need you held for him. His smile was soft as he gazed at you, standing bashfully at the barn doors, chiselled arms pressed against the wood.

“Thought I would find you here,” he remarked, taking a step forward as he felt the spit of rain pellet down on his warm skin.

You raised a brow, “You looking for me?” Your tone was knowing, almost teasing as he let out a shy laugh, pearly teeth on display as his tongue kissed them, the simmer of the light reflecting against them. He was pretty, almost too pretty, the arrogant broil of his eyes sending a pit into your stomach as he stepped closer.

“Just felt like we, I, haven’t thanked you properly.”

“It’s alright, Gaz. Couldn’t exactly turn you all away, could I?” You tried to make light of the situation, your eyes averting to the floor as you shifted awkwardly.

“You gonna let me thank you, sweetheart? Hm?”

Your feet were clumsy, as you stumbled back, spine flush against a bale of hay as he stalked towards you. You felt like his prey, tantalising jaws snapping down on the silk of your flesh as he sucked the sweet liquor of your blood into his taste buds. Cadaverous hands groped at your thigh, melting the softness of the fat into his hands as he practically cooed at you.

His voice was patronising, threads of disdain lacing it as his grip found your knees, pulling them apart gently. Straw scratched at your legs, sending a jolt through you as you watched him through hooded eyes. His eyes were darker now, flushed over with desire as he pushed his crotch up against you, an evident bulge covered by denim petting your clad heat almost maliciously as you gulped down the air that flooded your organs.

Nails dug into your tender skin, crescent-shaped moons tattooing along the flesh as you whined. “I asked you a question,” he tsked, kissing along your jaw.

“Y-Yeah, you can thank me.”

The strain of your voice enveloped a laugh out of him, rough hands toying with your top before you lifted your arms up, bare chest on display as the cool air puckered up your nipples, his eyes darting between the two before his hands were wrapping around your neck, pushing against you slightly to arch your back before feverish lips were tugging at the buds, teasing them between his teeth before he would pull away and suck at the sore skin, tainted by hickies.

“Old man wanted to mark you up,” he growled as his hands released from your neck, toying with your tits as your core ached. The sensation was all too much, yet not enough. Greedy hips ground against the bulge that was pressed against you, a groan sounding out from between your tits.

“Are you gonna thank me?” You quipped, pulling at his hair as he clutched a nipple between his lips before pulling away with a subtle pop.

“Greedy, aren’t you?  Just need to be filled up by us all?” Gaz smirked.

Your hips responded for you, pussy clenching around nothing as you panted, your breath wanton. His digits found your buttons, plucking at them before you raised yourself, letting him slide them off down you revealing your aching sex, thin cotton smeared against it as your slick darkened them. Gaz groaned in reply, rubbing at the wet patch feverishly as your lips found his neck, licking a stripe against his defined collarbone.

You swore, your voice lost in the crackle of the wind as he peeled your panties to the side, your aching cunt throbbing as he spread your folds apart, smiling in appreciation at the sloppy strings of slick webbing between your lips.

“Pretty fucking pussy,” he nodded as he pushed you back, throwing your legs over his shoulders as a rough thumb pressed against your clit, almost unsure if he wanted to use his fingers or mouth before he settled for both, his wet muscle toying with your entrance before plunging in, enveloping your gummy walls with his spit as his digit engulfed harsh circles around the sensitive nub.

Needy moans left your throat as you palmed at the hay below you, another hand buried in his hair, fingers digging into his scalp as your pussy rode along his tongue, chasing a desperate release.

His touch was electric, spreading zaps of energy throughout you, engulfing your spine as your back arched further at the torment of his tongue, his laps gargling against your slick as he teased you.

Feverish hands wrapped around the fat of your thighs, bruising touches doubling every sensation you felt as you mewled against him, bucking your hips as you chased your high.

Teeth grazed against your throbbing clit, the sensation almost overwhelming as you gasped out, full lips sucking the bud as you convulsed, the air thick with arousal as the breathy sounds of your moans sipped through the holes of the barn walls.

Rain slashed against the roof as you threw your head back, Gaz’s torture against your pussy stimulating every nerve in your cunt as you choked out, gasping for oxygen as you found yourself holding your breath, too focused on the pleasure he was wracking through you.

His assault was continuous, his muscle lapping at your heat, slick pooling below you as fingers tightened against the straw, scratching against your palm.

“Oh - fuck,” you whined, your voice raising an octave as pleasure coiled in your stomach, spindling through every muscle and nerve as your legs convulsed, your belly tightening until it snapped, sending your eyes rolling back as you clutched onto the bale below you, Gaz’s mouth moaning against your slit as you cried out.

Your actions were clumsy as you pushed his face away at the overstimulation, your clit swollen as you took in his pussy-drunk expression, full lips glistening with your arousal, a trail of spit dribbling down his chin as he smiled at you.

“Please fuck me,” you quipped, clutching onto his shoulder before a hand gripped at the tent in his pants, palming the aching member with need as he growled against your neck, nipping the tender flesh before his hands were at his belt.

Gaz nodded as you pulled him in roughly, your tongues lashing against each other as you hummed at the taste of yourself, the tangy feeling melting between your saliva as the Sergeant tore his slacks down his muscled thighs.

You broke the kiss, looking down at his member. He was longer than John with less girth, yet still staggering in size, the mushroom tip flushed a begging purple as silk pearls of pre-cum coiled down his aching length.

Needy hips aligned with yours as he flushed the tip against your folds, smirking at the gooey sounds of your wetness. You whined in anguish. You felt like you were in heat, your body craving your womb to be filled.

The burn stretched through you, your brows furrowing in pain as you pushed against his chest before his hands were against yours, soothing you as he kissed you, setting a bruising pace between your lips, his cock working through you inch by inch as you gasped.

“That’s it baby, relax for me. Good girl.”

His tone was soft as he praised you, working through the tightness of your gummy walls with ease before he bottomed out, heavy balls slapping against the crevice of your ass as your neck buried in the crook of his neck.

“Please, I need you,” you whimpered, lips nibbling at his neck, savouring the salty taste of his sweat before he chuckled, his hips bucking against your sweet spot, his tip kissing your cervix deliciously as he began to rock inside you, setting a slow pace as he felt every ridge against his cock.

His tongue was filthy as he spat out expletives, his pace quickening with every fleeting second as you bashfully choked out whines and moans into his skin.

“Taking me so fucking well, Jesus Christ.”

His strokes were brutal, rubbing against your cervix selfishly as your mouth sounded out babbles, your eyes rolled back as you felt the trickle of sweat pooling at the back of your knees.

The pleasure was white hot, engulfing you with demand as you submitted your entirety to him, falling limp as his hips slapped against your sensitive skin, his fingers tugging at your nipples through your slouched figure as you moaned.

His pace fastened once more before he grunted, pulling out as his cock pulsated with the need to cum. Your motions were sloppy as you gripped the shaft, knees buckling as you lifted yourself to the floor, his member coated with your slick as you hummed at the taste, tracing the veins with your tongue whilst another hand cupped his heavy balls, squeezing them with a gentle motion before gargling the remainder of his cock down the pillow of your mouth.

“Holy fuck,” he bucked, hips moving rhythmically before he spluttered out, his cum gushing down the naval of your throat as you coughed, swallowing down the thick liquid with a huff as the remainder dribbled out of your lip.

Gaz’s hand found your hair, stroking the sweat along your forehead as he pulled you up, resting you along the hay again before dressing you slightly, as well as himself, before tugging you into the plushness of his chest, lazy legs wrapping around his waist before he was jogging with you through the downpour of the rain.

Holy fuck balls I feel like my writing has gotten so SLACK!!!!!

[creepswrites]

Dear, writter

May i've a request for Thomas hewitt, Bubba Sawyer,bo Sinclair, Lester Sinclair, and Vince Sinclair, With a hot wife fem reader, I want to see their life being a father to a hot fem reader. Because that is my dream. 💫Fluff💫

Please.... Your writing is so gorgeous 💋💋 master 🌹🌹🌹

Thank you so much

From your followers:

@kawaistrawberry21

awww i'm glad you like my writing!! hopefully you enjoy this :D

SLASHERS with a F! S/O who is their hot wife

THOMAS HEWITT

Everyone in town was shocked when you and Thomas got married

Thomas included but he never said anything about it

His family thought you were way out of his league, Hoyt was never afraid to comment on this to your face

But you love Thomas, he was a good man

So when he'd finally, finally, proposed to you, of course you'd said yes

When he found out you were having his child? He was over the moon

Luda May was almost as overjoyed, already making arrangements for the baby's room, making clothes, etc

She couldn't wait to be a grandmother and Thomas couldn't wait to be a father

When the baby's due date was getting closer, you could tell Thomas was nervous about if the baby would come out looking like him

But you reassured him that, no matter what your baby looked like, you would love it the same way you loved him

He was good with the baby, so gentle and patient, always happy to help when it cried

If Hoyt ever tried to give either of you a hard time, Thomas actually violently defended you, sometimes tossing Hoyt across the room with one arm

He'd never let anything hurt you or your baby

BUBBA SAWYER

Like Thomas, everyone was surprised when you and Bubba got married

Though his family were far more excited about it! After all, their brother was quite the catch

You got along well with his family even before you moved in, with Chop Top and Nubbins always commenting to Bubba how lucky he was to have such a hot wife

It always made your husband get all flustered, babbling soft nonsense. He was cute

When you got pregnant, Bubba and the Sawyer family were over the moon

Family was extremely important to them and they were happy for you and Bubba

When Nubbins made a very ugly little hat for the baby, you accepted it but told him gently it'd be too big for their head but that you'd grow into it. He was excited about that prospect

Chop Top and Drayton helped Bubba set up the nursery so you could just relax

And when the baby was born, Bubba was so scared of holding something so fragile and precious

But you helped him, guiding his arms to hold the baby, and he was in shock and awe

He'd never thought he'd get married, much less to someone as gorgeous as you, and have a child together

Bubba was a nervous father, usually letting your kid get away with anything so you had to be the rule-setter when it came to the kid

His brothers were menaces when it came to babysitting their niece or nephew

But both you and Bubba were happy. He'd protect you both, no matter what

BO SINCLAIR

Honestly? This was a major win in Bo's mind

If you think he doesn't show off for you, you're wrong. That man takes every opportunity to

He also definitely flexed to his brothers about scoring the hottest wife ever

Of course, his brothers were very nice and respectful with you, though Bo wouldn't let them be too friendly

He's got a jealousy streak

Whenever visitors arrive to Ambrose, he's always got his arm around you or bragging about you when you're not around

He's whipped, you've got him wrapped around your finger

But when you tell him your pregnant, you're shocked at how scared he becomes

Of course, he doesn't show it visibly, but you know your husband and you can tell when he's nervous about something

Eventually, when he starts trying to pull away from you, you corner him and make him talk

Some yelling and fighting ensues but he caves, confessing he's scared he wouldn't be a good father. I mean, he didn't exactly have the best role model and he didn't want you or your babies to suffer for it

But you reminded him you were in this together and he'd relax a little

You had twins, because of course you did, but this only seemed to make Bo all the more anxious

He didn't exactly... know what to do with a baby? He'd never really been around infants so he's looking to you for help on this one

When they're a bit older though, he'll let them hang out in the auto shop with him when he works

One day you come home to find him asleep on the couch with the twins curled up on his chest and you just melt

He's a good dad and a good husband

VINCENT SINCLAIR

Vincent was shocked you'd said yes when he proposed

He didn't consider himself attractive in the slightest but you said yes?!

I mean, you were stunning, he'd stared at you constantly even when you were dating and it certainly didn't stop when you were married

Bo and Lester were definitely jealous, teasing him to see him get flustered over how lucky he was

Unlike Bo, when he found out you were pregnant, he was excited

Nervous, absolutely, but everyone is nervous when they're having their first kid

He's so wary for you though, nearly had you on bedrest the entire pregnancy because he feared the worst

One time he caught you standing on a chair to reach something and he nearly had a conniption

But the twins came - because of course they were twins - and were healthy and beautiful

Vincent is so gentle with them, like they're the most precious things in the world to them

He makes little wax sculptures for their room to decorate it

Definitely encourages and supports creative hobbies for the kids! He gets them finger paints and crayons and the like

You've woken up in the night because of the babies crying but Vincent is already up, ready to help

Vincent's mastered carrying them both with an arm each and its very cute

Sometimes you catch him holding one of the twins and humming softly to them as they sleep in his arms, just swaying together in the kitchen

You feel so lucky but he feels even luckier to have you and your kids

LESTER SINCLAIR

Lester is by far the most... stable? So you'd been instantly drawn to that about him

He'd always get so flustered, bringing you flowers and blushing like a madman while you were dating

It took him the longest to propose to you though, he always felt like you were waaaay out of his league

Visitors came and would gawk at you and he'd feel a twinge of jealousy at the reminder that yeah, you could have anyone

But he did propose to you and you said yes because you wanted him, not anyone else

Neither of you had any shame in PDA, often holding hands or kissing in front of visitors

You lived with Lester and Jonesy in a little house on the outskirts of the town, surrounded by trees and very peaceful compared to the horrors of Ambrose

It had actually been Lester who suggested having a kid or two running around. After all, he had two older brothers so he was used to that business in a house with lots of people living in it

Over time, the two of you would have two kids, but they weren't twins

Lester was a good dad too! He was attentive and loving but he didn't let them get away with too much

He'd teach them how to shoot when they were a bit older because it was a fond memory he had with his own dad

Of course, Lester didn't have the best dad to draw comparison to

But at least he knew what not to do. Surely that counted for something?

You'd come home from working a short shift to find Lester and the kids playing in the backyard, running about with Jonesy as they played soccer

Both you and Lester would do anything for your kids and you knew he'd do anything for you

[pickingupmymercedes]

“you’re so warm.” blurbs with lewis. reader is pregnant and the hormones is acting up so she's dying to give love bites on lewis' neck.

That was fun, maybe it has its own part 2 someday. Hope you like it anon!

"You're so warm"

The sun was beaming down on the sleek lines of their yacht, the Mediterranean Sea shimmering like it always did. Y/N, laid down on a chaise lounge in a breezy sundress, tried her best to relax.

Keyword: tried.

The reason for the unrest? Lewis, of course.

He was striding across the deck, phone on his hands, a mischievous grin plastered on his face, while he sported a pair of swim shorts, the kind that left very little to the imagination, and his adorned abs.

Y/N knew for a fact there were paparazzi lurking somewhere nearby, their long lenses trained on Lewis, as photos of their little summer getaway had already filled the gossip pages.

"Lewis?” she called out; her voice laced with mock sternness despite the fluttering in her stomach "care to explain why you're practically mooning the entire Italian coastline?"

Lewis chuckled, sauntering over to her with a playful strut "Just catching some rays, love" he winked. He leaned down, his warm breath tickling her ear. "Besides, who says I can't share the beauty with the world?"

