#and a frustrated fat simmer!

[saturngalore]

i feel like if you have people paying for your cc hairs (and for years now!) then you should at least know how to weight paint and vertex paint (or evens just transfer it!) and/or test your hairs on different body frames so your hair don’t do shit like this ⬇️

and i would know because i literally had the same problem with my lady tigra hairs and i had to learn how to transfer the weights and vertexes for that one strand because i did not want to release a fucked up hair even if it was for free and only really affected fat sims! and my purple haired sim (jenni) is like the biggest sim i have and look at that curl! crisp and scrumptious!!

[3d-wifey]

can i get a short lil sumthin sumthin about remus and his girlfriend being academic weapons, sirius and james thinks they're boring bc they've been doing their work in the library for hours but they're actually cockwarming and seeing who'll crack first heheheh 👀👀👀

"Focus, Lupin"

Pairing: Remus Lupin x girlfriend!reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: well, smut of course! Exhibitionism, possessive Remus, yall are both freaks tbh, cucking? cock warming, riding

A/N: The other marauders have a big fat stinking crush on you but that's neither here nor there until the end of the fic. Sighhh, I go through my marauders mood swings. Your house isn't clear so feel free to pick any of them.

Tags: @yvy1s @innercreationflower

Remus hooks his chin over your shoulder, looking for all the world as if he's just getting into a better position to read his chicken scratch notes, pressing your back even further against his chest. You inhale, clenching around him at the sudden movement. You scoff at his near-inaudible laughter, elbowing him as he chuckles into your neck.

"Quit it." You grumble, quil moving at the speed of light as you furiously write.

"Quit what?" He moves the textbook you're sharing closer, the big hand he places on the page mirrors the one that's settled on your stomach. He spreads his fingers wide like he's stretching them before he drums them along the parchment. You wish you hadn't left your robes in your dorm, at least then you'd have another layer between your skin and Remus's teasing touch.

"You're cheating." You hiss, but that's the most you do to reprimand him. It's your fault you're in this mess anyhow.

Both of you are always the highest scorers in your class. And with the past few exams, you've been getting the same score or beating each other by a point or two. It's bloody frustrating.

You continuously tried to one-up each other in academics, long after you two started dating. He's your rival first, boyfriend second.

At this very moment, before you both sit two half-done papers for your N.E.W.T-level Alchemy class that isn't due for another week, but you get extra house points if you're the first to turn it in.

Which you plan to be, even if half the blood in your brain has traveled down to where you're swollen and soaked. You both sit completely clothed, other than where you're hitched on Remus's cock, knickers pulled to the side.

Of course, the library is empty. It's nine in the afternoon on a Friday. And it was your idea to see whose dedication would overpower their carnal desires. 

He laughed you off at first. A soft, dismissive chuckle rumbling from his chest, muffled by the book he barely looked up from. Typical, shaking his head as if you'd said something absurd and that was the beginning and end of it. But you knew him well enough by now to know which buttons to push—and exactly how hard. 

"Yeah, right," you sighed, letting your tone drop into exaggerated defeat as you flopped back against his headboard. "Wouldn't be much of a competition anyway."

Remus paused mid-turn of the page. His brows furrowed, eyes flicking to you in sharp suspicion, but you didn't look at him. Not yet. Instead, you stretched out along his bed like a cat, carefully keeping your expression blank as you toyed with the edge of the blanket.

"...And what's that supposed to mean?" His voice was sharp, clipped, but you could hear the curiosity, the irritation. The competitive edge. Exactly what you were counting on.

"Hm? Oh, nothing." You waved a hand vaguely in his direction, settling yourself comfortably against his pillows. You stretched a little more, arching your back like a cat before flopping onto your side. You kept your expression perfectly neutral, but you knew he could feel the smirk simmering beneath the surface. "It's just...well, we both know you'd give in long before me. So there's truthfully no point in even entertaining the idea." You shrugged, all nonchalance, even as you felt your chest flutter at the way his brows drew together. "I'm just agreeing with you, Rem."

His scoff was immediate, sharp and incredulous. You'd earned yourself a full look now, his book lowering just enough to reveal the disbelief etched across his face. “That’s not what I said.”

You shrugged as if it was no concern to you, deliberately looking away like the conversation was already over, knowing full well he wouldn’t let it rest. You flipped onto your stomach, propping your chin on your hands to stare at him with wide, innocent eyes. "Didn’t need to." 

You bit your lip to keep from smiling as his book lowered—not abruptly, but slowly, deliberately. One inch, then two—his sharp amber eyes flicking to yours. The forefinger he slipped between the pages made it look like he might still pretend to be reading, but you knew better.

The scar closest to his eye twitched, irritation flickering faintly across his face. Merlin, you always loved how expressive that scar was when he was annoyed. One of his fingers tapped against the book spine resting on his chest, the motion twitchy.

He exhaled through his nose—sharp, like he was trying to keep it together—and finally set the book aside. His movements were precise, controlled, but there’s no hiding the faint flush creeping over his neck or the way the corner of his mouth twitched.

You knew you got him. He tried, and failed, to mask his irritation and it was almost unfair how easy he was to rile up. Almost

He let a long silence settle, the weight of his gaze pressing into you. Finally: “…You taking the piss?” 

You let the grin spread across your face this time, sitting up slightly so your chin props on your hands. "M'as serious as the plague, Lupin."

The staring match that followed was something out of a duel, the cogs in his mind clearly spinning. The tension stretched taut between you, thick as smoke, neither of you daring to blink.

His book stayed in his hand for a moment longer, though you saw the exact second he gave up pretending to read. Then, to your satisfaction, he closed his book with an audible thud and set it aside. He shifted, sitting up and leaning forward. He crossed his arms over his broad chest, the muscles in his forearms flexing with the movement, and your stomach twisted—just a smidge.

"Go get your books," he said, his voice low and challenging, sending electricity up your spine. "And meet me in the library."

“Oooh, someone's touchy," you said, walking your fingers up his thigh, muscles tensing under your touch. “Formal battlegrounds now, is it? Bold move, Rem. I thought you liked keeping your humiliations private. But if losing in public gets your rocks off, who am I to deny you?"

His lips twitched—an almost-smile that was gone too fast to catch properly. “I’ll be the one handing out the humiliation, thanks.” 

"Stakes?" you asked, cocking your head.

"Loser buys the winner chocolate frogs for a week," he said, already swinging his legs off the bed. Then, after a pause, he glanced over his shoulder, smirking faintly. "Or…whatever else I decide." 

You pushed yourself up with a wicked grin that matched his, already moving toward the door. “Alright, but don’t be mad when you’re the one giving in first. I know you can’t resist me for long.” 

Behind you, you heard him huff a laugh, though it sounded like he was trying to hide it. “Get your books, trouble. Let’s see how well you actually handle restraint.” 

You were confident by the end of this week you'd overdose on chocolate frogs. Remus might be brilliant and disciplined, but he’s not immune to distraction. Especially distraction in the form of his wickedly beautiful girlfriend.

Truthfully, it was daft of you to assume Remus would play fair. You mix two people who are as competitive as they are horny and it leads you here, on your boyfriend's lap, surely dripping onto the wooden bench under you.

He hums as if he's thinking over the definition of cheating and if what he's doing right now counts as it—which it does.

"S'that right?" He mumbles into your neck and you almost reach for your wand, honest, "I don't see any cheating here, love. Just good old fashioned studying, just like you wanted."

He thrusts up, and your hand flies up to cover your mouth. You see his quill moving out of the corner of your eye without the aid of a hand. "Cheater," you pant, but don't move to stop him or even continue writing your essay. You allow yourself to enjoy the slow, steady rock of his hips against yours—only for a moment. Every vein and ridge dragging against your hypersensitive walls.

You go to reach back—for support, for a futile attempt at stopping the way he rocks into you, feeling as inevitable as the ticking of time—with your other hand, but are stopped by the quill in your hand. You're reminded, there and then, that winning over Remus is almost, if not just as satisfactory as a hard won orgasim.

You put quill to ink pot, and then, quill to parchment. Remus curses behind you but doesn't stop. Not with you panting and whining behind gritted teeth. Not with you clenching around him like a Grindylow's spindly fingers, tightening with a merciless grip. He doesn’t stop until the familiar voice of his mates cuts through the fog.

"There you two are. Should've known you'd be held up in here weeks before your assignment is done. On a weekend at that—" Sirius trails off as he and James discover the little nook you and Remus have secluded yourselves too, as well as the...odd position you find yourselves in.

It's not that he's never seen you two be affectionate, especially nearing the full moon as it is, but you in Remus's lap like this, a flustered look on your face, well, he's not a dumbass. Something out of the ordinary is happening here.

James on the other hand is none the wiser, brows furrowing in self righteous disappointment.

"We've been looking for you two everywhere. Party's not that far off, you know the turn out will be lethal even if we lost the match to those snakes." There was a foul that should've been called, but wasn't, a sligh that the refs didn't catch. In traditional Gryffindor fashion, they didn't whine about a rematch or about the unfairness of it, and in typical Slytherin fashion, they didn't either. But they needed you two to help set up certain spells only you two knew because, well, you created them. Definitely not because they liked watching the way their best mate's girl stretched and bent as she set up in the Gryffindor commons.

"We know," Remus says, glancing up at the boys before looking back to one of the open textbooks. "The plan's to party the weekend away, yeah? It's why we're getting the assignment out of the way. Sooner you let us finish this," he's slowly sliding his hands up from your knees to your hips, pushing you down with such strength that your stomach clenches, "sooner we can help."

"It's...it's just an essay, Sirius. We'll be done before the Hufflepuffs start," you almost bite your tongue mid-sentence when Remus ghosts a callused finger over your aching clit, playing it off as a hiccup, "bringing the snacks.

Neither of you say anything more as you have a sneaking suspicion that they're going to catch on, chances of you opening your mouth to speak only for a moan to tumble out are high. Remus is quiet because he hopes they do figure it out, either from the audible wetness of your cunt or your eyes rolling back as he makes you cum. 

Remus knows they're in love with you and have been since third and fourth year. He's tempted to invite them a glimpse under the table so they can see how he has you stretched around his cock, squirming and wanton. What better way of making sure they know you're his?