Y/N raised an eyebrow and glared at him. He knew damn well what she meant. But still there he was, flaunting his abs to the world to see as she tried to hide the small, but very visible, tiny bump on her stomach.

"You are a menace," she mumbled, but couldn't help a smile tugging at her lips. He had been extra playful and carefree during the trip, a constant reminder of one of the many reasons she had chosen him.

"Jealous?" he teased, leaning in closer.

Y/N narrowed her eyes playfully. "You know I haven’t been the best at resisting you lately" she admitted, unable to tear her eyes from him, and succumbing to the urge of running her fingers across the expanse of his sculpted chest.

Lewis's grin widened. "Well then," he murmured, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper, "how about I give you a private show later?"

Y/N's whole face and neck flushed, her body temperature going up by at least a couple degrees. "Don't tempt me" she warned, though her voice lacked conviction.

Lewis raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge in his gaze. "You’re so warm, babe. Something the matter?"

Y/N responded with the mischievous glint in her eyes. The pregnancy hormones, their new constant source of amusement and occasional bewilderment, were at it again.

"As a matter of fact" she declared puffing out her chest. Reaching out, she pulled him to her on the lounger, his arms holding his weight just above her as she gently nipped at the exposed skin just below his ear, leaving a faint mark.

Lewis yelped, more in surprise than pain, his hand flying to the exposed skin of her thighs. "Babe" he exclaimed, his voice sounding just like a warning more than anything.

She giggled, the sound his favorite melody. "There," she said, feigning satisfaction. "Now everyone knows who you belong to."

Lewis mused her a grin "Alright, alright," he conceded, shaking his head but unable to hide his amusement. "You win this one, love." He pulled her close, her warmth enveloping him.

"What’s my prize?" Y/N murmured, nuzzling into his chest.

"Tell you later" he teased, nuzzling back.

______________________________________________________________

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[tonixe]

☆ KNY DEMONS x fem! upper moon reader

n.o.t.e.s - the sword arc was so delicious to watch literally, I just wanted to write something tbh. 📢

w.a.r.n - some crack energy, fluff, doma being a menace to society,

w.c. - 753

The strings of the biwa ranged throughout the infinite castle, summoning the upper moons to the castle.

From those few, you were already there due to Muzan's orders. You were trying to busy yourself playing with your h/c hair, waiting for the upper moons to span in.

It was pretty boring for you; you couldn't sit on the floor because of how uncomfortable it was because you managed to disobey his orders by helping some hashira. It was even a miracle that you didn't die because you managed to do it every time; some demons thought you were in a relationship with Muzan, so it wouldn't be surprising.

You were bored out of your mind, trying to converse with Nakime, "So Nakime wanna go out after this meeting" you chimed, clapping your hands together, looking at the biwa lady.

You lifted your head to see a upper moons before you, "That was quick," you murmured; you heard a familiar annoying voice saying your name.

"Y/N-chan," Doma's voice ranged out, his hand touching your shoulder; he irked everything in your body, "Did you miss me, y/n-chan" he gave you a toothy smile, and you looked at him with disgust.

"Don't be like that, Y/n-chan. Maybe we can go to my place and-' Soon, you found Doma's head on the castle's floor, thanks to Akaza.

His whole body was irked by Doma's presence, "Thank you, akaza" You gave him a smile that made Akaza blush, and his once-white face turned red.

You heard Doma's whines in the background calling your name

"It was no problem" he placed a hand behind his back, looking away from you.

You soon saw Daki and Gyutaro span in the castle, "Y/N!" Daki yelled at you before tackling you into a hug.

"Hey Daki" you smiled, patting her head.

"Y/N, I missed you," she sang out, burying herself into you, "Maybe if you're not busy, you we have a makeover," she exclaimed, "Sure," you smiled, "Daki, what about me" Doma whined.

"Go kill yourself, you perv," Daki yelled while protectively holding you, "Oh, hi Gyutaro" You smiled at him, and you waved at him supporting Daki's weight.

Gyutaro's cheeks turned light pink, and you giggled from the reaction.

Soon Daki got pulled away from you by her brother; the upper moon one caught your eye, and you walked up to him, "Hi, kokushibo" you exclaimed, he was mostly quiet, but you manage to get the word out of his mouth.

He looked at you briefly before muttering a 'hello' and walking away. You eventually saw Hantengu on the floor, cowardly to himself, and Gyokko talking to Doma with his regrown new head.

A swift wind made your h/c hair blow back as all the upper moons bowed to their demon lord, which appeared out of nowhere. You just stood there looking stupid, "Oh, Muzan finally you here; I was getting bored," you muttered still standing, crossing your arm, cocking your head at him.

The uppermoons were astonished at what you just said to Muzan, you're probably the only one that manage to get away with disrespecting Muzan without getting punished or even dying.

You saw Muzan's eyebrow switching at your comment; you smiled from the reaction.

He shot you a glare before your hand was force by what it felt like air to sit down but, which led to your face buried into the tatami floor.

It earned from sniggers from the upper moons before everyone was silenced by Muzan.

The meeting was quick and short by Muzan degrading all the upper moons except Kokushibo; your head was still stuck as you struggled.

You manage to get your head help by someone grabbing onto your waist and pulling you out of the floor. Whoever this hero was you were probably grateful, because Muzan manage to get your head really stuck to the floor.

But unfortunately for you, it was Doma, holding your waist. "Y/n-chan, we should do this more often" he exclaimed before you punched his head away from you.

Forcing his grip on your waist away before you whipped your head to the loud voice of Daki and Akaza charging to Doma's headless body.

"Get your hands off her, you pervert" Daki and Akaza yelled before jumping Doma.

There were crushing the stronger demon; you deadpanned at the sight. While the upper moons was busy, Gyutaro was laughing at seeing Doma being attacked by Akaza and his sister.

It was pure chaos.

[leclerced]

control | op81

summary: oscar and lando make a bet on who can last longer for no nut november. oscar’s girlfriend is not happy with the situation. inspired by this request that was supposed to be a quick blurb but turned into 2.6k by accident

warnings: 18+ minors dni. wrap it before u tap it! no real smut until the end and its quick and desperate sorry!

author’s note: i did not proof read this and was high writing so sorry for mistakes. i accidentally lost track of time writing this and i wanted to post tn so sorry for mistakes! i rly need to make a masterlist atp

Oscar and his girlfriend cannot keep their hands off each other, and Lando is kind of sick of having to cover for the two lovers when they sneak away during the race weekend. He can’t count on both hands anymore how many times he’s walked in on them in the midst of getting down and dirty, one of them on their knees or Oscar between her legs fucking her. The three of them grew unusually close because of it, with them whispering in his ear to cover for them while they sneak away instead of just disappearing like they did in the beginning of the season.

The three of them don’t realize it, but Lando has this way of staring at them like she’s the sun and he’s the moon and everyone is obsessed with the idea of them being a thrupple. Oscar was asked about it once, and said he hated questions about his personal life, and that he had to even say it, but no. He was not in a three way relationship with his teammate. Despite that, he loves knowing he’s got the hottest girlfriend on the grid and that everyone, including his teammate, wants her, but only he gets her. It ends up weird a weird dynamic between them, Oscar giving Lando too many details of all the things she lets him to do her, and come November, after walking in on them for the umpteenth time, Lando made a bet that Oscar can’t keep it in his pants for a month. Oscar said he could easily lie about it, but Lando brought up how she didn’t travel with him in the beginning of the year and he was an absolute menace compared to the angel he turned into after the first race weekend she attended. Oscar told him he wouldn’t go without sex for a month unless Lando did, and Lando corrected and said it’s no nut November, meaning no self supplied or otherwise, but he would do it because it wasn’t hard when he didn’t have a girlfriend at all, much less one as sex crazed and hot as Oscar’s.

They fucked like rabbits on Halloween and she assumed it was because he really liked the costume she’d worn, but come November first, he stopped being so affectionate. She didn’t notice it until the race weekend really got started and kept trying to spend his free time alone with him but he stayed by Lando’s side the entire time, even when she leaned in and whispered in his ear that she was dripping for him. His hand had tightened on her thigh and he quietly told her, not now, before focusing back on Lando on his other side.

The first and second time she excused him brushing off her advances. They were in the paddock the first time she tried pulling him away, she could excuse that because he was working. The second, they were at a club with Lando and she was trying to pull him away to the bathroom for a quickie after she had a few shots, she could excuse that because he didn’t want to get caught fucking in a bathroom in Brazil. But the third time, they were back at the hotel and she’d just brushed her teeth and showered, walked out of the bathroom naked and she crawled up his body, kissing his body through the sheets. He just rolled her off his body off his when she settled her hips on his and twisted her around to spoon her as he tugged the sheets over her. She thought he was going to fuck her like that, but she snapped when he yawned, pressed a kiss into her shoulder and mumbled goodnight. “Why won’t you let me touch you?” She demanded more than asked and he blushed.

“I- Lando and I made a bet on who could last no nut November longer.” She twisted back around and stared at him blankly, hands moving back towards his sweats as she asked, “Seriously, you’re not fucking me for a month over a trend? Why the fuck do you care if each other cums?”

Oscar didn’t have an answer so he shrugged weakly, “I don’t wonna lose. He’ll never let me live it down.”

She scowled, “No. I’m not going to let you live this down.” She rolled off of him before going to the bathroom, “I’ll fuck myself, since you won’t.”

He rushed off the bed to follow her to the shower, thinking even if he couldn’t cum, he could still make her cum, but she’d shut and locked the door behind her.

She tortured him for the next two weeks, locking the bathroom when she showered and refusing to let him join her even just to wash her hair. She wouldn’t let him pull her into his lap, wrap his hands around her waist, but then they’d be back at the hotel and make out on the couch. He tried touching her, but she pulled his hands away and told him, “If I can’t touch you, you can’t touch me.” She’d end up holding his hands behind his head so he couldn’t touch her as she kissed him until he was achingly hard in his sweats and then she’d pull away, retreat into the little bedroom of the suite, and fuck herself with her fingers, the door hanging open as an invite to come in and join.

All three of them were getting frustrated, it was obvious with Lando and Oscar during the race in Brazil even though it had only been five days. Oscar was used to going back to his hotel and fucking his girlfriend until they passed out, used to being pulled away to closets and bathrooms so they could feel each other up and if they were daring enough, he would fuck her like she begged. Fans noticed Oscar trying to pull her into his arms in the background of some livestream and she pulled herself free of him and sat in the free chair next to his teammate. People went crazy thinking the couple was having a fight, even though she was there at the finish line with his team to congratulate him with a kiss.

Then there was the race in Vegas, just over halfway through the month, and she’d been planning the entire trip and a new wardrobe for it. She’d been ordering things and having them shipped to a friend in California who then drove her entire Vegas wardrobe from LA to Vegas for her. Oscar had no idea what was planned, but she’d teased him when she shyly admitted she was going all out with her outfits when they went out. She suddenly seemed less shy about the money she’d spent when she leaned in and kiss his neck for the first time in three weeks and whispered, “Too bad you won’t get to see half of it.”

He’d choked out a single word, why? She giggled and pulled back, “Well, I bought a lot of lingerie for this weekend. I thought we would be having fun, but you and your teammate have ruined them for me.” Her eyes were suddenly dark and he was blushing and kicking himself for still not really wanting to give up on the bet. He had a few weeks left, he was halfway there, and if he gave up now then the last two weeks of torture were for nothing. And because Lando wouldn’t let him live it down, he would tease him about being young and not being able to handle it, not being able to control himself. He wanted to prove to himself more than anyone that he could do it now, he’d gotten it stuck in his mind that if he could somehow resist the woman on his lap for a month, he could do anything.

It was bad.

She was practically playing dress up in their hotel room the night before the race, she didn’t even pause the movie as she pulled the suitcase into the room and stripped down after unzipping it.

“I thought you said I wasn’t going to see them?” He asked as she pulled out a small bag and retrieved a set in the same baby pink silk as the bag. She watched herself in the mirror as she put it on, then turned to him.

She had a wicked look in her eyes as she grinned, “I decided I didn’t want them to go waste.”

He clenched his teeth and forced his gaze back to the movie as she stripped back out of the set and retrieved a new one. She tried on dresses between sets, tried them on with different bras and pressed her breasts together to see which bra complimented which dress the most. He’d forgotten about the movie despite trying to keep his focus on it, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off her for longer than a few seconds.

She kept glancing at him in the reflection in the mirror and wondered if he could see her watching him. She could see him getting hard through his sweats, especially when he shifted and adjusted himself in his sweats. Oscar squeezed himself once before he pressed his hand back into the cushion like he forgot his self imposed restriction. She wanted him to lose control already. She was on the verge of dropping to her knees and begging for him, she needed him so badly. She was on the verge of not being able to make herself cum when she tried to convince him by touching herself in the next room with the door wide open. He had broken her and he wasn’t even trying to. She didn’t want him to touch her because every time he put his hands on her body, she felt the ache between her thighs grow then she was reminded of his stupid bet and she got angry. Horny and angry was a bad combination when angry sex was off the table because all sex was off the table. Every fibre of her being ached for him and her heart was breaking a little as she watched him watch her and do nothing.

She stripped out of the black dress she’d just tried on and was left in the papaya set she’d ordered for the race night. Oscar watched as she stretched the fabric over her hips and ass and let it pool to her feet before she turned to him. He shouldn’t have been surprised that she bought lingerie in his team color, or that it looked better on her than it did on his car, or his suit, or anything else McLaren branded it with. They should just put her in his car, in that lingerie set, and they’d make fucking millions off one photo. He was certain of it.

He found his heart was racing as she slowly walked towards him then straddled him, her fingers automatically curled into his hair as she brushed her lips against his. “Bought this for your race tomorrow,” she whispered, and he dug his fingers into the couch cushions by her legs. He wanted to touch her so badly, but after two weeks, he knew the new rule she’d imposed. She pressed her lips to his softly and he automatically kissed her back, leaning into her as he sighed. It was the first time he’d touched her all day other than when she woke him up with sleepy kisses and made him get out of bed and go to work. She’d stayed at the hotel then went out shopping and met with the friend who brought the suitcases, so he didn’t see her until he returned to the hotel and she had room service hot and ready for him.

She let him deepen the kiss and pleasantly tugged on his hair, eliciting another sigh from his lips. Oscar felt dizzy as she sucked on his lower lip then bit it teasingly, tugging it back and letting it go to pop against his upper lip before she kissed him again. He was paralyzed as she began rocking her hips against his, the pussy he had been dreaming about pressed up against his cock as she pressed herself into him.

Oscar reveled in the feeling for a moment before hanging his head back against the cushion, abruptly ending their kiss. She whined and chased his lips before settling on his jaw before she moved down his neck. He let out a shaky breath as her teeth scratched against his skin and she sucked softly. Her hips gained more momentum and he moaned, “Fuck, stop.” He could already feel himself growing close just from her grinding on him and kissing his neck, he wasn’t going to last much longer.