And from the way Sirius looks the two of you over, glances down at the table, and raises his perfectly sculpted brows as James begins to ramble at you, there’s no mistaking that Sirius knows. Of course he does. Sirius always knows. His stormy eyes flick down again—deliberate, calculating—as if he’s debating whether or not to call you out. He hums, low and thoughtful, as if weighing the satisfaction of saying something versus letting the moment play out. Instead, he smirks faintly and leans against a nearby bookcase, letting James’s oblivious chatter fill the space.

Remus holds his gaze, unflinching, daring him to say a word. For a brief, reckless moment, he considers sliding his chair back just enough to let Sirius catch a glimpse of how thoroughly he has you. The thought makes his cock twitch inside you, and from the way Sirius’s smirk curves a fraction higher, it’s almost like he knows that, too.

Remus doesn’t full-on smirk when they lock eyes, but it’s a close thing.

"…Right.” Sirius tilts his head slightly, his sharp grey eyes dragging over the two of you like he’s piecing together a puzzle he’s already solved. His gaze flicks down to the table again—just briefly—and then back up to meet yours. The corner of his mouth twitches, not quite a smirk, but close enough to make your stomach drop. “You know, you two really are awful at being subtle.”

Your heart skips a beat, heat rushing to your face as you open your mouth to protest—except Sirius doesn’t give you the chance. He hums thoughtfully, his gaze flicking to Remus, and then back to you, like he’s enjoying the power of watching you squirm. “But don’t think being pretty gets you out of work,” he adds smoothly, leaning in to knock his knuckle against the table. “You’ve got until ten on the dot before I come back and drag you out of here myself.”

James, oblivious as ever, snorts and waves Sirius off. “Don’t listen to him, he’s just mad because we need you for the setup,” he says, rolling his eyes. He jabs a thumb at Sirius, then gestures toward the door. “I told him you’re probably in here studying, because what else would you two be doing on a Friday night?”

Sirius hums again, a low, knowing sound, his gaze locking with Remus’s in a silent challenge. The corner of his mouth curves, just enough for you to wonder if he’s going to say something more—something that will make it impossible to deny that he knows exactly what’s happening beneath the table.

But instead, he lets out a soft laugh, straightening from the bookcase. “Sure,” he drawls, his voice dripping with amusement. “Studying.” His eyes grow bigger as he says it to emphasis just how little he believes that rubbage excuse.

He casts one last look over the two of you, smirking faintly, before turning to leave, James already rambling on about the next Quidditch match as they disappear into the corridor. Relief floods your chest for all of three seconds—before Remus tilts his hips just so, dragging another whimper from you as his cock presses deeper.

You bite your cheek, barely able to return James's wave goodbye before you're digging your nails into Remus's thighs. The same thighs that are currently spreading yours apart. Your skirt rides up, exposing you to the air and his sly hands.

"This," your hips twitch against his as he traces feather-light fingers over your puffy lips, swollen with need. You bite back a whine, huffing harshly through your nose as those fingers move down where the base of his cock sits snugly in you, tubbing slick where you and he are connected. "This is how you're cheating."

"If you're so much better than me, you should be able to focus, no problem, right?" He has an arm wrapped around your waist again, the other flipping pages.

"Fine." If that's how he wants to play, then you are more than game. You lean forward, elbows on the table as you grind your hips back and forth, barely raising off of him before coming back down with your fluttering warmth squeezing around him. "Focus, Lupin. Or, mh, at least try."

"Shhhit. D-dearest, that's not—" he cuts himself off with a truly shameless moan, both hands gripping your waist. He doesn't stop you, no, wouldn't dream of it. Instead, he helps you balance as you move faster, busy chasing your high more than you're focused on sabotaging Remus. "You, your—Merlin, you're bloody brilliant."

At this point, you don't know what'll come first: you, Remus, or Sirius's wrath.

[cressidagrey]

It's a Love Story - Chapter 9

Summary:

Azriel's shadows find their master a wife.

Azriel would just really like his heart not to get broken again.

And Sky...well, she's just really surprised that that far too handsome male is interested in her at all.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), I classified this as Azriel x OC, even when it't technically Azriel x Sellyn Drake (but we kinda know nothing about Sellyn Drake other than that she writes books so Sky is kinda an OC), Cassian is kinda a good guy for once, Azriel has a horrible time, as usual... Stuttering, toxic families (For once I do not mean the IC), Self-Esteem Issues, Secret Identity, Body Image Issues, Fat Shaming, People being utterly horrible. Racism against Illyrians/Lesser Faes?

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

Rhys had the seething hot realisation that he had really fucked up on Winter Solstice.

Before that…well. He could still pretend.

Pretend that maybe Azriel just needed time. That he just needed…time to adjust and would get over himself eventually.

Would get over Solstice two years ago. Would get over Mor finding her mate in Emerie… Would get over it all.

That it was just him moping and licking his wounds and he would be back to normal. That maybe he just needed to punch Rhys, get it out of his system and it would be done.

So Rhys had baited him.

Repeatedly.

Azriel didn’t fight. Didn’t protest.

As a boy…Az had attacked snarling and growling, furious and vicious.

Rhys had waited for that same exact result.

Nothing of that sort had happened.

Now…Now Azriel just looked at him, eyes dark and cold…

“Why should I tell you? I may trust you with this court, Rhysand, but I do not trust you with anything I love. Not anymore.”

And then he turned and left. Not giving them a second look. 

Rhys could just stare at him. 

He had expected anger, protests, anything. But this...this was worse.

This was Azriel putting him on notice that he didn't trust Rhys at all anymore.

For a moment it was silent. 

Then Cassian broke it. 

"Give me one good reason, why I shouldn't fucking snap your neck for talking to my brother like that," Cassian seethed. "One reason."

"I didn't...think...

"You didn't think?" Cassian repeated, his voice sharp and incredulous. "Really? You didn't think that your words and actions could have a negative impact on Azriel? You just expected him to be fine after you basically told him that you don't trust him to act like an adult around Elain? That you think Elain and Mor are more important than him? You're unbelievable, Rhys."

"I did what was best for the court," Rhys protested feebly.

"Yes, a spymaster that doesn't trust his High Lord is incredibly good for our court," Cassian agreed with a sage nod, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You told him to go to a fucking pleasure hall and pay for it? You told Azriel of all people that?! What is fucking wrong with you, Rhys?!"

Rhys let out a frustrated sigh. "I was trying to make a point, Cassian," he said. "He wasn't really in love with Elain, he just liked the idea of her."

Cassian gaped at Rhys, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. "That's bullshit, Rhys, and you know it," he snapped. "Azriel had feelings for Elain, real feelings. Maybe still has them. Who knows. He was ready to die, so that Lucien could live. He did that for her.  Tell me to my face again that he didn't really love her."

Rhys ran a hand over his face, his frustration clear. "I...I may have underestimated the depth of Azriel's feelings for Elain," he admitted grudgingly. "But my duty as High Lord is to protect my court first and foremost. And I really didn't want to deal with a Blood Duel. Beron was still in play then, before Eris got rid of him. If he got wind..."

"I understand your duties, Rhys," Cassian said, his voice gentler now. "But you went too far this time. You crossed a line, and Azriel feels betrayed and hurt. You dismissed his feelings as if they didn't matter, and that's not right. He's not just your spymaster or soldier, he's your brother."

He was. Which was exactly why Rhys didn't want him anywhere near that particular powder keg at that time. And then Elain had already chosen her mate, and Rhys thought with that...it was done.

"He's just being stubborn. He'll get over himself eventually," Rhys said. Right?

That's how far he got, before Cassian punched him straight into the nose.

Rhys stumbled back, clutching his nose. "What the hell, Cassian?" he demanded, his voice muffled by the blood gushing from his nose.

Cassian stared at him, his expression unreadable. "You are really, really stupid, Rhys. Idiotic. Azriel’s not being stubborn, he's heartbroken. Hurt. Betrayed. And you treat his feelings as if they are nothing!"

Rhys winced, his eyes watering from the pain and the accusation in Cassian's words. "I...I just wanted to protect him. I thought it was for the best..."

Cassian barked out a sharp laugh. "You were doing more harm than good, Rhys. You can't just push someone's feelings aside because it's convenient for you. That's not how relationships work, especially not between brothers."

"And what the fuck were you thinking when you told him to behave about Mor?! Did you ever even consider to maybe try and get Mor to talk to Azriel? That maybe that would be a good solution? Make her apologise for treating him like she did treat him? Azriel had every fucking right to be hurt and angry at her. He would have had every fucking right and Mor would have needed to accept that!"

Rhys winced again. "I...I just didn't want any… arguments, Cassian. Mor and Emerie are happy now. I didn't want to dredge up old hurts and cause tensions within the court."

"So because Azriel keeps his feelings quiet and doesn't complain, you just treated him like shit. Great job, High Lord," Cassian drawled.

Rhys flinched at Cassian's words. Deep down he knew Cassian was right. He had been too focused on preserving the peace and avoiding conflict, that he had overlooked and dismissed Azriel's feelings.

"Azriel has done everyhting in his power to make everybody around him comfortable. Nobody ever does the same for him," Cassian said darkly. "I fucked up too, you know. With Mor. With not being there when I should be...but at least I never told Azriel to Behave like he is either your dog or a child." Cassian shook his head. "I have no fucking clue if you even can fix this, Rhys, even if you wanted to. He clearly doesn't trust you at all anymore."

That had just become very fucking clear. 

"I...I never meant to hurt him," Rhys said, his voice cracking. "I just...I thought I was doing what was best for him. For everyone."

"Azriel was willing to go to war for you," Cassian said sharply. "We both were. We knew that everything involving you and Feyre and Tamlin was a war waiting too happen. But we took that risk. And hwne it was time for you to take that risk for your brother, you chose your court over him, Rhys. I get it. I understand why you did it, even if I disagree...I could forgive you that. BUt you telling Azriel to go to a pleasure hall, because he doesn't know his own feelings..."

Rhys felt the weight of Cassian's words settling in his gut like a heavy stone. He had never considered that his actions could be interpreted that way. "But...you have to understand, Cassian. I have responsibilities, a duty to the Night Court and its people. I have to consider the impact every decision has."