She licked softly at his neck before sighing blissfully, “Make me.” Her hips continued rocking against him, each roll of her hips was sending him into a frenzy. He hadn’t been touched in two weeks and he had reverted back to a horny teenager about to cum in his pants.

His fingers dug into the sofa and he gritted his teeth, “You said I can’t touch you.”

She nipped at his throat before humming, “Nothing’s stopping you.” She slowed her hips a little then swiveled them a few times, making his abs twitch under his shirt.

Oscar’s knuckles turned white as his grip tightened, “If I touch you, I’m gonna fuck you.”

She moaned at his words as she rubbed herself against him before brushing her lips against his as she teased, “I guess we’re at an impasse then, you can’t touch me, and I can’t stop touching you.” Her lips met his again as he moaned and rocked his hips into hers. She pressed down in the same motion and he suddenly grabbed her hips and flipped them over, “Fuck you.” He groaned, pushing his sweats down with one hand and tugged the papaya panties to the side. She’d had the panties on for mere minutes and they were soaked, so he had no problem pressing his cock inside of her without any prep before hand. She pulled his hair harshly when he pushed in without any warning, but the sudden pain of his cock stretching her faded into pleasure as he began fucking her with an urgency she hadn’t seen in him before. Neither of them could say anything as they gasped and moaned into each other’s mouths, his thumb found her clit and in less than two minutes she was yanking his hair again as he pushed her over the edge. The pain of her pulling his hair and the pleasure of her cumming around him sent him spiraling over the edge and his entire body shook with his orgasm as he filled her with his cum. He collapsed onto her after their orgasms washed over them and laughed as he buried his face in her neck. “I’m sorry, that was stupid of me.”

She nodded and curled her legs around him , “It was. I would hate you for it if you hadn’t given up right now. I would have gone and made Lando cum first just to get you to fuck me, if you hadn’t just now.”

Her words were teasing, but Oscar heard a bit of truth behind her words and he laughed, “I think you should do that still. Make him think I won the bet.”

She laughed, her chest pressing into his as she pet the back of his head lovingly, “You want to win so bad you’d let me go make your teammate cum?”

He shrugged, “It’s just Lando, he’d probably last thirty seconds cause he’s had a crush on you since you met. Probably feel like he won just because you tossed him off.”

She flushed at the thought of his teammate crushing on her, “He has?”

Oscar rolled his eyes even though she couldn’t see him, “You don’t notice him watching you constantly? Haven’t seen the way he looks at you?”

She huffed, “I should say the same about you and him, you look at him the way you look at me.” Oscar was glad she couldn’t see his face as it heated up and he changed the subject back to her, “You really don’t notice him watching you? What about Charles?”

Her eyebrows raised at the mention of the Monegasque and she squeaked, “Cha?”

He huffed this time, “You want to fuck all my friends?”

She blushed again and whined, “You’re the one who said I should make Lando cum.”

He laughed, “Mhmm, still think you should. I don’t want to lose. But like tomorrow morning, before I have to go to work so he won’t know I fucked you just now when he sees me happy tomorrow.”

[astralnymphh]

𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬.

summary: you and ellie have been living on this farm for at least a year now, tucked in the towering mountains of wyoming and just a quaint trek from jackson. just you and her. you, her, the sun, and the moon. what could today entail? what makes this midsummer's day so special?

reader discretion advised: nsfw, mdni, proposal, picnic, somewhat proofread, sexual jokes, takes place before santa barbara, sucking on fingers(almost choking on them), fingering (receiving), almost-oral (receiving), dirty talk, doing the deed in nature. footnotes: word count (4.2k), masterlist, palestine masterpost, read this, written circa 2023. (hence the writing style change)

it's another day on the farm, yet like no other. it's harvest season, and your crops have got you cut out of your day and preoccupied. plucking fruit and tugging vegetables from the lavish soil in your garden with a certain ellie onlooking from your dusty oak porch. she's observing you in your most natural nature, tending to your art, the garden, and supplying you with a bountiful reaping of food for the inbound month.

there lay a tract of terrain beyond your fences, this beautiful pasture gilded in a magnificent solar ray every afternoon, and ellie's got an itching to bring you there today. with your knees sewn in the dirt surrounding a planter bed, wicker basket beside you and snapping blueberries off their stems, it's got you in a pretty tranquil state that doesn't include the awareness of ellie watching. so when dual warm hands plant on your biceps, it jolts you by instinct.

"how's the harvest babe?" ellie's silhouette looms over you and the berry bush, eyeing the pile of blueberries cradled in the basket, "looks good, when will you be done though, d'you think?" a smirk adorns her lips.

"umm.." your fingers pinch a lone berry, "I haven't gotten to the vegetables yet.." you remind her and yourself, rolling the navy berry between your fingertips.

ellie crouches behind you, "do you haaave to harvest everything now?" she whines, wrapping her lithe arms around your shoulders akin to a sloth and rocking you along with her see-saw motion.

"yes els, if you want food." a quaint giggle erupts from your chest. 

"but we have food, babe. our pantry is full of it." ellie attempts to coax you, voice pitching at the brink of her sentence. her lips brush the hairs on your nape and leave damp marks of adoration.

"did you come out here just to distract me?" your mouth creeps into a sheepish smirk, extending your hand out to pluck the last cluster of berries.

"you can tell me to stop." her pecks don't falter, dotting the length of your placid shoulders, "should I stop?" the question phases through you like a tantalizing breeze.

a melody thrums from your hum, eyes drifting closed in the blissfulness that is her velvety lips, puckering against your jawline and tickling your skin slightly with her hair. 

"els! that tickles.." you shrug your shoulder against your ear, nudging ellie's face off.

"so.. stop?" she reiterates and streams her steady palms down upon your hips.

you plant two cupped hands over her legs that now settle on both sides of you, whirling slowly to face her and furrowing your brows, "you're a menace. what happened to your little art project you started this morning?" 

"well, I saw my wife working outside and just had to join." she draws out an emphasis.

"wife? wife? we aren't married."

"not like we can have a wedding, so I just declare it." her lips resume to your neck, chafing that earthy auburn hair against your cheek.

"you didn't even propose or anything." 

"'chn ch-nge th-t." ellie's speech muffles in your collar, tender grips hugging the crests of your hips.

you don't catch her inaudible words, "huh?" you question, grasping the woven handle of your basket and returning it to your line of sight beside ellie's splayed leg.

"nothin'." her raspy voice clarifies as her head peeks up, melting foreheads and poking nose tips together.

you connect constellations dotting her cinnamon freckles with your eyes, trickling down and charting her coral lips. a smile tints yours, whispering, "what'd you wanna do today?"

"hmm?" her visage turns bumbled, "I never mentioned any-"

"you always bother me when y'want to do something.." you interrupt her, earning a hung-open-jaw look from her as she withdraws from your space.

she heaves, yet a cheeky nasal-lined smile summons on her midface, "you.. know that clearing in the woods, back there?" she juts her head in a vague direction, thumb swiping over her bottom lip.

you glimpse at the distant fence ellie points her head to and nod in understanding.

her hand lands on her thigh, "why don't we have a picnic there?" she offers, prodding your elbow with her raised knee.

"you trynna woo me, els?" you tease, easing your hand on her swaying knee.

"baabbee.." she whines, pleading for an answer that sounds a lot like 'yes'.

her whining casts a reminisce to this morning, you clawing your way out of bed, sorry, out of her locked embrace as you tried to prepare for the day. her tousled auburn hair buried in your chest, fingers drawing shapes on your back, pressing her bare torso against your side and begging for you to stay in bed.

"baabbbee.." her soft wail echoed.

"ellie, I gotta get up." her ardent skin was caressing yours and legs intertwined in a knot.

"nuh-uh, no you're not." ellie snorted and further tightened her bear hug to your demise.

"baby, we needa get out of bed, it's harvest day." you coaxed with a cherished kiss to her crown, weaseled only an inch from her before you got lulled back in.

her lengthy limbs, damn those things, can trap you well and remain unmoving. she only wore her nude toned underwear to bed last night, and you a lace panty. not a moment of your memory is blurred, in fact, what took place last night was well etched in your brain. ellie reeks of sex and so do you, she has traces of jasper red scratches on her back to prove it.

"need you babe.." she reaches for your furled hand, sowing soft and needy kisses on your knuckles.

you sighed and just gave up, curled your body with her and combed solace rows into her jumbled mullet.

"so, what do you say?" her voice in reality reels you in, breaking your chain of rememberance.

you take a gander at her features momentarily before deciding, "yes- sure, picnic sounds good." without hesitation.

"good, cause I'm fuckin' famished." ellie's face slants towards yours, her devious fingers slithering beside her, snatching up a blueberry and popping it in her mouth.

you spot this in your peripherals, "ey! don't eat my berries!" you chuckled.

"your berries? there's only one- two berries of yours that I know of, I'm actually quite acquainted-"

you lightly smack the silly smirk off her lips, fraudly disgusted by her immaturity, "you're so inappropriate!"

"not like anyone's gonna hear.." she ovalizes her lips and gusts the linear bang from her cheek.

"you're weird." you roll your eyes prior to standing up with the scratchy basket handle tucked in your elbow.

ellie follows suit, her hand wrapping and clutching yours loosely, "c'mon, I'll help you make the food." her stature stands a few inches above you, wriggling her bottom lip to the side in a crooked peculiar smile that invites those signature dimples to play.

you shun your pupils to the back of your head, giving her the once-over before pacing through the backdoor with her all giddy in hand.

the iridescent glade comes into view as you're strolling towards it, ellie adjacent to you equipped with a basket in hand and worn out bookbag on her back. you haven't ventured into the woods much after moving here, but with no signs of infected in months you simply deem it safe. she hasn't taken you out like this anyways, not for a while. the last time was her birthday, since it only occurs on special occasions, so why today?

ellie fashions a proud smile shrouded by you being slightly ahead of her, definitely holding hands but you're too thrilled to explore this parcel of forest to take notice. she wore joel's buckskin leather jacket over a plaid shirt, usual jeans with slits in them and sturdy brown boots.

"hurry up babe! I can see it already.." you exclaim with a bounce to your step, swinging her arm around to usher her feet swifter.

a laugh enchants her, "i'm right behind you.. the spots' not goin' anywhere." she assures you calmly trailing a chuckle, but inside, her heart is blooming with beats and sending shrills of tension through her nerves. her mind was up to something.

"it's right there!" you steam off a squeal of elation just seeing the open pasture. the grass is of a radiant jade shade, smothered in a divine ray of sun casting down on it, it looks like it came straight from elysian fields itself. you tear from ellie's hold and dash towards the glade with eagerness.

"babe!" ellie shouts but not without a following chuckle, adoring the pure felicity you expressed brought by this mere sight of nature. she trots after you with a bit of struggle from all the baggage she carried.

you halt just as you reach the center of the glade, staring at the trees surrounding and the canopy provided by their outstretching branches creating crown shyness, all with a bright beam spread across your lips.

ellie catches up with you and sets the basket on the ground, observing the space in detail, "y'want it right here?" she peels the bookbag from her shoulders and tosses it to the grass.

"mhm.." you pump your head in agreement and swivel away from her, admiring the spires of bark and fauna that look like they came from a painting.

she unzips the bag in one swoosh, yanking out a slightly frayed, faded and old beige cotton blanket with little embroidered florals along the hem. ellie dusts it off and thrashes out all the crinkles, laying it flat against the earth and smoothing out all the ripples.

you tilt your head over to witness her squatting down, pulling various objects from the bag and hesitating before she places them down. she appeared to be deep in thought, decorating the empty canvas of a blanket like it was important to her.

ellie's forehead tauts, an arrangement of fine china at her feet, "does this plate look better here.. or here?" her voice chromatically turns gravelly.

"it looks good anywhere.."

"yeah- but I want it to look perfect for you." 

"..." you stare with an amused grin.

"hmm, what's so funny?" she coos and hones her focus on you while carefully tossing the plate to one corner of the blanket.

"just you.. you're goofy." you comment with a dim-witted smile.

her gaze narrows and bares her teeth in a matching dumb smirk, tutting her head, "you wanna see goofy?" she challenges you and crawls closer.

"no, I wanna see a set-up picnic. don't get distracted." you tease and parry her with a nudge from your foot resting on her collarbone.

"tch, okay- okay." she leans back on her heel, hastily creating the idyllic picnic with your help. 

soon, you're cuddling between some small pillows, bowl of dark rosewood cherries to your right and a knitted blanket draped over your bodies. 

ellie lies beneath you, her legs cradling yours and advancing her fingers to the bowl of delectable cherries. she picks one up and hovers it above your lips, beckoning you to bite it. 

"what d'you mean we can't get more sheep?" she wheezes a whimsical laugh, chest jittering underneath your back.

"we already have a dozen, babe." you sink your teeth into the cherry and yank it from the stem, juices oozing over the hill of your chin.

"i have more names for them in mind!"

"you can't even get the names of our current sheep right." 

she flicks the leftover stem into the patch of grass, "uh- yes I can!" she scoffs and jossles her woody auburn locks up a bit.

"sure babe." you goggle.

you allow the conversation to diminish in peaceful serenity, before raising the interrogation, "why'd you bring me here today?" you shuffle atop her, jabbing her palm to keep feeding you. you're spoiled.

ellie snickers and leverages her hand towards the bowl once again, dangling a cherry from between her fingertips. her throat gritts harshly as she clears it, "i.. have something to show you.." her tone lingers on the vowels.

"oh?" a hint of subtle enthusiasm curls in your voice, "got me a present?"

"you'll see, just- get up." she heaves you upwards and hops onto her feet alongside you.

you clasp hands behind your back, a bit of a bumbled facade shadowing your expression when she just stands still like a statue. "umm.. is it not a present?"

"turn around." her lips curve into a mischievous glint across those pretty rosy lips.

"what the fuck are you gonna pull-"

"turn around!" ellie's grin broadens as she gestures to you to spin 'round on your heel, eliciting a dorky giggle from you.

you cave in and twirl on the tip of your shoe, mindlessly gazing heavenward to the scattered wisping clouds.

"you remember the day we started dating?" her voice flows past you, seeming to erupt from a lower stance like she was crouched.

"uh, vaguely." 

this bestows a throaty chuckle from ellie, "and you remember what I gave you when I.. confessed?" 

"yeah, you gave me bent daisies that you tore from the poor ground." you bash her, one brow inclining up your head.

"i'm not a botanist." she nicks the rear of your ankle, shambling against the fabric-veiled grass.

a tingle sprints up your leg at this contact, making you shy away from it slightly. a specter of stillness corrodes the air, so you perk, "can I turn now?"

"yes." ellie's speech trembles yet is laced with certainty, planting a seed of curiosity in your noggin.

you teeter over slowly like a creaking wheel, pupils hastening down to materialize ellie in your mind, propped by a knee, the other raised, pinching a tiny flock of daisies with their honey pistils staring back at you. her face bruising of an apple hue to her skin behind those sun specks, her verdant rings peering from those lashes and a brazen half-moon to her strawberry lips. they part as the realization begins to plague you,

"will you be my wife?"

your body goes hollow and nerves wrack up in shock, an elusive beam of emotions vibrate in your heart and collide your shaken knees to the blanket. a hand quivers against your mouth, the words stolen from you. the love just boils over.

"els- i.. i.." the boulder in your throat clogs, managing to swallow it up and brim you with warm tears, "yes.. yes!"

she practically springs up and coalesces with you, arms wrapped around you and elevating you off the ground with blazing elation. you feel her wide smile plastered against your lips as they make merry, smoothing out to drag her lips over yours in a fervid kiss.

she parts, "no ring but.. we don't need that, right?" 

"mhm, don't need it.." you sever your weight from your feet to her, sticking close, "I love you.. so much." 

"love' you too baby.." she hankers down and sits criss-cross in front of you, easing you into her splayed lap. "now i can call you my wife."

"should we have our own little wedding? just us, like, as if it's some ritual or.. stating our vows or.. handfasting and declaring our love before empty seats.." you ramble nonsensically, assuming it just whooshes right over ellie's head.

"we have our picnic here," she opens her arms to signify the space around you, "we can tie that all up here, including the honeymoon!"

"hmm, 'weird that you mention the honeymoon. I think you said that so it happens now."

"no! I'm just.. throwing stuff to see what sticks.." she diffuses a dumb visage, knitting her brows together.

"i think you wanna get a fuck on in the forest." you leer in your suspicions and creep over her body till' she meets back to ground.

"and if you guess right? would you?" her demeanor shifts to boot a seductive one.

ellie still had some drive in her, even to last night's depictions. the way her lean vein lined arms are still pumping with detectable lust, yearning for your body in ways that should be bound to the bedroom only, but she doesn't give a fuck. she needs to fuck. a fucking given to her. 

"fuck yes I will." you grind your pelvis longingly on her thigh, kneading your confined bud in one long swipe, a good start-up.

not an inhale later and ellie already has her jacket reeled off by the sleeves, a series of stripping set in motion when her shirt's buttons get popped one by one.

you follow through with one sweep of your top over your crown, tethering the bare skin surrounding your bra to the midsummer breeze, giving you a hare of raised bumps that are quickly cured by ellie's ardent skin adjoining yours. 

her lips suture themselves to your plender gap, lapping at the groove of your collarbone delicately while her keen hands roam your legs, squeezing the soft plush padding of your inner and outer thigh with her fingers.

"I'm gonna make you feel.. s'fuckin' good.." she whispers in hushed mists of heat, sanguineous nibbles forging up your chin and gluing your lips together in a lustful frenzy.

"I need you ellie.. now.." you intone against her captivating lips and take hold of her wrist, guiding it to cusp your bra-clad breast.

"so bold of you.." she rewards a praise, tucking her nimble fingers behind the clasp of your bra and pinching it free. her hands tug the straps from your arms and whisk them away to some unknown plot of grass. 

the course of wind grazes past your nipples, making you shiver. you watch her pupils dilate at the sight of your two perky buds reacting to the breeze.

"mm- fuck.. love these." ellie's mouth latches to one of your breasts, suckling the nipple lavishly with a damp suction and playing the other one like a flip-switch lightly with her thumb.

the barely-there feeling of her thumb summons a flurry of carnal want in your core, preluding to your now lubricious panties sopping for physical attention. this seeps through and forms a miniscule spotting on your inseam.

the hand that still had a gripe on your thigh fleets to your crotch, distinguishing this faint blot of wetness, welcoming a proud smirk to dent her midface, "fuckin' wet already.." her voice rasps hauntingly, "gonna get my fingers all pruney.." 

you chafe in desire against her stationary digits, making her snatch them away and repel your pelvis with a push.

"nuh-uh, pants off first."

her face displaces from your hanging breasts, creasing the blanket back up and crunching the grass to gaze back at you. she peruses your zipper and deftly unfastens it to pull your pants down with a might. once they're off, her hands zip into the underside of your knees, flipping you over and mountaineering over you with an undeniable hunger in her manner.

"ellie!" an entranced giggle beams from your throttle, low-key turned on by the daring action.

"god, really soaked these huh?" her voice flows in a higher pitch, referring to your ocean-drowned underwear.

"yeah.. you did that.." 

"mhmmm~” she vocalizes behind shut lips, “don't think I even need to remove 'em to taste you.." 

you witness her descending into the depths between your legs, biting down her cushiony lips and nearly salivating at the front-row seat view to your sobbing cunt. her own arousal starts to stain her own panties and even little riffs of repressed whimpers vibrate from her lips. she graces you with one pour-over before smashing her mouth against your clothed slit, puffing a humid cloud over your entrance and licking up the seeped puddle of slick.

you jerk in sudden sensation, "babe! oh~ fuck!"

"yup, tastes so fucking good." she's like a beast to your crotch, slathering the soiled fabric with even more wetness likes she's fucking starving. her forehead is taut and eyebrows flit in concentration, you can already hear the eulogy ringing for your soon destroyed pussy.

your fingers nest in her hair, massaging and stamping into her scalp at the pure feeling of her tongue, you need her in indescribable ways, "need your fingers ellie.. need u're.. need.." you chant in fleeing breaths.

she grumbles in swelling arousal and unlatches from your puffy slit, brazen giggle chilling her throat at the sight of your avidness.

she huffs, "kay, gonna take these off.." ellie anticipates the moment she gets to stuff your pretty pussy to the brim, drowsy eyes never drifting from the lace concave between the valley of your lips. she slews those panties off instantly and brings them down to your ankles, making sure they'd never be found among the meadow around you.

you spread your legs for her sights to soak in, burgeoning a redness to her face like time and time again, a satisfied grin tugging the corners of her lips.

she sticks two ready fingers in her mouth, moistened them up, "gonna make you see stars, hmm babygirl?" 

you gnaw your lips inwards at her affirmation, eyeing the route her hand takes from mouth to lower regions, forking your slit open and running them clit to hole, hole to clit, repetitively. this coats her digits in a glistening film of your arousal, visibly pleasing her.

"mm- that fucking sound.." the parting of your drenched folds entices her ears like a melody, "hear that baby?" ellie's voice chimes in a honeyed whisper.

"yes.. yes.." your essence shudders in her thrall, vulnerability afflicted by your neediness.

ellie beholds your figure in one final glance before aiming on your center and jamming duo digits in your aching pussy that vacuums her up with the help of your dripping nectar overflowing at the base of her knuckles. you wallow in the gratifying gauge she has brought you to, a fluxing whine tinting your tongue.

"good girl.. taking my fingers in so nicely.."

you contract around her, letting her know how much those words truly thrill you and she rebounds by thrusting her fingers in and out of you at a sluggish pace.

your jaw quivers open in the whirling ecstasy that begins to dribble into your void brain strictly honed on the pumping motion of her willowy fingers.

"hmm.." a visualization prompt in her noggin convinces a plan to unravel by her hand snailing to your mouth, luring it ajar, "open babe." 

you obey with moving lips, flattening the plateau of your tongue beneath her fingers.

"like this don't you? mm- fuck." ellie grunts seeing you engulf her paired index and middle in your warm mouth without a gloom of delay splitting your will. her other fingers meddle with the crux of your delight, sloshing with every insert of her lengthy fingers piping you.

"oh my heaven on eart- auck.." a spastic cough tickles your throat around her digits.

"just suck baby.. just suck." 

you resolve your words and pucker your lips down, swirling your tongue around her still fingers. muffled vibrations of moans string out around them, rattling your teeth.

each flick of her skilled wrist occurs in short breaks, meanwhile pumps hasten inside of you, thumb unfurling to patten down your clit in rigid circles. she coos, "gonna cum on my fingers?" in reply to your writhing contentment.

"fast- fhster.." you shear your chords forcing a plead on fingers narrowly itching the back of your gullet.

"awhh, u're such a mess." her hand forceps your jaw, locking her fingers wedged between your front teeth.

"guh- mmmm!" your body shrivels in unfathomable bliss and an inbound phantom orgasm overwhelming your senses.

ellie starts snapping her hand at an aggressive velocity that slaps against your swollen folds with wet smacks striding the open air, scrunching her nose up at the sheer speed she’s going.

"cum baby- cum.." 

"I- ahh.."

"soak my fuckin' fingers, soak them in that pretty fucking pussy." she encourages in husky mewls, finger pads jostling your g-spot in a rhythm that drugs your mind with numbness, repeating, "cum for ellie.. cum for me.." 

you swear your walls convulse prior to tightening up like a wringed towel and releasing a stinging orgasm upon you, growling on her fingers still present on your tongue.

"ghnnnn.. fck!" you curl up in pleasure and screw your eyes shut. this orgasm hits you like a bullet train and it shows in practice, clawing and digging your mark on ellie's available wrist with clamoring wails from the sanctum of your chest.

"yeah? so fucking hot.." she notes to herself in a low navelly tone, slipping her sticky fingers out trickling in your juices.

you chase your breath stranded in another galaxy, "can't feel my.. legs.. fuck, ellie, where'd you come from?" you quip in emphasis, face still beating red like a volcano.

"from boston, precisely." she sneaks in a dorky response.

"shut up.." you knock on her head with your foot, gasping when she grabs it and plants it on her shoulder.

she bucks her hips into your ass, squeezing her torso between the basin of your legs, levitating overhead. there's a solace moment of a love-staring-contest casting those green circlets infused with devotion and appreciation. staring back up into those eyes assures you, she's home, she's heaven and she's never leaving you. although, ellie, like the freak she is, breaks the innocent moment, "think this'll continue in the bedroom?." she peppers a solemn kiss to your forehead hazed in underlying intention.

"probably, knowing you."

"knowing me what?"

"you know." 

"I don't."

"ellie!"

"we'll find out, hmm?"

[tadpolesonalgae]

Blood-borne

Azriel x reader

synopsis: When reports of attacks from strange beasts increase up in the desolate Illyrian Steppes, both Azriel and Cassian are tasked with clearing out the malicious creatures. But when Azriel is bitten by one and sweats break out, the High Lord realises perhaps he should have put more time into investigating the ancient species. More specifically, why the attacks started after a millennia’s worth of peaceful cohabitation, and what the consequences will be of their venom once again mixing with Illyrian blood.

warnings: blood, illness, eventual vampire! Az, generic healing descriptions

a/n: so this started off with I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead, then switched to Lust For A Vampyr, and finally ended with Sour Switchblade. Who knows where the next one will start 😔

word count: 7,975

It’s the dead of night. Peaceful. 

The moon is high in the sky—a gleaming, crooked, slash of a smile—and the city is dark, revelling in the beloved starlight far above, twinkling like millions of glazed, porcelain teeth, cast into a murky black sea and stitched into the heavens. Your windows are ajar, a cool night breeze circulating your chambers, keeping the air fresh and crisp even while you sleep. 

Azriel and Cassian will return in the early morning, eager to be rid of Illyria as soon as possible. Between the two of them Azriel will likely be the one more insistent on a swift departure, though you can’t imagine him ever voicing his distain. Luckily Cassian will be there to pick up on his non-verbal signals. 

You’ll have to check in with Feyre too, make sure she’s recovering well after her birth. Physically, the damage was extensive—if it wasn’t for the healing blood in her veins and Nesta’s intervention… Your fingers pinch the bridge of your nose, rubbing to soothe the growing headache before your arm slides across your face, elbow hanging crooked over your brow. She’s been on the mend but it’ll be a long while yet before she can even think about shifting again; longer yet before she can fly. As for her son…he’s healthy. Practically brimming with life. Everyone’s seen the twinkle in his round eyes. You’re certain he’ll grown into a menace soon enough. 

As for Elain… 

Guilt is a ball of iron in your chest. With everything that’s been happening as of late there’s been little time for either you or Madja to keep a proper eye on her. You just hope the two of you haven’t been too preoccupied with the more obvious matters to disregard the internal ones. It’s hard to gauge where she’s at, and you often have to rely on Nuala’s reports to hazard a guess at what might be going through the young female’s mind. Externally, she’s doing exceptionally well—keeping herself busy: baking, reading, walking, gardening, knitting, sewing, stitching, studying. She keeps herself fresh and put together, skin healthy and strong, hair lustrous and long, a vivid glow about her. No eye-bags nor sallow complexion, she communicates with the twins fine and only has rare days of reclusion where she retreats to her bedroom. By all means she’s doing well. 

It’s worrying. 

There’s so much to keep an eye on within this family, so many minor tensions to understand—more so than any other setting you’ve been placed in. Each day has its own set events to overcome, a new detail to examine, whether that’s a shift in expression as another family member enters the room or as blatant as the simmering hatred that so nastily permeates any room the High Lord and his eldest sister-in-law, Nesta, are placed in. 

Inhaling a dragging breath, your focus slips to the raindrops glittering over the window pane, the piercing light of the moon shimmering like tiny stars, the inky darkness of the city itself reflected upward from below like tight, vicious pupils, hundreds of tiny eyes pressed up to the glass. 

A thunderous crash comes from the floor below, the thump pulsing once through your chest, jerking you awake. 

At once your feet find the cool wooden floorboards, a nightgown strung over bare shoulders, not a second of movement wasted before the glowing faelight is cupped in your palm and the cold iron of the door handle is twisted, opening up into the yawning darkness of the corridor. A gust of rain-soaked wind funnels down the hallway, whipping hair from your face and the faelight flickers, shuddering once before pushing back against the looming shadows crowding the space. 

You hug your thin nightgown tighter, hurrying barefooted down the hall to the staircase, skin tightening to gooseflesh as a second gust of icy wind flushes through the house, howling from the front door that is cast wide. The rug is soaking beneath your feet as you press it closed, following the low light at the far end of the corridor to the kitchen, tiles colder than ice and soaked in puddles of water. 

Blood roars through your ears, pausing only for a second of analysis as you take in the rain-soaked scene. Shards of ceramics scatter the floor, a body splayed across the dining room table, two figures stood either side. It’s all you have time for before rushing forward, only now catching the sickening tang of iron in the air, the wind having previously blown the scent away and you tap the fae light twice in your palm before releasing it high above the slumped figure on the table. It’ll have to do for now. 

Sour, pale-yellow light fills the dining room and blood gurgles from Azriel’s mouth, wet gasps bubbling up from his chest. Rhysand is stood at one head of the table, hand clutched tight around Azriel’s, the High Lord’s towering figure curved crookedly over his brother’s, close enough their brows are touching and it’s clear enough Rhysand is doing what he can mentally, relieving pain, sorting through panic and adrenaline to find his shadowsinger some order to cling to. 