“And in this, you were also Azriel’s brother,” Cassian cut him off. “I don’t care about your reasoning. You need to start with a fucking apology. You treated him worse than you would every other of your soldiers.” 

Rhys swallowed. 

To say that Cassian was furious…That was a fucking understatmeent. 

And even if…even if he ignored this…there was something else that…

"His mother..." he wasn't sure how to ask that question. 

"Azriel made that decision," Cassian said calmly. "He didn't want you to feel like that was in any way your fault because you sealed Velaris for 50 years.  Quite frankly...I think Azriel's mother has been searching for an excuse not to see him anymore for a very long time."

Rhys' expression fell, the weight of guilt pressing down on him even more heavily now, if that was even possible. "I...I didn't know," he said quietly. "I...I really didn't know that it had come to this between Azriel and his mother. I...I really didn't, Cassian, I swear."

"Of course you didn't. We kept it from you," Cassian said drily. "Azriel does know how to keep a secret. Which we have just seen. I had absolutely no clue that he has met his mate."

Rhys swallowed. This should...It should have been...something happy that Azriel met his mate. He should have been telling Rhys and Cassian all about it, eyes alight with excitement and not...not spit it out just to spite Rhys.

He had really messed it up this time, hadn't he? Rhys knew that he had to make things right with Azriel, even if it meant facing the hard truth about how he had failed him as a brother and a High Lord.

"Who do you think she is?" he asked weakly.

Cassian stared at him. "I don't fucking care. She can be Sellyn Drake for all I care and I'll be her very best friend as long as she treats Azriel well and makes him happy," Cassian told him tightly. "And you...You'll keep out of it."

Rhys recoiled as if he had been slapped, but he knew Cassian was righr. He had lost the right to be involved in Azriel's personal life, and it was his own fault.

"An apology is the least you owe Azriel,  Rhys. And you owe Mor the fucking truth as well. Namely that the only reason that Azriel is probably civil to her, is that you ordered him to. Actually, you owe all of us the truth."

Rhys grimaced.  He knew that he had to come clean and face the consequences of his actions, even if it meant causing more chaos and unrest within his court. "Feyre is going to kill me," he mumbled under his breaht. Cassian didn't look sorry in the slightest.

"Then you shouldn't have behaved like a fucking asshole," Cassian gave back flatly. "Let's go back to Velaris. We'll have this discussion now.”

Rhys nodded, a sense of resignation washing over him. He took a deep breath and steeled himself for the difficult conversation that was awaitng him.

"What happened to your nose?" Feyre asked as soon as he entered the River House. "Where's Az?"

"I broke it," Cassian gave back drily. "Don't worry, Rhysand deserves worse."

Rhys grimaced at the thought of having to explain the whole situation to Feyre. "Azriel...he got...upset. We had a fight. And Cassian punched me. It's...it's complicated," Rhys mumbled. 

"Correction," Cassian snapped. "You were an utter prick to Azriel, who decided that he would rather spent Winter Solstice with his mate that none of us knew existed. And I punched you, because you didn't even fucking understand what you did wrong in the first place."

Feyre's eyes widened in disbelief as she listened to Cassian's explanation. "Rhys, what is he talking about?" she asked, her voice tinged with concern. "Why would Azriel get so upset?"

"Because apparently, Little Rhysie in his infinite wisdom, did not only tell Azriel and I quote "If you want to fuck somebody, go to a pleasure hall and pay for it," when he found out about Azriel's crush on Elain, but has also apparently spent the last 2 years telling my brother to "behave" like he's some kind of dog," Cassian said sarcastically. Rhys grimaced. "You should consider yourself lucky that I only broke your nose," Cassian told him darkly. "I ought to fucking throttle you for doing this to Az."

Shock and anger poured all over the mating bond and he met Feyre’s eyes with no small amount of trepidation. 

Feyre stared at him, her expression a mix of shock and disappointment. "Is that true, Rhys? Did you really say that to Azriel?"

"Feyre Darling..." he started. 

*Did you really tell Azriel "If you want to fuck somebody, go to a pleasure hall and pay for it.”?* she demanded mentally.

Rhys winced, knowing that he couldn't lie to Feyre through the bond. *I...I may have said something along those lines,* he admitted reluctantly.

Feyre narrowed her eyes at Rhys. "And the whole 'behave' thing?" she asked sharply.

Rhys looked down, unable to meet Feyre's gaze. "I...I may have used that phrase a few times," he said quietly.

"A few times?" Feyre repeated, her voice rising in anger. "How many times, Rhys? How many times did you tell Azriel to 'behave' because of his feelings for Elain?"

“It wasn’t about Elain. It was also about Mor,“ Cassian said drily.

“What?“ Mor demanded. 

Rhys winced as he realized that the truth was about to come out. 

"Mor, I-"

Mor's eyes narrowed as she took in Rhys' reaction. "Tell me, Rhysand. What did you say to Azriel about me?"

Rhys sighed heavily, knowing that he couldn't avoid this conversation anymore. "I...I may have told Azriel to 'behave' around you and Emerie. I was afraid that his feelings for you would cause tension within the court."

Mor's eyes widened in disbelief. "You told him to behave around me?” She swallowed these beautiful brown eyes lined with tears. “You…I thought…I thought he was…he was happy for us but it’s was only because you told him to behave. I let him be, I didn’t try to talk to him, because he seemed fine.”

Rhys winced at Mor's words, feeling the weight of his actions. "I thought it would be easier for everyone, Mor.”

“Easier to make him lie?” Mor asked him, her voice tight. “Easier to forbid him to express his actual feelings? I know…I didn’t behave right with him but I thought we were better. But we weren’t. He was just acting like everything was fine so you wouldn’t lay into him and punish him for misbehaving!”

Rhys felt a pang of guilt in his chest. "I...I never meant to hurt him, Mor. I thought I was doing what was best for everyone."

Mor shook her head, her eyes shimmering with tears. "You weren't doing what was best for him. You were doing what was easiest for you."

Rhys dropped his gaze, knowing that he had brought this situation upon himself. "I...I don't know how to make it right," he admitted. "I've lost his trust, and I don't know if I can ever earn it back."

Amren huffed, crossing her arms, her dark eyes glittering with annoyance. "Well, you certainly made a mess of things, Rhysand." She leaned in closer, her voice low and intense. "But you'd better find a way to fix it. And fast. Because we're not just talking about Azriel here. We're talking about the future of this court."

Rhys nodded tightly. "I know," he said quietly. 

He was very much aware what it would mean to their court if Azriel decided to leave them. The disadvantage they woul find themselves in…and this didn’t even start to cover the personal loss of losing his brother. 

“Leave him be,” Nesta said at that moment. 

Rhys turned to Nesta, his expression conflicted. "I can't just do nothing, Nesta. He's my brother,” he told his sister-in-law, but Nesta wasn’t having it, sticking out her chin. 

"And yet you treated him like some kind of attack dog who needed to be kept under control. That's not how you treat a brother, Rhys," she seethed. “I ought to stab you.”

Rhys flinched at Nesta's words, knowing that she was right. "I know," he said quietly. "I was wrong, and I need to make things right with him."

"You sure as hell better," Cassian growled. "Azriel doesn't deserve any of this bullshit."

***

To his surprise… Sky was at home.

He hadn’t thought she would be there…he thought he would be greeted by an annoyed Hector, who would be bitchy that it was him coming home and not Sky. 

But Hector was nowhere to be seen. He could hear his meowing though. 

He found his mate buried in their bed, seemingly all the blankets in the house put on top of herself…and Hector pawing at the mountain of blankets, demanding to be let in. 

"Are you hiding from the world, my love?" He asked softly, as he crawled into the bed next to her, lifting a few blankets so Hector could slither underneath them, which he did immediately. He carefully pulled the blankets away from her face and Sky looked at him, eyes red from crying. 

In the same breath he suddenly picked up the salty scent of tears. That was all he needed to pull her into his arms. 

“I thought you were having dinner with your family,” Sky whispered, her voice hoarse, burying her face against his chest. 

“Didn’t end well,” he told her drily. “Yours?”

“Didn’t end well either,” she said with a laugh that turned into a sob.

A soft sniffle. No. Not again. He couldn’t deal with her crying. He couldn’t…it ripped apart his hear to see his mate like that and he held her tighter."It's all right, love," he murmured, holding her close. "I'm here with you now. Let it all out." He gently ran his hand up and down her back, trying to soothe her.

"Tell me what's happened," he said gently, his voice filled with concern.

“I…I am a ho…horrible p…person,” Sky whimpered. 

He nearly wanted to laugh at the pure ridiculousness of that statement. Sky, the sweetest person he had ever met, a horrible person? Not possible.

"You're not a horrible person," he said firmly. "Not at all. You're the kindest, most compassionate person I've ever met."

“I…I to…told Cl…Claire th…that at le…least I…I do…don’t ha…have my si…sister’s slop…sloppy se…seconds.”

He needed a moment to parse it, her stutter worse than he had ever heard it. 

“What?” he could just ask dumbly as he blinked. Sky? Sky had said what?!

“I…I to…told Cl…Claire th…that at le…least I…I do…don’t ha…have my si…sister’s slop…sloppy se…seconds,” she repeated and began to cry again, hiding her face in her hands. “I…I am a ho…horrible p…person,” she whimpered.

Azriel gently took her hands in his, guiding them away from her face. "You're not a horrible person, sweetheart," he said firmly. 

She wasn’t. 

He highly doubted that Sky had said that without…without her sister saying something worse first. 

And it wasn’t like it wasn’t…"Besides…you said nothing that wasn’t true,” Azriel said drily.."

Sky hiccuped out a laugh and then started crying in the earnest again. 

“That’s why you are so upset?” He asked softly, against her warm skin. “You aren’t a horrible person. I swear. 

“N..no.” Sky said softly. “I…I am ne..never se…seeing them again.”

Azriel's heart sank at her words. "Your family? Why…why are you never seeing them again?"

“I…I am ne..never se…seeing them again. Not after what they…they said.” She was dead serious. He could hear that in her voice. 

And it was…

Azriel's heart clenched at the thought of her severing ties with her family, of her…they treated her horrible but Sky loved them. Sky loved them so much. So much more than they deserved.  "What did they say, sweetheart?" he asked gently.

Sky took a shaky breath, struggling to get the words out. "They... They said…said so…some things," she whispered, her voice quavering. "Things I can't…I can’t for…forgive them for."

"What did they say, sweetheart?" he asked again, his voice gentle yet firm. "I want to know."

He wanted to know. And then he wanted to kill them for upsetting her like this. 

Sky closed her eyes, tears streaming down her face. "You do…don’t want to know."

Azriel took her face in his hands, gently wiping away her tears. "I do want to know," he corrected her softly. "Because whatever they said, it hurt you, and I want to be there for you."

“They…They had a pro…problem with the fact that you were Ill…Illyrian,” she whispered.

Ah. “You don’t need to say anything more,” he said wryly. “But I promise that I have heard worse. If you still want to be around them…” he hated how they treated sky but he was not about to let her cut off contact with her family just because they didn’t like him. He could deal with that. He had survived worse.

Sky shook her head fiercely. "No,” she said, her voice so weak…and so definitive. “No.” 

Azriel's heart swelled with love for her as she stood her ground. "I understand, sweetheart," he murmured, pulling her closer. "If that's what you want, I'll stand by you, whatever you decide. But I don't want you to make this decision because of me."

“They…They told me that you were a cre…creature and a mo..monster and that they were surprised you hadn’t rip…ripped me apart. My father threatened to disinherit me if I didn’t give up the m…mating bond. So I told him I never wanted to hear a single word from him ever again,” she whispered, her voice growing stronger. 

Azriel's eyes darkened with anger as she recounted the hurtful things her family had said about him. He tightened his arms around her. 

"I'm so sorry, Sky," he whispered. "You don't deserve any of this. And your family doesn't deserve you."

“I coul…couldn't just…just sit there and let them say those ter…terrible things about you, about us,” Sky whispered. “I can't be around people who would say those kinds of things about the person I love the most in the world."

“…you love me?” He whispered in wonder.

She loved him? She chose him? Even over her family? Even…

Sky looked up at him, these blue eyes looking at him. “Yes. More than anything.”

He swallowed, his heart swelling. 

"I love you too, Sky. More than anything," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I'm so grateful that I have you in my life."

Sky smiled, her eyes shining with love. "You….You don't have to do a…anything to deserve me, Azriel. You just have to be yourself. That's all I've ever wanted. And I wouldn't change a thing about you. You're perfect, just the way you are."

Azriel felt a lump form in his throat. "I'm far from perfect, Sky," he said, his voice rough. "But I promise you, I will always do my best to make you happy. That's all I want."

He pressed soft kisses all over her face, making her giggle softly.

“Let’s just have our own Solstice celebration,“ he whispered softly.

Sky smiled at the idea. "Th..That sounds p…perfect," she whispered. “Just the two of us, together. It's a..all I need."

There still was a rabbit he had hunted in the cooling cabinet…and so while Azriel took care of cooking thst, Sky was making…something that involved stale bread, milk, eggs and plenty of sugar for dessert. 

Azriel smiled as he watched her work. "What in the world are you making, love?" he asked, peeking over her shoulder. "It smells delicious."

Sky grinned, holding up the bowl she was stirring. "It's…It’s a bread pudding," she said. "I found an old recipe in a c…cookbook. It's supposed to be a t…traditional Winter Solstice dessert."

Azriel raised his eyebrows in surprise. "You never cease to amaze me, sweetheart," he said, chuckling. "I can't wait to try it." He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her cheek, his heart full of adoration for her.

Sky blushed at his affection. "I just hope it turns out okay," she said, adding a pinch of cinnamon to the mix. "But even if it doesn't, it will be p…perfect just because we're together."

Azriel smiled at her words, feeling a warmth spread through his chest. "You're right," he said softly. "As long as we're together, it doesn't matter what we eat or what we do. Just being with you is a gift in itself."

“You should write poetry,” his mate told him sweetly and he couldn’t help but laugh. He had picked up one of the poetry books she kept weeks ago and had found the whole thing… well. As long as Sky liked it… 

Azriel chuckled, shaking his head. "I don't think I have the talent for poetry, sweetheart," he said, grinning. "But I'm glad you think so highly of me."

Sky playfully nudged him with her shoulder. "Oh come on, I'm sure you could write the most beautiful sonnets if you r…really tried," she teased. "I've heard you whisper s…sweet nothings in my ear before, and they sound pretty poetic to me."

Azriel laughed and wrapped his arms around her. “I'll leave the sonnets to the experts and just continue whispering sweet nothings to you instead,” he promised her softly. 

“Sounds perfect to me,” she agreed brightly.

Dinner with Sky was better than any dinner with the inner circle could be. Roasted rabbit and crusty bread, followed by caramel bread pudding…

And then it was just him and Sky wrapped into each others arms on the couch, with Hector stretched out in front of the fireplace, blankets wrapped around him…

They had promised each other to not go overboard with gifts. But clearly oone of them had not listened, which hadn’t been him… there was a pile of wrapped gifts appearing on the couch table.

Azriel raised an eyebrow at the pile of gifts, chuckling. "Well, someone certainly didn't stick to our agreement, did they?" he teased, glancing at Sky with a playful smile. "Not that I mind, of course," he added, reaching for one of the packages. "I just hope my gift isn't embarrassingly small in comparison."

“…I…I only got you o…one thing,“ Sky admitted weakly, staring at the pile of gift. 

Then who… Azriel stared at the shadows who were swirling happily around sky.

“I think I know the culprit,” he said drily.

*I thought I told you not to buy her anything new,* he told them drily.

*We didn’t!* they assure him.

Azriel chuckled at the insistent swirling of the shadows. "I don't know, love," he said with a grin. "It seems like my shadows are feeling particularly generous this year." He reached for the nearest gift and handed it to her. "Here, why don't you open this one first?"

“You got me something?” Sky asked the shadows. “You shouldn’t have! I didn’t get anything for you!”

Azriel laughed, knowing that it was pointless to try and reason with the shadows when they were in a playful mood like this. "They don't care about that, love," he said, nudging her gently. "They just want to make you happy. Go on, open it."

Azriel had no idea what to even give the shadows anyway. *You could give us permission to ruin her sisters life,* they told him brightly

Azriel laughed again, shaking his head. *As tempting as that may be, I don’t think that's the best way to spread the holiday cheer,* he said drily.

*She deserves it,* the shadows murmured. *We wouldn’t outright kill her…*

*No, you’ll find some mischievous and chaotic way to torment her and make her life miserable,* he retorted with a grin. *Don’t physically harm her,* he warned them quietly. Tacit approval. The shadows danced in the spot as Sky opened the first box. Velvet wrapped. 

Jewellery.

A chicken egg sized sapphire in the middle of a necklace consisting out of sapphire and diamonds. He just sighed. Sky stared.

“Please…Please t…tell me that’s n..not r..real,“ she said weakly, her voice shaking. 

*Of course it’s real,* the shadows assured her like even the suggestion of it being fake was an affront. *Master’s mate doesn’t wear fake gems!*

Azriel would have liked to face palm. 

"I'm afraid the shadows insist that they only give the best for their master's mate," he said wryly. 

„This must have cost a fortune!“ Sky protested. “Where am I even supposed to wear it?“

Azriel chuckled, "I wouldn't waste my breath trying to argue with the shadows.  And as for where you're supposed to wear it, well… anywhere you want, really, love."

*Please tell me you didn’t steal that,* he told the shadows

*We didn't! We got it fair and square!* the shadows protested innocently.

Azriel raised an eyebrow, not quite believing them. *And how exactly did you manage that?* he asked dryly.

*We paid for it,* they told him innocently, fluttering around like they hadn’t bought her the biggest and most expensive sapphire he had ever seen.

“I can’t…“ Sky trailed off. 

“You’ll break their heart if you turn it down,“ Azriel said with a sigh."Just accept it, love," he said gently. "They mean well, even if they have a tendency to overdo it sometimes,” he said pointedly, something the shadows happily ignored. "They have their own line of credit, so whatever they buy is theirs to do with as they please," he said drily. 

Sky grimaced, staring down at the necklace…

"Please…please tell me there isn't…isn’t more pr…priceless je…jewellery in that stack?" she asked with a grimace. "

Azriel laughed, "I wish I could tell you that, but knowing the shadows, I wouldn't be surprised if they've bought you enough jewelry to start your own royal collection."

They had behaved...mostly.

If one ignored the hair comb dripping with some other blue stone...and the earrings that matched that necklace...and the quill that he was pretty sure was encrusted with actual diamonds.

Otherwise they had procured plenty of books for Sky, and had somehow found her a whole stack of notebooks…

(He was pretty sure they lied to him when they told him that they hadn’t bought any of this stuff knew. Where had they kept it otherwise?!)

Azriel couldn't help but shake his head in amusement as Sky opened each gift one by one. "Well, at least they managed to keep it under control for the most part," he said with a wry smile. "But knowing them, I'm sure there's still more where that came from."

Sky's eyes widened as she looked at all the gifts. "This is too much," she protested weakly. "I don't deserve all of this," she muttered. He would have argued, but instead he just pressed a kiss to her temple.  "Thank you very much," she thanked the shadows that happily twirled around her hair at her words.

Azriel chuckled, watching the shadows twirling in the air around Sky's head. "I think you just made their day," he said with a grin. "They're always happy to spoil you, love."

"I…I just hope they re…realize that I have a…absolutely no place to wear all of this," she said with a laugh. "I don't want to look like a walking jewelry store every time I leave the house…"

Azriel chuckled, "Well, they do have a bit of a tendency to go overboard when it comes to their gifts. But I can't really blame them, they just want to make you happy." He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her cheek, his eyes twinkling with love. "And you deserve everything and more, love, even if it makes you look like a walking jewelry store every once in a while."

She melted into the kiss.

"I went a very different route for your gift," she told him drily, handing him a sole gift bag.

The first thing he pulled from it was a tin of tuna. 

The laughter was immediate. He couldn't help it. Deep belly laughter, his amusement apparent, warmth filling his chest. Azriel couldn't help but burst into laughter as he pulled the tin of tuna from the gift bag. "Is this for Hector or for me?" he asked, grinning from ear to ear.