“What happened?” You ask Cassian, darting forward to closer examine Azriel’s state. As far as you can see there are two main wounds, one on the thigh of his left leg and a second having broken into his ribcage on the opposite side. By now the blood flow has already begun to wane, a countdown to his life force bleeding dry. If the wound had been gushing you would have felt more reassured. There’s far too little blood coming from wounds as deep as his. 

“There were more than we anticipated,” Cassian grits out. “Their nest was supposed to be on the far side of the mountain. Most of them got cleared out but two we’d already cut down must have been playing dead and bit on our retreat.” 

“The chimeras?” You ask, noting the splay of teeth marks that are puncturing the right side of Azriel’s torso, the fleshy grey of broken bone visible through one of the upper gouges. 

Cassian nods grimly and you seal your mouth shut to prevent from cursing. It’s bad luck to hear a healer curse—your job is to know what’s going on and get things better, not worse. Adrenalised panic only helps in temporarily keeping pain away. For now you have to do what you can, sealing the wounds, and hope that there’s no fractured enamel trapped inside. 

“Has he begun healing yet?” You ask, pressing the second and third fingers on both your hands either side what you guess must be the puncture mark of the beasts’ canine, two significantly larger than the others. 

“No. I think he’s lost too much blood to manage anything like that. He wouldn’t stop bleeding the entire flight down,” Cassian replied, voice raw. You wonder how long he was shouting to Azriel over the screaming storm outside in order to keep him conscious. Cassian’s dark eyes shift to his brother’s face, thick brows growing heavy as they stitch together, chest still heaving as adrenaline doubtlessly begins to seep away, leaving stagnant fear to lean on. “I thought he was going to die,” Cassian murmurs, so low you doubt either other male can hear. 

“He’s not going to die,” you assure, pushing growth into the surrounding tissue, guiding his open flesh back together like shaping clay. “Hold the wound on his leg until I can let these ones breathe.” 

A pulse of rejection seizes Azriel’s chest, blood flecking his sour-toned skin, Rhysand’s own knuckles turning bone white as he grips tighter to his brother. You’re lucky he’s here, or else things would be much worse. You don’t linger on the thought, your own breath beginning to labour as you move to the second puncture gouge in his chest, bone protruding from deeper in the flesh. 

A twinge of fear pieces your mind. 

Azriel groans on the table, wings deathly still where they’re splayed off the sides, the joints at their ends beginning to curl inward like a spider’s legs on the verge of death. Breath whistles in his lungs, blood no longer gurgling from his chest—barely moving at all. 

“Rhys!” You shout, pulling him from that mental bridge he’d been tending Azriel upon, gripping his shoulder roughly. “Pull away! Pull away!” 

The High Lord’s chest heaves as he forces himself back, releasing the soothing hold he’d had on Azriel’s mind, hands still clutched together. 

The Shadowsinger jolts on the table, body writhing as fresh pain blazes through flesh, senses no longer muted. It’s probably going to be the last thing he can hold onto. 

He’s fading. 

You look at Cassian, bloody fingers still pressing down on the wound, the miniature, magical stitches sewing tissue back together slowly making their way back to the surface, flesh returning to its healed state. “Fetch Madja,” you instruct, “We’ll have a better chance with both of us. Quick. And Rhys, I want you to find-”

A gasp comes from the doorway and the High Lord’s expression drains. It’s far from ideal to have her within such a high stress environment but it’s really a last resort. 

“Feyre, your blood,” you request urgently, feeling the weight as violet eyes cut into your side, but it’s necessary. It’s the boost that will save Azriel’s life, or at least sustain him until Madja arrives. “Only a small amount,” you say calmly, “he just needs enough to keep him alive until I have Madja to help.” 

Feyre swallows only once before she’s hurrying forward, blue-grey eyes rushing over the male on the table, tension in her jaw. “How much?” She asks, taking the blade Cassian hands her before he heads out into the night. “A slice across your palm. If you feel faint stop immediately.” 

She doesn’t hesitate, an excess of blood swelling in her hand before spilling into Azriel’s open mouth, pale lips soaked red. His throat works and you rush round to his other side, now pressing one palm to each gash. 

There’s no time to pace yourself in this encounter. 

It’s a one-time brawl, not a long-spanned battle.

————

Come morning your hands are aching, lungs tired and stretched, throat parched. You haven’t had such a long night since the end of the war. 

At least now you have free access to water, which you’d taken full advantage of when returning to your room. 

By the time Madja had arrived you’d had all the immediate injuries patched but there had still been little colour to Azriel’s complexion. Pallid save for the blood staining his open mouth. If Cassian hadn’t flown so swiftly; if Feyre hadn’t been there; if Azriel hadn’t the strength to hang on… It’s a small miracle he’s still alive and breathing. 

As soon as the sun touches the horizon you get yourself up, preparing to take over Madja’s shift after she’d seen him through the night. There’s still a drained pit where your magic should be, the small amount of sleep you’d managed to grab doing little to aid its replenishment, but it should be enough for today. 

It’s only upon seeing the bloodstained bandages wrapping Azriel’s body and leg that you realise all the rainwater from the night before must have been blood, soaking the rugs, the tiled floors, the bare skin of your feet. It’s a good thing those clothes had been stripped down and tossed into a pile before falling into sleep the night just past. 

“How is he?” You ask, stepping into Azriel’s room. The thick curtains are drawn, but even so it’s too light. 

“Asleep, for now,” Madja replies, raising from her chosen seat at the bedside. “Once I administered the pain reliever he settled down and hasn’t stirred since.” Worried eyes flicker over the male’s body, dark hands tucking her pencil away. You step forward, hand cupping her elbow carefully, “You deserve some rest, too.” Brown eyes don’t leave Azriel for a few moments, but eventually she nods, meeting your gaze, returning the touch on your arm. “You’re a competent healer, you know. You did well last night.” Madja smiles, nodding. “Good work.” 

The words remain in your mind all morning while you’re overseeing Azriel, routinely checking his temperature, keeping an eye on his breathing patterns, and pulse, but it’s not until well past midday that he stirs. 

You sit silently at his side. It’s his breathing that changes first, a deeper breath than the ones before bringing air deep into his lungs, lips peeling themselves apart. Then it’s a twitch in his brows, lifting once then furrowing over his eyes which screw themselves shut. A low groan rumbles in his throat and you allow yourself a subtle sigh of relief. His eyes are next, blinking open by less than a hair’s breadth, pupils gradually contracting to filter the light away until he can look around freely. It takes him longer than usual to get his bearings, but that’s to be expected. 

You wait until he’s ready to speak. 

“How bad is it?” Azriel rasps, his vocal cords chewed up. A smile curves your eyes, “You aren’t dead.” Air rattles in his lungs, a wheezing cough stuttering once from his chest and you offer the glass of water from his bedside. Azriel tilts his head to the side, and you retract the glass. 

“I’m going to ask you a few questions,” you tell him, turning to the notebook Madja had left for you. “First of all, what’s your name?” Azriel is silent and you look over to him, concern welling in your chest, but instead his mouth is pursed, expression flat. You sigh, fondness pushing up into your voice, “Come on. It’s routine.” 

“Azriel,” Azriel answers, giving you a deadpan look. You nod. “Do you remember where you were going yesterday?” 

A pause, then, “Illyria. Cassian and I were returning.” 

“Good, but you’re jumping ahead,” you warn, making hazel eyes brighten within the shadowy room. “Can you tell me the names of your two brothers?” 

“Cassian and Rhysand.” 

“Do you know where you are?” 

This time Azriel pauses, eyes darting around the room, his brow furrowing. “The River House?” 

You nod, “You’re in a guest bedroom since it was closer. I’m afraid it’ll probably be some time before we can move you to your own room.” But Azriel tips his head to the side again, “It’s fine.” 

“Alright,” you reply quietly, keeping your smile to yourself. “Next question. Just a few more,” you add when Azriel exhales heavily. “Do you remember what happened to you?” 

“Cassian and I were supposed to be investigating the recent attacks up in Illyria. There was supposed to be no contact.” 

You nod, smile faded. “Do you remember how you got your injuries?” 

“We thought we’d cleared out the ones that had found us, but we hit their nest by chance and there were too many. On the way out one that had been dead bit me.” You wait for him to continue but he stops, looking back to you. 

“Is that all?”

Azriel nods. 

You note down his story, along with the point his memory cuts out. “You don’t remember the second bite?” You inquire. Azriel tilts his head, no. “Do you remember getting here?” Azriel tilts his head again, no. 

You nod, sitting straighter. Pushing a reassuring expression to your features. “Well, the good news is you aren’t dead, as you’re aware.” Azriel rolls his eyes, then hisses, groaning as something hurts. “Your wings are also unscathed, which I’m sure you’ll be pleased to hear.” The Shadowsinger grumbles something you don’t hear. Of course you’re glad he’s okay. 

“Right,” you announce, pushing the glass of water to him again which he drinks from reluctantly, “Are you feeling right enough to answer a few more questions for me, or would you like to rest?” 

“What time is it?” He asks. 

You glance at the clock on the wall, “It’s coming up for four in the afternoon.” 

“I can answer a few more questions,” he decides, allowing you to take the glass from his hand once he’s done. 

“Firstly, how are you feeling? Any pain or numbness? Changes in temperature? Aches?” You prompt, pencil at the ready. “My head is pounding,” he answers, eyes remaining only half open though you doubt it’s entirely from fatigue. “My lower body is numb, but my left foot feels cold. A dead cold.” You nod, pencil scratching. “My throat is sore, but my eyes and teeth are the most piercing.” 

Your brow furrows, “Eyes and teeth, huh… Are your eyes hurting as a part of your headache, or do you feel it’s different?” 

“It’s like I haven’t slept in two weeks, and something’s trying to suck them from my skull,” Azriel rasps. Scritch scratch. “And…you mentioned your teeth are hurting… Toothache? I’ll ask Cassian whether your jaw might have had a collision.” You glance over to Azriel who’s still pale. But alive. “What does it feel like? Bruising? Broken?” You’d know if it was broken, though. 

Azriel tilts his head. “More piercing. Here.” Azriel guides his tongue to his left canine. “And here.” He touches the right one. Your brows furrow then you remember to keep your face neutral. Azriel wheezes a sound that might have been a chuckle. “Anything else?” You ask, moving quickly past your error. Azriel tilts his head again, no.

“Alright then. It would be best for you to try and rest for a few more hours—think you can fall back asleep?” You ask, closing the leather-bound notebook and setting it upon the side table. The Spymaster sighs, tilting his head. You aren’t surprised. “You should try. Your body needs the rest.” You pause, considering. Then, “Do you feel well enough to try eating something? It would be good for you.” 

Azriel’s eyes slide shut, lips curling miserably and you have to muffle your laugh. “I don’t want to be eating plain chicken for the next few days,” he mumbles. 

“We need to be careful of your stomach, and your body needs nutrition. Protein.” You reason, “Be happy you aren’t having to drink your meals after mentioning that toothache.” Hazel eyes crack open just enough to send you a piercing glare, but it only results in an upward twitch of your lips. “Would you like me to fetch you anything in the mean time?” You add, knowing it’s not nice to be resting when there’s work that one could be doing. 

“My notebook should be on my desk—can you bring me the stack of reports that will be in the uppermost drawer on the right hand side? There’ll be the first thing you see when you look inside.” You raise a brow, mouth pursing. “Already trying to get back to work?” 

His lips twitch. “I have a lot of work to do.” 

“Well it’s going to have to wait,” you sigh, standing from your chair. “I can fetch your notebook and a book of your choosing—so long as you promise it won’t be work related.” 

“All my books are work related.” 

Your eyes narrow on the bedridden male, waiting for his mask to slip but it remains firmly in place. “Seriously? Not one?” 

Azriel shrugs. Or tries to. It’s more a light twitch of his wings. 

You sigh, nodding to yourself. “Alright. I’ll find something.” 

You turn to leave but a small shadow stirs in your periphery, dragging your attention back to him. Hazel eyes twinkle as the darkness lifts the silky dark hair from his brow, damp enough to appear like ink even in the shadowed room. You roll your eyes, pacing back over to his side, gently laying the back of your fingers across his brow. A beat passes, then Azriel’s eyes slide shut the rest of the way. Your touch lingers on his forehead, taking longer than necessary to gauge his temperature. 

“Your fingers are cool,” Azriel murmurs. Eyes only opening once you pull away again, silky hair flopping back into place. 

“You’re still a little feverish,” you tell him quietly, wary for his aching senses. “Hopefully it’ll pass swiftly enough, but if not your recovery will only take a few extra days.” A pause passes through the room, and you should really be writing that temperature down as your hourly mark. 

As if on cue, a warmed plate appears on the bedside table, and a look of sorrow dims Azriel’s already dismal features when he spots the plain, boiled chicken.

You offer a pitying smile which earns you a grunt of displeasure before you’re turning for the door, pausing on the threshold. “I’ll make sure it’s a good book,” you offer. 

Azriel’s expression turns dour, brow pinched, mouth thinning, and you can practically see his shadows beginning to brood. 

‘It had better be,’ he mouths, voice too worn out to reach you across the room. 

————

The next morning is the same routine, waking up as soon as the sun bleeds over the horizon, trickling pale gold into your bedroom on the first floor. It’s a swift execution of movements, washing, combing, and dressing before you’re out into the house and heading down the hall to Azriel’s temporary room. 

The handle twists before you have a chance to lay your hand on it, Cassian stepping out from the interior. Hazel eyes shift to you, worn and fatigued—usually it’s Azriel who accessorises with the hints of mauve beneath his eyes. “Did you get to speak with him?” You ask, voice kept low in case Azriel’s resting inside. The General nods, leathers stretching as he pushes the dark hair back from his brow, not yet tied back for the day and curling around his shoulders. “Thank you for keeping him alive,” Cassian says, equally quiet. 

“It’s my job,” you smile. “Besides, it wasn’t just me. If you three hadn’t been there it could just as easily have turned bad.” You nod to the door, the room where Azriel’s staying, “You helped more than you think, Cassian.” 

Cassian offers a stiff nod, then he’s straightening, about to leave. 

“I wanted to ask you something about that night,” you say, catching his attention. “Azriel mentioned his teeth hurting, specifically his canines—do you know if he might have collided with the floor after the first bite?”

“Not that I remember,” Cassian contemplates. “He stayed upright and ambulatory until we reached the tunnel exit.” 

You nod, thinking. “Alright… Well, we’ll be keeping an eye on him anyway. Hopefully it’s just a side effect of sinus pressure or headaches.”

Cassian nods his head once, then you’re going your separate ways. 

The curtains are still drawn, and Azriel still appears pale despite the shadows dimming colours. He’s asleep however, which is good, at least. 