"I did promise to buy you tuna," Sky gave back with a laugh. "I just thought it would set the tone for the second gift."

The second gift he pulled from the bag was a knitted sweater. Slits down the back for his wings...made out of thick and warm and soft black yarn.

Azriel's laughter faded into a gentle smile as he took in the knitted sweater. "Sky, is this..." He trailed off, fingers brushing the soft, warm fabric. "Did you make this?"

"I did promise to knit you a sweater too," she said simply. 

Azriel couldn't help but melt at her words, feeling his heart fill with warmth. "You remembered," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I can't believe you made this for me, sweetheart." He pulled Sky into a tight embrace, feeling her heart beat in sync with his. "It's perfect," he murmured, his voice muffled against her hair. "Just like you."

"I'm glad you like it," Sky said softly. "I know it's not as a King’s ransom in diamonds… but I wanted to give you something that was made with love."

Azriel pulled back slightly to look into her eyes, his expression softening even more. "It means so much more to me because you made it," he said, his voice tender. "I'll cherish it always, just like I cherish you. Though I must admit my present is going to pale in comparison to that egg sized sapphire too," he told her drily.

Sky laughed, leaning into Azriel's embrace. "Well, to be fair, it's hard to compete with a sapphire that size," she said with a grin. "But I'm sure whatever you got me is perfect, even if it's not worth a small fortune."

It kinda was though. Even though it didn't look that way…mostly because he had spent a good few weeks until he had found a stone that even had a chance to stand next to her eyes. An oval sapphire flanked by two diamonds...set in white gold.

Azriel handed her the last box, trying to appear nonchalant. "Here, open this one," he said, trying to hide his nervousness. "I hope you like it."

Sky carefully untied the silk ribbon wrapped around the box and lifted the lid, her eyes widening in awe as she took in the ring inside.

"Marry me," it burst out of him.They had already accepted a mating bond. A marriage would be nothing more than a couple of vows in front of a priestess. But he...he wanted...

Azriel's heart was racing as he watched Sky's reaction to the ring, hoping and praying that she felt the same way he did. "I know that we already have the mating bond," he said softly. "But I want more than that, sweetheart. I...I want everything."

These devastating eyes lifted, looking at him."I want to spend every day for the rest of my life by your side," he continued, his voice rough with emotion. "I want to wake up next to you every morning and fall asleep holding you every night. I want to build a life with you, a family with you." He took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving hers. "And I want to make it official, in every way possible. Will you marry me, Sky?"

"Yes," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "Yes, a hundred times yes. I want all of that too, and more. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, to be by your side every step of the way. I want to build a life together, a family together."

Quite frankly, Azriel thought that this Winter Solstice may be the best one he ever had, as she kissed him. 

"We could get started on making that family," Sky told him, biting her lips as she pulled back. "You know how High Fae fertility can be...could take us decades..."

Azriel's eyes widened at her words, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Are you saying what I think you're saying, love?" he asked, his voice low and raspy as he pulled her close.

Sky nodded, her expression shy and hopeful as she looked up at him. "I…I want to be a mother s…someday," she said softly. "And I can't think of anyone I'd rather have children with than you."

Azriel felt his heart melt at her words. He couldn't believe how lucky he was to have found someone who loved him as much as Sky did. "I want that too, love," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "Nothing would make me happier than to have a family with you."

[literaryvein-reblogs]

more words for characterization (pt. 3)

Mentality

abhorrence, absentmindedness, abstraction, ache, aggravation, agonize, alarm, allergy, amazement, angst, anticipation, apathy, assurance, attention, attrition, awe, bathos, behalf, belonging, bitterness, boast, bosom, breast, buoyancy/buoyance, capitulation, care, censure, cheer, clemency, cogitation, comfort, complex, compulsion, conception, confusion, consideration, constancy, content, contrition, corollary, credit, curiosity, darkness, decision, deference, delight, delirium, dementia, dependence/dependency, design, despair, difficulty, disaffection, discipline, discomfiture, discontent, discrimination, disinclination, disorder, disquiet, distraction, disturbance, dolor, dumps, ecstasy, elation, emotion, enjoyment, envy, esprit de corps, exaltation, excitement, exhilaration, expectation, exultation, fat city, felicity, firmness, fog, forbearance, foresight, forgetfulness, frame of mind, free will, fret, frustration, funk, fury, glee, gratification, grief, happiness, heart, heartbreak, heaven, hoopla, huff, humanity, humor, idiocy, impulse, indignity, insight, introspection, jealousy, joy, kick, lament/lamentation, letdown, levity, madness, mania, melancholy, merriment/merrymaking, mirth, monotony, mope, mortification, mourning, nausea, neglect, nervous breakdown, neurosis, objection, observance, obsession, optimism, outlook, panic, paroxysm, pathos, penance, perception, pessimism, pity, Pollyanna, pout, precognition, premonition, presence, psyche, push, qualm, rage, rapture, red herring, rejoice, repent, repose, resent, resignation, resolution, restlessness, ruckus, sadness, satisfaction, security, self-satisfaction, sensibility, sentiment, servitude, simmer, slump, solace, sorrow, soul-searching, status quo, strain, stress, surprise, sympathy, telepathy, temperament, tension, tolerance, torpor, trance, triumph, umbrage, unrest, vanity, waver, wonder, worry, zeal, zest

Attributes of Mentality: aback, absconder, absent-minded, absorbing, accustomed, affected, afraid, aghast, alert, amatory, angry, apathetic, apprehensive, assumed, attentive, averse, bad, beaten, believable, berserk, bewildered, bigoted, bleak, blue, breathless, broad-minded, brokenhearted, burning, captive, cautious, cheerful, chipper, clairvoyant, compassionate, concerned, confused, contemplative, contented, crabby/crabbed, crazy, cross, curious, daffy, dearly, dejected, delirious, depressed, desolate, desperately, disaffected, disbelieving, disconcerted, discontented/discontent, discouraging, disenchanted, disgusted, disillusioned, disinterested, dispirited, dissident, distressed, doleful, dotty, down, downcast, dumbfounded, elated, emotional, enamored, enraged, excited, exultant, fed up, firm, flushed, forgetful, forlorn, frenetic, frightened, fulfilled, furious, glad, gleeful, glum, grateful, grief-stricken, gut, half-baked, happily, hard, hard-boiled, harried, headstrong, heartsick, high, hopeful, huffy, hysterical, ill-tempered, impassioned, inattentive, inconsolable, indifferent, indiscriminate, insane, insecure, intent, interested, intoxicated, irate, irresolute, jaundiced, jovial, joyful/joyous, jubilant, keen, languid, lethargic, livid, lonesome, loony, low, lukewarm, mad, malleable, manic/maniacal, mental, mindful, mirthful, mixed-up, morbid, mournful, narrow-minded, nerveless, neurotic, new age, normal, numb, nuts/nutty, objectivity, observant, obsessed, off-guard, one-sided, on the fence, opposed/opposing, overjoyed, partial, pensive, pent-up, petrified, phlegmatic, platonic, pooped, predisposed, prepared, profound, provincial, psyched, psychological, pumped, punch-drunk, puzzled, rabid, radical, rapacious, realistic, regretful, restless, rigid, rueful, salacious, sanguine, saturnine, sectarian, self-assured, sensitive, sick, skeptical, small-minded, solicitous, sore, sorry, sound, spellbound, steady, strong, stupefied, sulky, susceptible, tearful, tender, testy, thirsty, thoughtless, tired, torn, tough, ugly, unbalanced, uncaring, uncommitted, undecided, unemotional, unfeeling, uninterested, unsound, untroubled, upbeat, versed, wacky, wary, weary, wide-awake, wishful, woebegone, wrathful, wretched

NOTE

The above are concepts classified according to subject and usage. It not only helps writers and thinkers to organize their ideas but leads them from those very ideas to the words that can best express them.

It was, in part, created to turn an idea into a specific word. By linking together the main entries that share similar concepts, the index makes possible creative semantic connections between words in our language, stimulating thought and broadening vocabulary.

Source ⚜ Writing Basics & Refreshers ⚜ On Vocabulary ⚜ Part 1 ⚜ Part 2

[shaisuki]

📍 day sixteen: dry humping + barou shoei

“you're a real piece of work, aren't ya.”

“a filthy one too.” barou's eyes glints into something dangerous. one that you shouldn't messed up with. looking at his much bigger girlfriend who's currently on top of him. the fat mound of her pussy are restrained by the white panties adorned with a red ribbon. stained by the wet patch of her arousal that is currently rubbing over the bulge of his cock.

a pathetic moan or was that whine? clearly, barou spoiled you too much for you to act this way. “i'm sorry, shou.” you apologize to him. it makes his teeth rot from how sweet your voice sounds. “.... wanna cum.” grinding your hips harder and he growled — almost snarling.

you leaned down to rest your soft jaw in his muscled chest while your hips move to grind harder on his bulge that throbs in attention with your every move and your clit beats in attention.

barou grabs your jaw, firmly holding it and forcing you to look at him. meeting his red eyes that was clearly disgusted at what you were doing. you were making a mess and barou hates when you make a mess as filthy as this and he's letting you.

your soaked panties and his boxers being slowly stained with his pre-cum, it wasn't a pleasant sensation but he can ignore it all for the sake of you getting off at him.

he simply can't resist you when you're looking back at him with your doe eyes and lashes batting at him innocently while your round cheeks are squished by his hand.

“you want to cum?” his voice tinged with challenge. “work for it.” he says and you eagerly nod. wrapping your chubby hands in his wrist that is holding your jaw and then you began a rhythm but your technique wasn't enough and your eyes are being glazed with your tears from the frustration of not being able to cum without his help.

barou's face remain stern and monotonous but his red irises says otherwise. waiting for you to crack and beg for him. you're that spoiled that you can't even cum without him.

"make me cum, shou. please. i want to cum." you pleaded, voice full of desperation. he could be so mean to you. so rough, that it will always end up with you in tears.

barou clicks his tongue — annoyed. despite the reaction it doesn't mirror his actions. he grabs your plump waist in a firm grip. the flesh spilling in his fingers and then he moves your body. hitting the right spot that he knows that makes you crazy and delirious.

"haah, mmm — 'm, close, sho." you warned. the familiar quiver of your body and the plushness jiggles at the slightest of tremors that signals you of your incoming orgasm.

a high-pitched whine and then a huff. the obvious result of your orgasm soaked your panties, creating a much more bigger mess. spreading in his bulge and he curses out silently.

“thank you, shou.” pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek and he exhales a breath. he can't stay mad nor get mad at you. you were simply adorable in his eyes and it's his fault he spoiled you too much that you think you can get away with everything.

for now, he lets you rest. he's going to fuck you later until your spoiled behavior simmers.

[definitelynotabirthblog]

A Church Birth

Word count: 2800

Summary: a homeless young woman gives birth in a church on a cold night with the help of a vicar

TW: mention of bowels opening in the context of childbirth. Otherwise a bog standard if inconvenient birth fic.

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

Reverend Thomas Callahan tipped the electric kettle and poured boiling water over his teabag. As he stirred the steaming, amber liquid, the metal teaspoon clinking on the side of ceramic mug, he gazed out of the window in the small kitchen attached to his church, St Barnabas. It was November 5th and winter had ushered itself in rather prematurely in Reverand Callahan's opinion. Just two weeks ago, the village had been enjoying the last lingering rays of an Indian summer. Yet today, though it was barely 5pm, the milky glow of the moon had crept over the village as dusk fell, casting pointed, angular shadows of gravestones over the churchyard. A cold breeze picked up dead yew leaves and made them pirouhette beneath the window pane. Grey clouds scudded across the bleak sky, warning of the imminent storm. The reverend poured milk into his tea and lifted the mug to his lips, watching the wind drive the thick flurries of snow diagonally. As he sipped, a particularly strong gust forced the back door of the church open with a bang. He sighed.

Cupping his mug in his hands for warmth, he made his way to the door. He used his entire body weight to force the door shut, twisting the lock after.

"Lord, keep us safe tonight," he murmured, clutching his tea. He stared at his alter, his thoughts swimming.

He was a young vicar and St Barnabas was his first parish, its village his first flock. More than half of local residents attended services on Sunday's - most out of obligation than devotion to the Lord, he had concluded - but few reached out to him for guidance and prayer between services. Privileged enough to be privately educated by wealthy parents, he was painfully aware of his naivety, and had hoped that being posted to a poorer, rural community would provide him with the experience needed to advise and councel. He had come to understand that he was regarded with a mixture of amusement, novelty and affection - but not respect. He had not earned those stripes yet.

Physically he supposed that he was handsome enough. He had a head of thick, mocha-coloured hair, olive eyes framed with perfectly symmetrical eyelashes and peach-coloured skin. His lips were soft and pink, his front teeth crooked, but he was blessed with a warm smile that made his eyes shine. At six foot one inch he was tall, healthy man, muscular without being ripped, with a small, stubborn podge of stomach fat. He hadn't been oblivious to the occasional attractive young women taking a second yearning glance at him when he had explored the local towns, but his cluelessness at navigating such situations prevented him from pursuing them. As he walked away, frustration simmering inside him, he would often feel the aching throb of an erection tenting in his trousers.

A rap at the front door stole his attention from his reverie. He set his mug down and strode along the pews, shoes squeaking in the otherwise silent building. The night had drawn in now. Who could possibly still need the sanctuary of his church?

Thomas opened the door and peered out. The flurries he had noticed in the kitchen were now falling at blizzard speed as an inch-thick layer blanketed the churchyard, the wall and the lane beyond. Pinpricks of orange light in houses across the snow-covered village green sparkled, but the temperature outside was now close to freezing. His breath was visible in thick white puffs as he took in the sight before him.

A young woman. Her face was so pale it looked translucent, with fearful blue eyes and teeth chattering in the icy air. Her knotted blond hair cascaded around her shoulders which were covered in a shapeless coat the exact colour of moss. She wore thin leggings on her legs and a dirty pair of boots which looked like that they had trekked through mud. Thomas recognised her - she had been loitering outside the church after the previous two Sunday services but had darted away the second he tried to approach her.

"Can I help you?" he enquired, first looking past her to check she was alone, and then looking directly into her scared eyes.

She nodded and tried to talk, but either due to the cold or nerves, she was unable to speak, her mouth forming the shape of a word but without sound.

"It's too cold to dither out here," he said, assessing the situation. "Would you like to come in? Then maybe I can help?"

She nodded. He opened the door wider and she bowed her head before scurrying past him like a frightened mouse.

When they were safely inside, Thomas turned and looked at the young lady. She was young, barely out of her teens, and very petite in stature. Her scruffy clothes had a musty smell and were torn in places as though had been living rough. The hollowness of her cheeks, her pale face and her wet hair gave her the look of a drowned person. As the warmth of the church hit her, any remaining stamina she had was lost as she staggered, fell against the wall and slipped towards the ground. Thomas caught her frail body in his arms by reflex and supported her the last few inches towards the floor. He knelt down beside her.

"What's your name?" he asked kindly.

"Willow," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

"Do you think you could stand up again, Willow? You can come and warm up and then maybe I can call someone for you."

Willow opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, her face contorted and she cried out in pain. Her hand instictively travelling to her abdomen which was protruding from her slender frame despite the oversized coat. Her tortured eyes locked onto his, pleading for help. Compassion flooded through him and he did not hesitate as he scooped her up, one arm supporting her skinny shoulders and the other under her knees. Breathing through his mouth as the smell of the motheaten coat wafted upwards towards his nostrils, he carried the sobbing girl down the aisle and into his office, gently lowering her on the sofa he normally reserved for comforting the bereaved. As her cries reduced to muffled whimpers, he sat down next to her and placed his left arm around her shoulders. Desperate for solace, she leant her body against him, and he found himself drawn into an awkward embrace with her, holding her close as he comforted her. Finally her breathing steadied.

"How can I help you, Willow?" His arm remained around her shoulders.

She looked up at him, frantically shaking her head, eyes begging him to understand.

"You're obviously scared and in pain... and not very well? Do you need to see a doctor?" he asked, concerned.

"I... I... maybe..." she said shakily, her head still pressed against his shoulder.

"Maybe?"

"I-I don't know..."

"Maybe if you told me what is wrong, I could help you decide if you need to see a doctor. But you just collapsed in my church. I think seeing a doctor would be a good plan." He looked at her unkempt appearance. "Where have you been staying?"

"Wherever I can."

"Wherever you can?"

She nodded.

"I'm very sorry to ask this but are you homeless?"

"Only for the last two months."

"Only? That's a very long time to be sleeping rough."

She shrugged.

"I'm in touch with a few local hostels. I could ring around and see if I can get you a bed for tonight."

"They won't take me."

"Why won't they?"

"Because... because..." She burst into fresh floods of tears. Within seconds, her cries turned into fresh bellows of pain as she rocked her hips back and forth. "Oh, please help me. It hurts, it HURTS!"

"Willow, please tell me-"

Another noise noise erupted from her, this time low and primal, not unlike a roar. Thomas watched as the pain seized her, calculating whether he should comfort her or call for help first. Her knuckles were white as she clenched the sofa, her agony clear in her eyes as she growled her way through whatever was causing her body such torment. Acknowledging that this was a medical emergency that he was unequipped to handle, he reached to his pocket for his phone. He sighed with exasperation as he saw he had no bars, the sigh turning into a panicked moan on noticing the red light on the router.

"I think I need to call for help," he decided, rubbing Willow's arm in an inadequete effort to offer reassurance. "But I have no signal and the WiFi is down. Probably because of the weather. It means I need to leave you but I'll be b-"

"NO! Please don't go!" she gasped, scrabbling for his hand. "Please, no! You can't leave me!"

As the pain ripped through her body, there was a audible pop, immediately followed by a squelch, as though someone had sat in a puddle of water. Willow immediately pulled her hand to her crotch, relief evident in her face as the pain began to ease once more. Thomas was very confused now. What was wrong with this lady, this scrawny, malnourished young thing sat in his office, who had collapsed in his church, was intermittently wracked with such intense pain it rendered her barely able to speak, seemingly had no one on this earth to help her and was allegedly homeless but not immediately requesting medical help?  He looked at her as she shut her eyes, taking whatever brief respite had come her way, the awkward curve of her abdomen distending under her coat. Suddenly he understood just what that audible pop and squelch of liquid was.

"Willow, are you pregnant?"

She gazed at him. "I know it's a sin vicar."

"Let's leave sin at the door for the moment. Is the baby coming?"

"I've been having bad pains all day and... and... I think something has just come out of me."

"I think it is just the fluid that cushions that baby. Do you understand why I'm going to have to leave you do get help?"

Another contraction reared itself before she could reply. Willow threw her head back, her face twisted as the spasms of her womb coasted across her body. The animalistic noises that erupted from her sounded more bovine than human. Thomas knew he needed to establish just how far away from delivering this child she was. As the contraction eased again, he took Willow's trembling hand in his.

"Willow, is the baby coming right now?" he asked, his eyes finding hers.

"It feels like something is coming out of me."

He sighed.

"Do you mind if I have a quick look at you... er, down below?" He blushed. "If the baby is coming now, I will have to catch it."

She hesitated and then nodded.

He knelt down on the floor and positioned himself so he was directly in front of her.

"Do you want to take you bottoms off for me?

Willow kicked off her dirty boots and then, in one slow awkward movement, slipped her leggings and drenched knickers over her skinny hips and past her knees. Thomas helped her pull them over her ankles and threw them on the sofa beside her. Instinctively, she opened her legs for him, showing her unshaved mons. She was positioned with her hips too far back to see anything more than the top half inch of her slit.

"Do you think you could shuffle forwards for me so you're perched towards the edge of the sofa?" he asked anxiously, gesturing for her to shuffle forwards.

She awkwardly scooted her bottom towards him and then reclined as best as she could.

"And maybe you could just lift your legs up for me?"

As she gripped the back of her thighs and pulled them towards her chest, finally exposing her pussy to him. Staring at the site displayed before him, his eyes took in her jewel-like clitoris nestled between her stubbled labia. Between them was her vaginal opening and peeking at him from underneath, her puckered rosebud. Unable to see anything that looked like a baby emerging, Thomas breathed a sigh of relief.