After a brief exchange with Madja over how the night went you’re all ready and seated at his side. The plate from yesterday had been removed but the book is still on the side table, no sign that he started it that you can see. 

Like the previous day, Azriel doesn’t wake until long past midday, only rising to consciousness around sundown. 

His eyes are thick and heavy as they blink open, a darkened tinge to the whites that you can’t quite make out the colour of in shadow. The skin of his lips is cracked, peeling at the bow of his mouth, pulling back from his teeth. Despite the long bouts of sleep the dark smudges beneath his eyes don’t seem to be going anywhere, only further deepening, contrasted against the waning colour of his skin—the once rich brown now turning grey and ashen. The fever will be surfacing, regardless of suppression and attempted appeasement. 

His temperature had begun rising overnight, just tipping into the twenties as the moon slipped away.  A sure sign the burning flesh is on its way.

Azriel’s chest lifts and lowers shallowly, breath rasping from desiccated lips. A sheen runs across his pale features, brows appearing closer to oil than ink. Heavy lids slide shut as you guide the slick hair over his forehead to the side, the backs of your fingers laying tenderly down—it’s nowhere yet even near the breaking point.

“Azriel?” You whisper, “Can you hear me?” 

The restless flutter of his lashes alerts you to his awareness, eyes stirring beneath near translucent lids, mauve capillaries webbing through the thin flesh. He creeks himself apart—he’s gotten abruptly worse. Bloodshot hazel tries to shift about the room but he groans, eyes choosing to remain stagnant in his skull instead.

“How are you feeling?” You murmur, fingers retracting, splaying the notebook across your lap, pencil in hand. “My head…” Azriel rasps, voice more ragged than when you last heard it, like something’s come along and ripped it to shreds, “…it’s splitting.” Your brow furrows—Cassian reported he hadn’t received a blow to the head. He seemed appropriately injured yesterday, but for some reason he’s so much worse. Could the meat have been off? Surely not. 

“Madja told me she administered a balm to your skin before dawn, is the rest of your body aching?” You inquire, considering applying a fresh layer to ease the pain that’s begun to bubble back up. 

“My stomach’s starving…” Beneath the cream cotton covers his arm passes over his abdomen, resting. “It’s like someone’s grinding me up between stones.” 

“Okay hold still, the balm might feel cold but I’ll apply some more.” Already you’re pulling back his covers, preparing to begin warming the cream between your palms to encourage its goodness to act swiftly but something catches your attention. While there’s no need for bandages over his torso, his thigh has been wrapped and sanitised, now mottled with something dark and not-quite blood coloured. More concerning is the black tissue stitching together the sections where his stomach had been gauged open, thin threads of necrotic flesh lacing his surface. 

Your jaw bites itself together, cold overtaking your spine. Whatever’s happening to him is different from general infection. 

Lips part as a soft curse slips out—venom? Impossible. The beasts have never been reported to posses glands like that. But it’s the only explanation. 

Considering explanations though…was the reason for their seemingly random switch in nature ever understood? Before now the chimeras never bothered the Illyrians, cohabiting up in the steppes peacefully, as far as you’re aware. What catalysed this sudden shift in nature? 

Another noise of deep-rooted pain groans through his chest, oil-black brows condensing to a point in the middle of his forehead, skin shining with the movement as feverish sweat breaks across his features. Your own brows furrow, heart beating frenetically, “Azriel…?” 

His teeth grit, jaw grinding as if in pain, and his breathing becomes ragged; irregular and torn at the seams. Again you lay your fingers across his brow, and he’s noticeably hotter than before, almost burning in comparison. 

Water. He needs water. 

“Azriel,” you try but his eyes are shut tight, the fabric of his sheets darkening in a close perimeter around his body, sweat staining the cloth. “Azriel I need you to drink some water,” you urge softly, taking the glass and sliding your palm beneath his head, inclining him from the pillow and bringing the chilled glass to parched lips. He drinks deeply, polishing off the water swiftly and you stand to go in search of a rag to lay across his brow. It brings only a temporary reprieve before he’s panting once again. Teeth worry your lower lip. 

Whatever’s happening, it isn’t normal. 

“Azriel, I’m going to speak with Rhysand briefly. I’ll be back in three minutes,” you tell him gently, pressing the glass back into his palm. “Drop this on the floor if you need me sooner; I’ll hear it.” 

Then you’re off into the hallway. Either male will do, but something was wrong with those creatures, and your instincts are telling you it needs to be gotten to the bottom of, and swiftly. 

A life might depend on it. 

————

It must be the goodwill of the Mother than allows both Cassian and Rhysand to be at that moment in the latter’s office, heads turning when the door is thrown wide. 

Apology passes briefly through your eyes but as soon as you step foot in the room it vanishes, door clicking shut as you hurry into the room. “Cassian, I need to you get me one of those chimeras. Dead or alive, but preferably dead. Something’s wrong with Azriel and I think it’s to do with the change in behaviour we’ve been seeing from those animals.” 

Violet eyes flicker, “What’s wrong with Azriel?” 

“I don’t know,” you inform, expression hard. “His flesh is turning necrotic in places around the wounds and his fever isn’t breaking. Madja reported his temperature increasing around two o’clock this morning and the way he is now makes it seem as if he’s on the third day and untreated.” You turn to Cassian. “I need one of those Chimeras to examine, as quick as possible. They aren’t supposed to carry venom but it seems a mutation is the only reasonable explanation, in which case we need to figure out what that means and fast, or else we won’t have enough time to figure out what that means for your brother and to cure it.” 

The General glances once to the High Lord, sharing a nod before Cassian’s making a swift departure, urgency underlying his movements in a way you hope won’t get him wounded. It makes you call after him. “Whatever you do, don’t be reckless. If you get hurt up there or bitten then both of you will be at risk. This isn’t a time to be cutting corners.” 

A muscle in his jaw feathers. “I know.” 

Then he’s gone. 

Sweat glides down your spine, if he’s as swift as he was the night they returned then the journey there and back should take under an hour. Add on the time to locate and kill a chimera…a few hours, tops. With the rate Azriel’s fever is developing, it’s all you can spare. 

Violet eyes are strained when you next meet them, but you’ve little time for further apology as you ask, “How is Feyre doing?” 

“Resting,” Rhysand replies, the stern grit of his voice telling you he already knows why you’re asking. Your jaw tightens, shoulders tensing at that tone, something inherent wanting to turn away from that fiercely protective look in his face, warning you not to suggest what you know you have to. 

“If worst comes to worst,” you say, quietly. 

Rhysand’s expression doesn’t give for a long while, and you fight to keep firm. Until tension flickers through his violet eyes. “It’s her choice,” he relents, tension taut, the whites of his knuckles disagreeing with his words. “But if she tries to give too much, if you don’t stop her then I will.” 

You nod grimly, understanding the order well enough. 

If Feyre tries to give Azriel more blood than she can afford, you’re to pull her back.

Even if it costs his brother’s life.  

————

The sun is down, and Cassian still isn’t back. 

The rain lashing at the windows and snarling round the house feels like an omen, shadows dancing like snakes across the floor every time a bolt of lightening fractures the sky. Deadened leaves whip through the howling winds, a deluge crashing down on Velaris. 

On the bed, shivering and drenched, is Azriel, pallid skin glistening with a deathly pallor. His surrounding sheets have been doused in sweat, a sour, sick smell filling the room, the stagnant odour of the ill. The black threads of flesh have begun spreading further, thickening into sluggish stumps, streams of necrosis reaching across his stomach; snaring his far leg. 

If Cassian isn’t back soon, you’re going to have to try and cut it out from the roots. 

Madja lays her hand over the slope of your shoulder and you exchange glances; she’s come to the same conclusion you have, her normally warm features for once showing a grim set. You turn your body from Azriel, dipping your head so he won’t be able to hear, though you doubt he’s in any state to eavesdrop. 

“How much longer?” You whisper lowly, eyes glued to the dark floorboards, unable to lift them any further. Madja glances once over her shoulder, a heavy silence filling the air. “Minutes,” she answers. “He has minutes to get back here.” You swallow—those are near impossible chances. The odds were steep enough without the crashing storm outside hindering visibility. 

“You’ll take his stomach?” You whisper, pushing past the lump in your throat. Madja nods, “Fetch two bowls of water. I’m going to speak with Feyre; see how she’s holding up.” She’s probably quickly becoming the last gleam of hope to give Azriel a fighting chance of surviving until Cassian arrives. 

Or until he bleeds out from the incisions you’ll be forced to make to cut away the rot. 

Azriel stirs in the bed once you return from the washroom, setting the second bowl down and approaching his side. Once more, you lay the backs of your fingers across his dampened forehead, sticky sweat smearing your skin but it’s nothing compared to the fierce heat radiating from his skull. His temperature has been teetering into the forties for a while now. 

Something like a groan strains through his chest, the tendons in his throat flexing as he swallows, and you lift his head from the pillow, bringing the chilled glass to his peeling lips. He’s too weak to push the drink away, hardly strong enough to swallow, and a cool trickle slips from the side of his mouth, streaming over his jaw and into the cushion. Azriel tilts his head when he’s done, and you pull away, setting the glass down upon the cramped side table. 

Hazel eyes crack themselves open, except now they’re a mix of yellow and black—pupils blown so wide they’re practically swallowing his irises, the whites of his eyes souring to a sickening yellow, like the congealed scum of rotten milk, red rimmed and watery. 

‘Hot,’ he mouthes. Barely. It’s the near silent touch of his tongue to the roof of his mouth that gives the word away. 

You don’t know what to do anymore. There’s nothing else you can do, besides offering water. 

“Azriel, can you hear me still?” You ask, crouching down to be by his side, mixing your hand with his. He groans, fingers weakly flexing around your own. It’s a small piece of hope,  that he isn’t yet completely gone. You lean closer. “Just a little longer, Az,” you whisper, thumb swiping back and forth gently over his burning skin, “You need to keep going. You can’t leave them behind.” 

His hand is silent in your own.

Where is Cassian? 

A shadow careens past the window and a flashing red thud slams into the front garden, the doors being blown open a few moments later as fresh rain and howling wind whips inside, sparing not a second in removing mud-caked boots or blood-slicked leathers before he’s marching into the house. From the floor below you hear his name called out, but there’s no cause for relief. 

Voices murmur and footsteps hurry, boots clumping about on the lower floors and you hurry to the bedroom door, looking just in time to see Rhysand near the top of the staircase. “Does he have it?” You call, the pound of your heart making your voice breathless. Rhys nods but his eyes are dark and unusually shadowed, “He has it.”

 It’s only when he descends the case that you spot the thick book he had clutched beneath one arm on his far side, as if anxious to keep it as hidden as possible. You want to follow, to see the chimera for yourself, lend Madja a hand in trying to understand what’s mutated within the beast to cause such a drastic shift but that’s not your job at the moment. Your job is to look after Azriel. Even if all you can do is sit by his side and watch as he dies. 

Tension stitches your jaws together, but you force yourself to turn away, shutting the door once more to return only for a scream to claw and rip from your throat. 

Blunt teeth are digging into the flesh of his forearm, biting and gnawing as blood paints his lower jaw, spilling down onto his chest, trickling along his arm. You run forward, trembling fingers searching for that point that will spasm the muscle enough for his jaw to unlock. 

“Azriel!” You scream, “Azriel stop! You need to stop it!” 

Thick blood oils your fingers, his teeth releasing the bitten flesh only to clamp down a fraction of a second later, locking themselves in place as muscle flexes in his jaw, straining beneath the pressure he’s clamping down with. You fumble, hands shaking as he tries to rip himself apart. You search again, fingers digging into his jaw but he writhes on the bed, wings flaring wide enough to send everything on the side table smashing to the floor, throwing you to the ground in a mess of fractured glass and gushing, freshly bloodied water. 

The leather-bound notebook is soaked, ink bleeding across the pages but that’s not what you currently care about. Instead you grip the book from the floor, flying to your feet as you surge forward, nails screaming out in pain as you try to forcibly pry his teeth apart, pushing the spine of the book forward. 

“Azriel…!” You hiss, straining against his sudden display of strength. “Bite! Bite down on this…!” 

For a few dreadful seconds it looks like he’s going to bleed himself to death, but then his teeth release just long enough for you to shove the hard leather of the thick notebook into his mouth, vicious canines stabbing through the outer layer in one swift bite. Clamping down firmly. 

There’s no time for relief, no time for fixing the jagged mess on the floor, nor for celebration, as you take in the fresh blood staining his lower face. Azriel’s wounded arm tries to lift from the bed but more blood gushes out and you have to pin it down until the message reaches his pain-twisted mind and he uses the other to change the positioning of the book in his mouth, angling and biting, slowly chewing the leather to pieces, digging his canines into the notebook repeatedly as if he’s teething.

Footsteps pound along the corridor just as you finish forcing Azriel’s flesh back together, door flying wide as Madja bustles through, a glass vial of pure black liquid grasped in her weathered hand, Rhysand just a step behind. Neither ask what’s happened, why there’s so much blood staining sheets and flooring and sallow skin. 

Dark brown eyes flash once over the Shadowsinger before Madja’s figuring her order—one both you and Rhys know before it even leaves her mouth—“Hold him down.” Rhysand takes the side the Azriel’s leg wound is on while you stick where you’ve remained, but even with you leveraging all your weight over his bloody, shredded arm it’s near impossible to keep him down. 

The book comes away in tatters when Madja manages to pry it from his mouth, jaws snapping, black ruby teeth glittering wildly as he searches for something to bite, all the while the storm roars on outside, thunder rumbling through miserable grey skies, so deep it’s in the floorboards. 

“Rhys,” you hiss out, “can you do anything?” If he can slip inside and provide even a temporary moment so Madja can get the remedy down the Shadowsinger’s throat. The High Lord’s jaw tightens with the effort it’s taking to keep his brother down, teeth gritting as he shakes his head, “there’s nothing to go into. It’s just wind and shadow in his mind.” 

“We have to do something,” you force out, looking between them. “He’s not going to drink it like this-”

“And we can’t waste this vial,” Madja finishes grimly. 

Rhys’ head lowers, hair falling over his brow like dozens of spider legs, tension gripping his shoulders, then he’s bellowing Cassian’s name, the roar so loud you’re surprised the room doesn’t collapse in on itself, heart pounding in your chest like a war drum. A few moments later heavy boots are lopsidedly clumping up the stairs, the General swaying as he hauls himself through the door. “Take her place. Keep him down,” Rhysand orders through gritted teeth. It seems Cassian’s barely keeping himself conscious, but still he manages, no time to pause. 

As soon as Cassian’s hands have taken over you retreat, darting around Azriel’s thrashing wing to be at Madja’s side. His blackened eyes are wild, back arching from the bed as pain lances through his body, teeth still flashing with furious hunger. 