"Phew. Thankfully I can't see anything. So-"

Willow roared as a contraction hit, her breaths coming in shallow and ragged gasps. Her tender asshole bulged and her rectum emptied right there onto the edge of sofa. Her vulva bulged outwards as her labia started to separate. A dark, wet mass appeared just inside her vagina, fluid dribbling out from around it in rivulets onto Thomas's knees. Adrenalin surged through him as he realised there could be no leaving Willow to get help, as she was about to birth her baby right there into his arms. He looked around frantically for something clean to deliver the baby onto and quickly grabbed a couple of spare sweaters he had on top of his desk. As he eased one under Willow's buttocks, her breathing started to ease and the pain lessened once more.

"What do I do?" she trembled, panic welling over in her voice.

"I'm a vicar, Willow, not a midwife," he laughed nervously, looking up at her over her spasming belly.  "I think you need to keep doing what your body is telling you to do and I'll catch the baby when it comes."

"I need to push. I can't stop it."

"Then push, if that's what your body is telling you to do."

As though on cue, Willow started grunting her way through another contraction. Her pussy stretched more with each torturous push, until a dark, two inch portion of head was visible as the contraction peaked. When it eased off, the head slipped back inside, her inflamed lips closing over it. Willow threw her head back exhausted, but seconds later she was bellowing again as her baby appeared once more at her opening. Thomas wondered just how much stretching it could take as the now lemon-sized portion of head continued to be driven outwards. A memory of a film he saw came to him, where the birth attendant used gauze to support the woman as she pushed out the biggest part of her baby. He pressed the sweater he put under Willow against her perenium. She writhed and shrieked on the sofa as she neared a full crown, her legs flailing around Thomas's head.

"Oh, help me! Oh God in heaven!" she screamed, her panicked, frantic hand reaching between her legs for Thomas.

"Please, just breathe Willow," he said, pressing on her taint with one hand and taking her hand with his other. "The head's coming out now. I think this is the worst bit."

Willow panted, her swollen vulva circling her baby as she drove it out of her body. As the contraction peaked, the head teetered on the raw lips of her pussy before the pain eased again and her body pulled it back inside her canal. There it sat, just visible between her stinging labia.

"You were so close then," Thomas said, squeezing her hand. "One more push like that and I think the head will be out."

Gathering her strength again, Willow bore and pushed the infant out of her fatigued body once again. It popped out with a gushy splash, amniotic fluid and blood splattering the floor and pebbledashing her inner thighs. Thomas balanced the damp, slimy head in his hands, watching as the child's brow furrowed, its mouth opening in a silent cry. Gradually, it turned to Willow's thigh.

"The head's out. Push again."

With one last effort, a dribble of fluid and a groan, the wriggling baby tumbled into the world. Thomas caught its slippery body in his shaking hands and carefully lowered it onto his knee. A baby boy. He cried lustily, feeling the chilly air on his skin for the first time. Thomas wrapped the little boy in his sweater and looked up at Willow. Her entire body was shaking, her face shining with sweat.

"Willow... Willow, you've done it!" he gasped, gazing down at the newborn.

She gazed down at the vicar, whose eyes were meeting hers from between her legs and reached her arms out. As if he was handling the crown jewels, he carefully settled Willow's firstborn son on her breasts. Tears of relief and exhaustion leaked down her pretty pale face, her chest shaking with sobs as the baby was comforted by the warmth of her trembling body.

"Thank you," she whispered to Thomas, her lips brushing her baby's head.

"You did it all yourself, you wonderful girl," he replied, the emotion crackling in his voice. He gazed over at his desk and looked at the router, the green light shining. "And would you believe it, I can finally ring for help!"

[nowimjustastranger]

Just a little gift for my bestie Phoenix, aka @flame-cat, because they were in a car accident recently. But thankfully they're okay! This was actually inspired by an outline for an interaction between the brothers that they shared with me privately, so enjoy 1.5k words worth of stangst y'all!

Ford scrubbed a hand over his face with a frustrated groan, fingers knocking his glasses askew. He couldn’t afford to have his body fail him now, not when he had an exam to study for. But what he wanted didn’t change the fact that his eyes had started to outright refuse to focus on the words in the textbook five minutes ago, an annoyingly persistent migraine pulsing behind his eyes.

To make matters worse, the landline rang. The shrill sound made the bothersome migraine go from a mild three all the way up to a solid eight on his tolerance scale, which made his temper flare. Ford snatched the handset off the cradle with a growl, reluctantly bringing it to his ear.

“Stanford Pines.” He bit out, adjusting his glasses with his free hand so they sat on his nose properly. When his prickly greeting didn’t garner a response outside of what sounded like labored breathing, Ford scowled. Great, it was his mystery caller again. Just what he needed on top of an already stressful day.

“I refuse to keep entertaining these prank calls, so if you call again I’ll be notifying–” Ford began in a stern tone, but he was interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Stanford.”

Stanley. That was Stanley. Why was his brother calling him at –Ford stole a glance at the clock– two in the afternoon? What could he possibly want? Well, whatever it was, he wouldn’t be getting it from Ford. He had already given up so much because of Stanley’s selfishness, he wasn’t about to give him the opportunity to worm his way back into Ford’s life–

“…Sixer?” Stanley asked, a breathless quality to his voice that brought Ford’s anger back down to a simmer. Why did Stanley sound like that? His breathing was short like he wasn’t taking full breaths, but there was still a measured quality to each inhale and exhale like he was breathing that way on purpose.

“How did you get this number?” Ford asked bluntly, bracing his elbow on his desk before letting his forehead drop into the palm of his hand, resigning himself to having this unexpected yet long overdue conversation with his estranged brother. Maybe Stanley had realized the error of his ways and called to apologize? Yeah right, fat fucking chance of that.

“Ma passed it along.” Stanley grunted, his tone laced with pain, and Ford could certainly relate. He didn’t want to be talking to Stanley any more than Stanley wanted to talk to him, which begged the question: why exactly did Stanley call him?

“Of course she did.” Ford grumbled, suddenly feeling every hour of lost sleep hitting him all at once. He was exhausted. He was tired of trying to fend Ma and her mission to reconnect him with his brother off, tired of walking on eggshells during his monthly calls home just to avoid saying the wrong thing and causing unnecessary drama, and he was tired of putting up with the part of him that still cared about his brother.

“I… I think my ribs are broken.” Stanley said quietly and Ford’s brain shrieked to a standstill, his grip momentarily going slack on the handset as he tried to process the implications of such an ominous statement, forcing him to fumble with it until he managed to press the receiver back against his ear.

“What?” Ford barked, tone incredulous and concerned in equal measure. He resolutely ignored the way that his hands trembled, his grip white-knuckle tight on the handset.

"My ribs. I think–” Stan cut himself off as his breath hitched, a pained hiss following shortly after. Ford found himself leaning forward, blankly staring into the middle distance as he strained his ears to hear every little shift in Stanley’s breathing, trying to assess his brother’s current state. “Nevermind. Shit. Not important right now.”

“Not impor– You can’t be serious, Stanley!?” Ford seethed, lurching out of his chair, uncaring as it tipped back and crashed to the floor as he began to pace. He made sure to stay within the range that the cord allowed him, but he simply couldn’t sit still when Stanley was hurt and possibly even suffering from a head wound considering that he wasn’t making any fucking sense–

“I’m fine. It’s fine. I just…” Stanley spoke in starts and stops, his breathing strained as he spoke through what sounded like clenched teeth. “I need…”

“What? What do you need? What happened?” Ford prompted with urgency, fingers curling and uncurling anxiously. He had to know. He couldn’t estimate the severity of Stanley’s injuries without more data, right now he was left with what his imagination could produce. He needed facts in order to combat the increasingly horrible scenarios that his mind was dredging up.

“Car crash.” Stan said on an exhale and Ford nodded even though his brother wouldn’t be able to see it, pinching the bridge of his nose as his useless brain fixated on those two words.

“What else hurts? Or is it just your ribs?” Ford asked tersely, moving back to his desk with a determined stride to grab a piece of paper at random along with the pen that he had tucked behind his ear earlier. He scribbled down Stanley’s comment about his potentially busted ribs and then let the pen hover as he waited for Stanley’s –hopefully detailed– analysis of his person.

“I dunno… stomach hurts. Kinda swollen.” Stanley mumbled, sucking in a sharp breath as he presumably prodded at the area in question.

“Lightheadedness? Nausea?” Ford pressed, his heart lurching into his throat as several injuries came to mind, internal bleeding being the most likely explanation. Stanley had already displayed textbook signs of internal bleeding, such as disorientation and shortness of breath.

“Both? Feelin’ a bit sluggish too.” Stanley admitted, the muted rustle of clothes indicating that he had adjusted.

“Is the cord long enough for you to sit down?” Ford asked, looking up when the door opened and Fiddleford stepped into the room. Ford frantically waved him over, writing a message for Fiddleford in the notebook before sidestepping so he could read it when he hurried over.

“I think so? Lemme just…” Stanley huffed, Ford splitting his attention between the sound of Stanley gingerly lowering himself to the ground and Fiddleford’s rapidly paling face as the man read through Ford’s notes of Stanley’s wellbeing.

“Stanley? Stanley, are you there?” Ford prompted when there was nothing but harsh breathing for several seconds, sharing a look with an equally rattled Fiddleford.

“Yeah… yeah ‘m here.” Stanley panted, his speech slurred, and Fiddleford hurried from the room to contact emergency services with a different phone. As soon as Ford got a location, he would relay the address to Fiddleford and then stay on the line with Stanley for as long as he could before the call cut out.

“Where exactly is ‘here’, Stanley? Where are you?” Ford asked, rapidly tapping his pen on the notebook just to have something to do since he couldn’t get his hands on his brother like he desperately wanted. He hated feeling so useless.

“Uh… outside a 7/11.” Stanley said weakly, his voice barely a whisper.

“Which 7/11?” Ford demanded, his eyes narrowing. Either Stanley was losing consciousness, or he was losing his grip on lucidity. Neither were ideal considering the circumstances. Ford didn’t have enough information to confidently deduce how hurt his brother was. These could be Stanley’s last moments and Ford was wasting his breath giving him the third degree instead of saying anything of value–

“Um… I dunno.” Stanley said with the vocal equivalent of a shrug and Ford suddenly felt the inexplicable urge to scream.