“Azriel,” you yell, crusted palms laying either side his mouth, cupping his jaw as you attempt to still the wild thrashing of his body without losing any fingers. “Azriel, look at me. Look at me.” Blown out pupils stare up at you, yellowed eyes sore and so, so wrong. “That’s it,” you manage, forcing your voice to calm, “You know us. You remember us.”

His upper lips curls in a snarl and blood seeps from the broken skin, so dried out and desiccated that it splits at the slightest stretch. 

“You remember us,” you repeat, thumbs stroking back and forth, swiping the edges of his mouth tenderly, “Don’t you? Remember Cass and Rhys? They’re your brothers.” Oil-black brows narrow, but the two other males are having better luck holding him down than before, so you push forward. 

Your hold tightens and you lean closer, almost sharing breath. “Do you remember your name?” You ask softly, soothingly stroking his cheeks, ignoring the blood soaking your hands. “It’s Azriel,” you whisper, “You’re Azriel.” 

His eyes shutter, struggling again but you hold firm. “You just need to hold on a little longer, Azriel. We have a remedy, but you need to drink it first.” Sharp, black eyes scan your features, cutting back and forth across your expression, his face still twisted in partial fury, shadow and wind roaring outside but his struggling has lessened enough for the antidote to be administered. 

Yet as soon as you pull away his wings flare outward, the bed creaking as the powerful limbs thrash, a vicious snarl ripping from his throat and both Cassian and Rhysand are nearly knocked back from the force of his retaliation. 

“Azriel…” You plead, nails digging into his cheeks, dragging his attention back. “Azriel, please,” you beg, “hold still.” Icy breath repeatedly hits your chin, his panting becoming shallower and shallower by the second, yet he shows no signs of giving in. Pure panic drips down your spine, hands shaking as you hold onto him for dear life. 

“We have to try,” Madja whispers, not directed at you. In your periphery, Rhysand nods in agreement, but it won’t work. He’ll send the vial flying, just like the glass and the bowl, shattering on the floor, destroying the precious cure with it. 

A hot tear splashes down onto Azriel’s bloody cheek, a second droplet falling soon after, soundless compared to the raging storm outside. Thunder and lightening zeroing to silence as you look at him.

Thumbs swipe back and forth across his skin. He can’t die. 

You swallow, sparing a moment to look at Madja. “Give it to me,” you whisper. 

Madja hesitates. 

“Let me give it to him,” you plead, able to feel Azriel’s sluggish pulse beneath your hands. 

Silence hangs in the air, then Rhysand nods. “Try.” 

Beneath all of you, Azriel begins to stir again, the soothed state you’d gotten him into already so quickly slipping away. Slipping through your fingers. 

Madja offers you the vial, and in one movement you’ve poured the contents into your own mouth. 

The liquid is thick and congealed across your tongue, vile and putrid but then you’re pressing your mouth to Azriel’s, his bloody lips freezing beneath your own, peeling and ripped in places but they part for you, your thumbs still stroking as you tilt yourself over him. 

Your mouth opens for his, and the remedy flows into him, spilling down his throat. 

This time both Illyrians are ready and braced as Azriel writhes and thrashes on the bed, lip curling in revulsion as the foul tasting liquid is swallowed down his throat, wings flaring and flapping, knocking back and forth so violently the bed groans like it might finally give way. Fury twists through Azriel’s features and you recoil as his fangs sting at your lips, hot, fresh blood bubbling into his mouth before you can even realise he’s bitten you. 

You pull away, forcing your hands over his chest, Madja now beside Rhys as you all try to keep him down. Heaven knows what he’s mad enough to do with the pain carving his mind apart. 

By the time he settles, you’re all breathless. But it’s done. He took the remedy. 

Slowly, you stand, each of you bracing as if he might start back up at any second and you need to be ready to jump back into place. But he remains still. Dead still, but you can pick out the small pulse in his throat. You cling onto that pulse, desperately.

At last you all pull away, and Rhysand drags a hand down his face, you and Madja glancing to one another with a mix of emotion. To your left, Cassian sways, then his legs give out, body thudding  as his knees his the floor, the rest of him giving out now the task is complete. You’ve each done everything you can; pushed to the limit, and possibly beyond.

“Mother’s grace,” Madja whispers in thanks, and you do the same, sending a prayer to the sky, hoping it will be enough. She nods to herself once, twice, three times. Easing in a few steadying breaths before straightening, swallowing. “Cassian,” she names, addressing the body on the floor and you don’t fault her for her breathlessness, “we need to find him a bed.”

You nod, panting. “Rhys and I can manage,” you breathe, exhausted. “Can you take cleanup in here?” You ask, moving with Rhysand to grip Cassian beneath his arms, only now spotting the blood on his leathers, though it’s too much of a mess in here to judge who it belongs to. 

Madja nods solemnly, and between you and the High Lord, you manage to lift the fearsome General from the ground, hefting him out into the hallway, taking the room immediately next door and laying Cassian on the bed there. 

You slump against the wall, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand when you realise the foul taste is still there, having been obscured by the metallic flavour of your own blood. 

Rhysand remains stood over Cassian, looking down at his brother with an expression you can’t read. It’s none of your business, either way. 

Your nose wrinkles, pulling your sleeve over your hand and spitting into the fabric, wanting to rid yourself of the vile taste. “Fuck. What was in that?” You gag, looking forward to a glass of water to clean your mouth out and a wash. 

The hairs at the nape of your neck prickle, and you lift your head to find dark violet watching you from across the room. You’d apologise for cursing, but that doesn’t seem to be the reason for his look. 

Tentatively, you straighten. “Do you know?” 

Silence hangs in the air. Then he relents.

“Blood.” Rhysand murmurs. “Chimera blood.”

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[mera-mera-simp]

OP Character's Love Languages

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Nami, Ussop, Ace and Law

Content Warning: fluff. Some angst (Sanji, Ace and Law)

Pt. 2

Luffy:

Absolutely physical touch. There is no debate on this.

He can and will cling to you with no hesitation. Man doesn't know personal space<3

But you and most of the Strawhats don't mind it. It's sweet.

Though you do have to gently remind him sometimes that not everybody he knows likes it when he does that</3

Definitely a words of affirmation kinda guy too.

This one isn't as often but he loves making you smile.

Constantly telling you how funny you are and how much he loves you. He is a sweet baby even if he's a menace sometimes<3

Sometimes, you'll get a combo of the two. He'll wrap his arms around a multitude of times and tell you all kinds of sweet things just to see you smile.

Gift. Giving.

Please give this sweet baby gifts it will make his eyes light up like stars and he'll treasure it forever.

You could get him the silliest thing and he'll be so happy. You'll have his stretchy arms wrapped around you and multiple kisses on your face while he's yelling 'thank you' multiple times within an instant.

Zoro:

Quality time.

He's not much of a touchy guy and he's not the greatest with words.

But he actively seeks you out on the Sunny. He just wants to be by you<3

He's not great at words, so just being by you is enough for him

He will make you take naps with him<3

He likes to sit by you when he's cleaning his swords.

Please just chill with him while he trains. He likes being in your presence.

This goes both ways low-key. He knows that you love him so he doesn't need to be reminded. And as mentioned earlier, he's not really a touchy feely guy.

So just spending time with you is enough.

Bro loves you so much, he'll chill by you while you're talking to the other strawhats. He doesn't need to involved in the conversation. He'll just sit by you (he'll take a nap depending on where you are on the ship)

Maybe a small bit of gift giving?

Only if he finds it useful though probably.

Get him stuff to clean his swords with and he'll be happy.

Send him over the moon with alcohol.

But definitely quality time for the most part.

Dude just wants to be by you<3

Sanji:

Is it absurd to say that it's everything? (Because I feel like it is but thats cause I'm in love with him and delulu)

He'll match to whatever your love language is babes<3

Gift giving? He'll spoil you

Quality time? Just hang out with him in the kitchen while he cooks

Words of affirmation? He'll tell you a thousand times a day that he loves you

Acts of service? Say the word and your wish is his command.

Physical touch? He'll be all over you.

He'll match your energy.

Sometimes you'll get the buy 1 get 4 free combo.

He bends over backwards for you.

And it's all super sweet. He'll cook for you, buy you some cute trinkets that you like, spend time with you while you're doing something, tell you all kinds of romantic things, and he'll hold your hand at all times

Bro is such a sweet guy<3

Please tell him that you love him. Reassure him for the love of god

He didn't get it a lot as a kid after Sola died so whenever you do, he really appreciates it <3 (Sanji my sad chef, my beloved I love him so much)

Nami:

Look me in the eye and tell me that her loves languages aren't gift giving and acts of service.

She'll be over the moon if you buy her stuff

Specially if it's expensive <3

Bake something for her, Sanji will help you if you ask him to!

She'll give you a bunch of kisses for it. It's her way of say thank you.

You're the only one who doesn't owe her a single berri. Cause why would she charge the love of her life?

She gets a little jealous super easily though. She'll pout at you. Just laugh at her and tell her she's cute. Kiss her cheek, forehead or tip of her nose if you want to make her melt.

Sometimes she'll indulge in physical touch, only for you though.

She'll hold your hand when strolling through a town on a new island. And then persuade you to buy something she likes by acting cute.

She's super appreciative if you do though

She'll hug you and kiss you with a big grin on her face

It makes her feel important

She likes to make you feel important too. She'll actually go out of her way to buy you stuff sometimes. She teases about an interest fee but if you actually try to pay it, it's the only time she refuses

Ussop:

Words of affirmation

My guy needs a lot of reassurance so he appreciates it

Tell him that he's brave and he'll be absolutely smitten

He also likes physical touch

He'll hold you as he tells his stories

Talk to him about the world. You both love being out on the Grandline and seeing how big the world is. It's one your 'late night can't sleep' topics.

Hangout on the deck of the Sunny and look at stars together. He'll hold your hand and point out the constellations to you. (He learned them from Robin, he just wants to impress you<3)

If you hug him from behind randomly, he'll swoon.

He'll let you stay like that too. He thinks it's sweet. He'll just casually talk to you about his day so far.

He's constantly telling you how much he loves you.

You make him feel strong and brave so of course he's going to return the favor.

Overall, Ussop is just a sweet guy. He likes holding your hand and making you smile<3

Ace:

Oh my beloved sad himbo

Please hold him and reassure him.

He's definitely a physical touch and words of affirmation kinda guy too.

Trace the freckles on his face (he'll melt in your arms with a blushing face if you call them mini constellations<3)

He likes to hold you yeah but please hold him. He needs it.

He likes to be in your embrace but he'll only let you do it when you guys aren't in sight of the crew, he's afraid that Marco and Thatch will tease him for a life time. (They wouldn't)

Pepper his face in kisses

This poor cowboy is so sad please tell him all of the things you love about him

Tell him he's worth everything in the world (Ace was the One Piece</3\hj)

Whisper sweet nothings to him as you guys try to fall asleep at night, that's when his head tries to attack him the most.

He appreciates it all and he'll definitely return the favor.

He constantly has you wrapped in his arms.

He'll kiss the top of your head and nuzzle his face into your hair.

He'll purposely act stupid just to see you laugh.

Please just make him happy. He is so sad

He will deny though.

"Me? Sad? Blasphemy."

Law:

Another quality time kinda guy

He doesn't like physical touch

Or words of affirmation

Please don't openly say you love him or promise him anything, the last person who did both those things died almost immediately after (he's traumatized </3)

Just spend some time with him, that's all he asks. You don't have to say anything he just wants to he by you.

He doesn't know how to accept gifts so that's also kinda out of the question

If you do something for him though, he'll be appreciative. In his own way

Just quality time for the most part.

Just sit by him while he reads or looks over some notes he has.

He's comforted by your presence, you make him happy even if he never outwardly shows it

[nulltune]

"Pssst, next time if Yan ever decides to go as me again like before, I give you rights to fully embarrass him. Consider this a request from your younger sibling, okay?"

unprompted,   always accepting !    @jaakunxkaze  ♡

❛   ——  roger.  ☆   ❜      nodding solemnly,  the confirmation is done with a graceful salute for extra emphasis !   was this what they call boys being boys ?   in any case, it's nice to see that they seemed to be getting along ...  enough to embarrass each other in such a friendly way,  even.

and it seems like even she was getting involved in it as well ...  such a thought was noted,  a simple observation,  though—  how lively ...  hakuno kishinami has no siblings,  no family at all;  only a vague recollection of what that warm thing is supposed to be like,  but such a thing felt terribly distant.      ❛   i do need some clarification,  however.  by  ‘ fully embarrass ’  you mean ... ?   ❜      please share any and all ideas with her,  fuuma - bro !

[reblogandlikes]

Paraphrasing, but the general idea of, "Oh my gosh, Rhysand let's Feyre breathe and go wherever she wants and can make her own choices in Velaris, whereas Tamlin’s stripped her of all her autonomy. He's so abusive and doesn’t listen to her."

Bruh, Velaris is a literal secret city no-one knows of and has a fucking state of the arts super shield around it that requires the help of the bloody Cauldron to break. Plus, the Lord of Bloodshed, the Shadowsinger, the Morrigon, the Otherworldly creature trapped in fae form, and the self proclaimed all Most Powerful High Lord reside in this single space. Of course, Feyre suddenly feels like she has "Freedom." There's no need for surveillance (even though she's always accompanied by one of them) and is basically living in an impenetrable bubble away from all possible dangers.

Then there's Rhysand who can literally feel and hear everything she doesn't express, whereas her and Tamlin had the silly unspoken rule of not talking, but instead carry on - push forward which ultimately resulted in her growing resentment, but she was quite literally a participant in this just as much as he was, while refusing to believe him when he said it was dangerous or that the towns people wouldnt want her help because they were so grateful or getting mad because he had to be an active HL. Hybern were actively looking for her; there's literal monsters roaming his land. Of course, she needs to be protected because the girl is literally in danger. And then the one time she did go out to hunt or whatever, and look, she froze.

To tamlin, she's in danger from Hybern and their monsters, in danger from Rhysand who has been nothing but a known menace to Prythian and she's in danger from the HL's if they ever realise she has powers she's not meant to possess. Plus, the act of rebuilding his court and strengthening relationships via those "parties" he's not allowed to smile at and ensuring the safety of his people. Dude has a lot going on at once, nevermind his own trauma that's being repressed and trying to become reacquainted with his HL powers.

Now these are very huge differences in environments. One in a controlled setting and another that isn't. Similar when Feyre was in the Moon Palace because that's controlled too. Now, what if Feyre was in Hewn City or Illyria instead? Yeah, all that "Freedom" she loves would be cut real quick.

Hell, she was placed in a literal bubble when pregnant while wholly safe in Velaris for...reasons. But, "Rhysand is just being Rhysand 🤭✨️ hee hee," I guess.

Feyre with Tamlin and Feyre with Rhysand are not comparable when the situations during a time of internal turmoil for her are vastly different. And despite this obvious observation, somehow it doesn't register as the beginning of turning Tamlin into the antagonist despite never once getting his POV beneath the surface.

[sleyu]

thinking abt an sfw thing for mean bf!remus and mean bf! sirius rn (separately). hes a loving boyfriend and ofc his gf is the apple of his eyes but he was in the worst mood when the poor girl walked in on him one day just sweetly inquiring whats wrong with his mood and if she can help but when hes in a bad mood...hes just soooo much meaner and poor girl glares at him, tearing up and before he can even process his guilt storms off, ignoring him calling her name and oh now hes grovelling like hell

remus in particular fits this concept so well.

i think this is predictable, but this happens once every few months, particularly at the end of the month when the full moon is approaching and what remus considers his worst, most menacing traits manifest and reveal themselves.

before dating you, remus was consumed with foreboding and anger. of course, his friends helped and even school took his mind off of his transformations. however, remus never had a release—someone in particular that he knew he could rely on—someone he was certain would adore him unconditionally. since dating you, remus found a sense of normality in his life.

despite this, as the full moon crept, so did reality. this damned remus with not only his transformations but also with his most haunting, reoccurring insecurities. it was inevitable and as his mood and disposition heightened, he became increasingly sensitive, triggering sinister, petrifying fears in his mind that pertain to his biggest weakness: you.

in actuality, remus is terrified that one day, “you’ll come to your senses” and leave him. he’s afraid because he knows that he would easily let you. he is conscious of the fact that he’ll accept it despite the crushing, torturous pang in his chest that yearns for you.

with these rising, uncontrollable, and inevitable emotions and oversensitivity, remus is prone to hideous, gut-wrenching jealousy. of course, remus is possessive and territorial already, but its toxicity is never directed at you. however, near the full moon, his corrupted mind deludes him into believing that you take interest in the endeavours and offers of the people that flirt with you—that you reciprocate and feel fondness for the subtle touches, teasing whispers, and longing eyes that you receive from everyone else but him.

you begin noticing his peculiar behaviour in class when he didn’t greet you as you slid next to him on the desk bench. anyone could tell that it wasn’t remus lupin’s day and that they’ll receive the worst end of his behaviour at any attempt to interact with him, but usually, you’re not included as another target of his anger.

his hostile behaviour and refusal to talk to you continued the entire and it wasn’t until you kindly asked him what was wrong that he finally broke, speaking to you as if you were foreign to him.

‘just can’t ever fucking leave me alone, can you? y’know, y/n, why the fuck don’t you go on and talk to someone else? been smiling and eye-fucking tremblay all day and now you remember me? fuck off.’ he all but spits bitterly.

his heart immediately drops when your frightened look twists into one of hatred, bitter tears filling your narrowed eyes. his hand twitches as your voice shakes, attempting to fight back any sobs to prevent him from gaining any satisfaction from your sadness.

‘you’re a right foul delusional git, lupin. you should fuck off. come back and talk to me once you’ve come back to your senses, fuck.’ despite your shaking voice, you maintained a scarily calm demeanour before storming off, ensuring to slam the door behind you, the loud sound reverberating throughout the room of his dorm.

he was so stunned that all he could utter was an apologetic, disbelieving, ‘y/n,’ that you rightfully ignored before you left. it was only then that remus groaned and slammed his fist on his desk in frustration, feeling far worse than he’s felt all day.

tears of frustration would sting his eyes, an aching lump in his throat would form, and all he can do is sigh shakily, feeling his hatred for himself only grow more. he hates himself, knowing that he constantly sabotages what he feels is the one thing he breathes for—the one thing that calms his heart and alters his view of the world.

remus would take his time in attempting to give a sincere, deep apology. the full moon was approaching and after the turmoil he’s gotten himself into, he’s lost all his energy to provide you with the sincerity he knows you deserve. all he can do to cope is unleash his sharp tongue on everyone else. in between his threats to his desk mate, his heart would twinge and his cheeks would flush when he catches your distant stare.

all he can do is clench his jaw and let his heart ache in yearning, watching you from afar, looking as though you’ve already moved on from the fight whereas your awfully mean glare haunts him day and night.

all he craves is for you to pet his head and coo at him, assuring him that you’ll always be there to take care of him no matter what. all he pines for are the tender, sweet kisses you press to his temple and his cheekbones. he tries to replace the feeling of your chest by lying on and embracing his pillow but he can only kick it off the bed and groan at the unfamiliar, unpleasant feeling that isn’t you.

remus becomes ridden with anxiety while imagining his apology, fearing that when he does beg on his knees for forgiveness and takes accountability, you are indifferent. he’s terrified that you’ll shake your head, and instead of cradling him in your arms, you would tell him that you’ve had enough and that you can’t possibly deal with him anymore. it’s these thoughts that have tears streaming down his eyes in the shower, that have him breathing heavily in the middle of studying, that break his heart into pieces.

before he has enough energy to verbally communicate his regret, no one has ever seen remus lupin as pliant and obedient since he stepped foot into hogwarts. as soon as slughorn would declare the materials necessary for the potion, remus would be bouncing his knee anxiously, waiting for his professor's approval before he jumps out of his seat and races to the cabinet, carefully studying which material was flawless and polished enough to present to you.

you’d take it with silence but he would inwardly beam. this is a step in the right direction, he thinks. the marauders would be gawking at him, watching him say a quiet ‘here you go,’ with a tight-lipped smile and soft eyes.

he couldn’t care less if he was left with a tarnished cauldron or rusty textbook. what mattered more was that he gave you the best one and he was slowly redeeming himself.

before class would end, remus would hurry to the door, holding it open for every single person in the class and holding it especially wider for when you walk through. every other person that walked out of the door was shocked and hesitant to take advantage of his kind gesture—remus, however, didn’t spare them a glance, his stare intensely focused on you, studying your reactions to his unusually chivalrous demeanour.

he has to charm you with this. but there you go, laughing happily with one of your friends, completely ignoring your miserable boyfriend’s existence and walking straight toward the great hall.

‘fucks sake,’ he mutters before racing there, determined to fix a plate full of your favourite food himself.

once the full moon passes, remus decides to make a move, heading straight toward the library where he knows he’ll find you studying away.

you’re so focused on your parchment. his heart swells at the sight of your furrowed eyebrows and the slight pout on your lips. he’s so in love with you. that softness is quickly interrupted when he realizes your eyes don’t even look up when he walks towards you, quietly whispering your name. fuck, he thinks.

remus walks behind you and bends down near your ear, slowly and carefully brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. you didn’t flinch. you didn’t move away either. you didn’t reject him.

‘oh, darling, i’m sorry.’ he would mumble despairingly, reaching down to gently take your hand in his. ‘i didn’t mean to, you know that, right?’

between every tender kiss to your head and the gentle, soothing stroke of his thumb on your hand and shoulder, his sweet words only continued. ‘i’ll lend you my books, sweaters, anything you want, baby. everything of mines is yours—i’m yours.’

suddenly, you immediately snatched your hand out of his grasp and continued writing, concentrated on the piece of parchment in front of you as if remus wasn’t even there. his eyes widened and his stomach dropped, churning unpleasantly.

remus tries to squeeze your shoulder as gently as he can to remind you that he’s there and that he would wait as long as it takes. he remains calm, taking deep breaths, all the while inwardly panicking, unknowing of how long he can keep up with your silence and lack of concern.

after a couple of long, tedious minutes of standing, remus quickly pulls a chair beside you, eliciting a sharp scratch against the hardwood floor that the librarian narrows her eyes at. remus rolls his eyes before settling annoyingly close to you, hesitantly resting his chin on your shoulder after pressing a soft kiss there as well.

‘i could help you with the test, i got an outstanding on the last one.’ he says quietly, smiling weakly, attempting to mask the desperation he knows is laced in his tone.

still, nothing from you. not even a glance, not even a hum of acknowledgement. he hasn’t even gotten your eyes to meet his and he begins feeling a wave of nausea at this realization and his lack of success.

‘please, love, just say anything. take me outside and yell at me if you must—please do. just anything. i just wanna hear your voice. i’m sorry—i’m so, so sorry.’ he takes away his seemingly calm, indifferent facade, voice wavering pleadingly, and you inwardly smirk at the difference in his tone.

remus takes your head in his hand and presses a firm kiss to your temple in an attempt to coax you out of your indifference.

‘i’m so fucking sorry, baby. i was a git, right foul one, yeah?’ he laughs forcefully, miserably attempting to soften the tension in the air to which he failed. ‘you could do anything to punish me. yell at me, hit me even, do anything but this, please. do whatever you want to me—just not this.’

again, you do nothing. he desperately wants you to push him away, to yell at him and tell him to leave you alone. any form of eye contact, any sound of his name—acknowledgment is all he needs.

‘i’m not leaving—i hope you know that. i’ll follow you right back to the common room and i’ll steal you away so that you end up in my dorm. i’ll even get on my fucking knees for you and beg you to forgive me. i’m staying here.’

[loudclan-clangen]

Ooh!!!! Has Songpaw always had his ghost sight, or did he just get it after his first exposure to the oil?

Songpaw has always had what I would describe as "ghost sense", where he could feel presences, and maybe hear whispered words, but he couldn't see any spirits until he touched the black water. Dancepaw also has a ghost sense, they both inherited it from Eklutna, who used this sense to lead her to the black water, and later to Loudclan.

Eklutna is the best girl in my heart. I enjoy changing her ghost based on whose perspective we're seeing her from. Silt hallucinates her as this menacing, leering figure because Eklutna is THE villian of their story. The version of her watching her kits play is a more true version, that's what someone would see if they visited her in the blackwater pool. Meanwhile when we see her through Songkit's eyes she's faded and hard to understand because he's actively trying to block her out. He's refusing to let her appear fully to him, which is causing her to be more and more upset and incoherent.

You are not insane, they have little crushes on each other (moreso on Juneaucliff's part) and I think they are very cute together!

It is 100% okay to be an Owlstar lover! It is okay to be an anyone lover! I love all of them, no matter how bad of people they are so you are never alone no matter what character you love. My asks are a (nearly) judgement free zone.

He is! Sorry I didn't get to your ask earlier, I get a lot of asks, and I can't answer all of them, so while I LOVE and appreciate comments like this I tend to prioritize questions that I think would provide new information to the majority of people or line up with an upcoming plot point. I promise I am not ignoring anyone's ask for a "bad" reason, if someone or something was bugging me I would reach out to the person and let them know. Truly I am not telling anyone to stop submitting asks, they make me so happy, even if I don't answer them I see all of them and they are so kind. And if you have a burning question or comment that you feel has been missed please feel free to resubmit it, I do not mind repeats! /not mad

WARNING: Depiction of Decomposition/Decaying Body Below:

Yes! Because only the Leader and Lead Healer can truly commune with spirits, skulls are exposed after decomposition so that loved ones can speak and connect to the deceased. This doesn't happen until several moons to a year after the burial (depending on what season the cat died in), however, as the flesh must be allowed to decay. It goes something like this:

[brainddeadd]

About damn time

Quinn Hughes x fem!reader

Jack Hughes x fem!reader (platonic), Luke Hughes x fem!reader (platonic)

Warnings: fluff, angst, fan hate, pining, jack calls reader "bub", Jack's a menace, Nico shows up cause he's the loml

~~

You grew up with the Hughes brothers

At two months younger than Jack, you blended in with their tight-knit group

You met the Hughes brothers when you and Jack were 7. He shoved a kid in the playground for being mean to you, even though you were going to let it go, and the rest was history.

Jack became more like a twin than a friend. You two were inseparable. You were the calm to his storm.

Luke worshipped the ground you walked on. Followed you around like a lost puppy, and often, when he was having an off day, you were the only person who could calm him down. His own personal sanctuary from the world.

Quinn was the older, quiet brother who was always polite and friendly, but to anyone on the outside looking in, you guys just didn't work together well. However, they couldn't be more wrong. You quickly became each others solace in the chaos of their lives.

You went to every game you could, wearing the number of whichever brother was playing that time. Always in the stands, you were their biggest supporter, so it wasn't a surprise when you were invited to Quinn's draft.

Politely clapping and cheering with their families, fans started to be critical of your appearance and your actions. Rumours started to spread that you weren't interested in hockey, only wanted the money and fame that came along with being close to the Hughes brothers. They assume you're a bitch, instead of shy.

Jack shuts that shit down.

jackhughes: it has come to my attention that people are being little bitches towards my twin. that stops now.

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The other brothers repost the pictures to their own instagrams, and the hate dies down slightly. You make a new private, personal instagram.

Jack's draft comes and goes, and you're accepted into the University of British Columbia in Vancouver. Quinn is over the moon but hides it. Jack mopes for 3 days.

Quinn asks you to move in with him while you get settled into Vancouver. He says it's to help you, but Jack and Luke know better.

Fans start to photograph you at Quinn's games, a blank look on your face, and the rumours start up again. You ignore it until they say you're a puck bunny who's fucked your way through the brothers and will move on to other players eventually.

Quinn finds you crying. He can feel his heart break in his chest at the tears streaming down your face and the way your mascara is smudged around your eyes.

_quinnhughes: my best friend. my favourite supporter.

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Fans change their tune after Quinn's post, suddenly deciding that they love the idea of you two together. They think his use of "my" was a declaration.

The thought of being Quinn's makes your heart flutter, but you keep quiet.

Little do you know, Quinn feels the same.

Luke gets drafted and goes to New Jersey with Jack, where they're left alone to scheme and form a plan to get their big brother to finally get the girl.

"You sure about this?" Luke asked, his finger overing over the call button on your contact.

"Dude I'm telling you, they just need a lil push in the right direction."

"Uhh, this is more of a check into the boards." Nico's voice chimes from his places on the younger boys' couch.

"Just call her!" Jack ushers Luke away, firing off a text when he hears your voice through the phone.

Jack: yo quinn, is bub ok?

Quinn: yes ? I think ?

Quinn: I'm at practice

Quinn: wait

Quinn: whys she not answering her phone

Jack: idk man

Jack: I can't get through to her

Jack: neither can Luke

Quinn: she's supposed to be at home

Quinn: wait

Jack's phone remains silent for ages until he hears a commotion on the other end of the line from Luke's phone. Quinn's yelling, and Jack winces at the panicked edge to his voice.

"I'm here, Quinny," your voice is soft and gentle, confusion lacing your tone, and Jack can hear the sigh his brother heaves, picture the way his shoulders must fall in relief. "What's wrong?"

Luke chooses that moment to hang up.

"Bro!"

"I don't wanna hear that!"

It's two hours later when Jack receives a text from Quinn. It's a photo of your legs resting on Quinn's, hands entwined. The caption reads:

We've been dating for months dumbass

Jack's offended that neither of you told him and takes it upon himself to get revenge.

jackhughes: you're welcome for shoving the kid when we were 7. without me, you'd never have met.

congrats losers

tagged: yourusername, _quinnhughes

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