“An address, Stanley.” Ford clarified in a clipped tone, impatiently tapping his foot as emotions built up in his esophagus, bubbling up despite his best efforts to stuff them back down into their vault. This could be his last opportunity to say something. Anything. Ford couldn’t squander this rare chance, couldn’t let Stanley fade away without knowing that his big brother lo–

“I dunno, s-somewhere in New Mexico, I guess.” Stanley murmured, sounding a little less strained but just as tired. Sitting down had eased some of the stress that his body was under then. Good.

“Just stay there, Stanley. You hear me? Don’t move.” Ford said sternly, speaking slowly and clearly so Stanley’s muddled brain could register the words and damn well heed them. Ford knew that Fiddleford could triangulate Stanley’s position using the phone call, but he wasn’t going anywhere until the call ended.

“M’kay.” Stanley agreed, his voice so quiet that Ford wouldn’t have caught it if his entire focus hadn’t been on his brother. Ford ran a hand through his hair, gripping it at the roots and tugging as he stared down at the notebook, bloodshot eyes roaming over his messily scrawled notes.

“I’ll meet you at the nearest ho–” Ford assured, unceremoniously cut off when the line abruptly went dead. “–spital.”

Fuck.

Fuck.

“God fucking damnit!” Ford snarled, slamming the handset onto the cradle with excessive force before turning on his heel to sprint out of the room and track down Fiddleford. Then Ford would take over the call with emergency services while his roommate used his skills to locate Stanley, sending an ambulance to him.

College could wait, Ford’s brother needed him.

[lila-lou]

✨ His only exception - Pt. 29/? ✨

Summary: 12 months ago, Butcher went above and beyond to have you join his team. You had a simple office job at Supe Affairs. The same thing every day, working from 9 to 5 and watching Butcher and his team defeat one renegade after another. One evening, however, something changed.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language, angst, fluff, soft Ben

Word Count: 5774

A/N: This is part 29 of “His only exception”.

English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

As the realization of your pregnancy settled in over the past three weeks, you found yourself grappling with a mix of emotions, from excitement to uncertainty. While Ben was mostly occupied with work, you spent much of your time in his office, seeking comfort in his presence.

Despite his busy schedule, Ben made sure you were never alone for too long. Whether it was a quick check-in during a break or a shared meal together, he made a concerted effort to be there for you every step of the way.

His unwavering support and presence provided a sense of stability amidst the whirlwind of emotions you were experiencing. And as you navigated the ups and downs of pregnancy, you found solace in knowing that Ben was by your side, ready to support you through it all.

As Ben sat in his office eating his pizza, he noticed your discontent as you crossed your arms and shot him a pointed look. Sensing your frustration, he paused mid-bite and furrowed his brow in concern.

“Why’s that fucking attitude?”, he rolled his eyes.

You let out a frustrated hiss, your words tinged with irritation. “Are you afraid of me getting fat or something?”, you snapped, gesturing towards the plate of grilled veggies he had ordered for you. “Why the hell did you order me this rabbit food?”.

Ben swallowed his bite of pizza before pouting at the plate of grilled veggies. “It’s good for the baby”, he mumbled, trying to defend his choice while maintaining a teasing tone.

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of your lips. “Oh, so now you’re the expert on prenatal nutrition?”, you retorted, unable to resist the opportunity to tease him back.

Ben chuckled, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Hey, I’ve been doing my research”, he quipped, wagging a finger at you. “Besides, a little green never hurt anyone”.

As you rolled your eyes at Ben, you continued eating your veggies. However, your moment of levity was interrupted as Butcher barged into the office without knocking, his usual brash demeanor on full display.

Ben let out an irritated hiss, shooting Butcher a pointed look. "How about you fucking knock next time?", he snapped, his annoyance evident in his tone.

Butcher, never one to back down from a confrontation, shot back with his own brand of sass. "Relax, pretty boy", he retorted, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "Just thought you'd want to know there's a situation downstairs. Figured you might want to actually do your job for once".

The tension in the room escalated as Ben clenched his jaw, his frustration with Butcher's attitude simmering just beneath the surface.

Ben's irritation flared as he shot back at Butcher. "What if you walked in here like that and saw me fucking (y/n) over the damn table?", he retorted.

Butcher smirked, unfazed by Ben's outburst. "Hell, I'd pay good money to see (y/n) like that", he quipped, his tone smug as he leaned against the doorway.

You couldn't help but choke on your water at Butcher's words, feeling a mix of embarrassment and indignation wash over you.

Ben's temper flared at Butcher's comment, his fists clenching at his sides as he struggled to maintain his composure. "Watch your fucking mouth, Butcher", he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Butcher scoffed, his smirk widening as he pushed off the doorway and sauntered further into the room. "Oh, what's the matter? Getting jealous so easily?".

As Ben stood up, his anger boiling over, you sensed the tension in the room and quickly got up too, stepping between Ben and Butcher in an attempt to defuse the situation.

Before the confrontation could escalate further, Frenchie burst into the office, his nose bleeding and his expression frantic.

"What the hell happened?", Ben demanded, his tone shifting.

Frenchie winced, holding a tissue to his nose to stem the bleeding. "It's the supe downstairs", he muttered, his voice muffled by the tissue. "He's vandalizing like crazy, demanding to speak to Soldier Boy".

Ben let out a frustrated groan at the news, his irritation evident as he ran a hand through his hair.

"Stay here", he ordered you firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument as he turned to follow Butcher and Frenchie downstairs.

You nodded, watching as Ben, Butcher, and Frenchie disappeared from the office. Alone now in Ben's office, munching on his pizza and anxiously awaiting his return, a knock on the door startled you. Raising an eyebrow, you set aside the half-eaten slice of pizza and made your way to the door.

Opening the door, you were surprised to find your doctor standing there, a concerned expression on his face.

"Dr. Smith, what are you doing here?", you asked, puzzled by his unexpected visit.

The doctor looked at you with a gentle smile, though his expression was serious. "I'm sorry to disturb you, but I was hoping we could discuss something about your pregnancy", he said, his tone indicating that it was something important.

As you invited Dr. Smith in and settled onto the couch with him, a sense of apprehension settled over you. His serious demeanor only added to your growing concern.

"Sure, what do you need to discuss?", you inquired, trying to mask your anxiety.

The doctor wasted no time getting to the point. "I'd like to ask about your symptoms at the moment", he said, his voice gentle but probing. "Are you still experiencing vomiting, dizziness, weakness, and low blood pressure?".

You nodded, feeling a knot form in the pit of your stomach as you recounted your ongoing struggles with pregnancy-related symptoms. It was disheartening to admit that little had changed since your last visit, and you couldn't help but worry about what it might mean for you and the baby.

The doctor's expression softened with concern as he listened to your description of your ongoing symptoms. "I'm worried that your body may be struggling to support the pregnancy", he admitted gently, his tone compassionate yet grave. "With your current symptoms, there's a risk that your body could be in a weakened state, which may affect the baby's development".

He paused, choosing his words carefully before continuing. "It's still very early in the pregnancy, and while it's not uncommon for women to experience discomfort, your symptoms seem to be more severe than usual. As the baby continues to grow, your body will undergo even more changes, which could exacerbate your symptoms".

You felt a pang of fear grip your heart at his words, the weight of the situation sinking in. It was a sobering reminder of the challenges you faced ahead, and you couldn't help but worry about the well-being of your unborn child.

The doctor sighed softly, his expression reflecting the gravity of the situation. "I want to be transparent with you", he began, his voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty. "My team and I have been experimenting with Compound V, trying to create a formula that could potentially boost your body's ability to support the pregnancy, especially with the added complexity of a supe baby".

He paused, searching your face for any sign of understanding or apprehension before continuing. "But I must emphasize that it's not a simple process. Compound V is powerful, and its effects can be unpredictable. We're still in the early stages of development, and there are risks involved".

As you nodded slowly, the weight of his words settling heavily upon you, the doctor's expression softened with sympathy. "Have your symptoms gotten worse since your last appointment three days ago?", he asked gently.

You nodded slowly, acknowledging the doctor's question. "They've gotten a bit worse", you admitted, your voice tinged with resignation. "But I'm still able to manage. It's not unbearable, just… uncomfortable".

The doctor listened intently, his brow furrowed as he processed your response. "I understand", he replied, his tone sympathetic. "But it's important to monitor these changes closely. Pregnancy can be unpredictable, especially with the added factor of Compound V".

He paused, his expression thoughtful as he considered his next words. "I'll need to run some tests to assess the situation more thoroughly", he continued, his voice firm yet compassionate. "In the meantime, I recommend taking it easy and avoiding any unnecessary stress or exertion".

You nodded in understanding, gratitude evident in your expression as you thanked the doctor for his care and concern.

"Thank you, Dr. Smith", you said sincerely, your voice filled with appreciation.

The doctor offered you a reassuring smile, his eyes kind as he placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. "It's my pleasure", he replied warmly. "We'll do everything we can to ensure both you and the baby stay healthy and safe".

With a sense of reassurance, you bid the doctor farewell.

As the doctor left, you sank back into the couch, feeling a mix of emotions wash over you. Placing a hand on your belly, which was still nearly flat save for a tiny little bump, you couldn't help but marvel at the subtle changes taking place within you. It was almost as if you had simply indulged in one too many meals, rather than carrying a precious life inside you.

Gently tracing your fingers over the small bump, you couldn't help but feel a surge of love and protectiveness towards the tiny being growing within you. Despite the challenges and uncertainties that lay ahead, you were determined to do everything in your power to ensure their health and well-being.

With a soft sigh, you leaned back against the couch, your mind swirling with thoughts and emotions.

Lost in your thoughts, you felt the familiar wave of dizziness wash over you once again, causing you to close your eyes and take deep breaths in an effort to steady yourself. Despite your best efforts to remain calm, your breathing became more labored, each inhale and exhale feeling like a struggle against the overwhelming sensation of lightheadedness.

As the dizziness intensified, you felt a knot form in the pit of your stomach, a sense of unease gnawing at the edges of your consciousness. You tried to push aside the feeling of panic that threatened to overwhelm you, focusing instead on regulating your breathing.

But as the seconds ticked by, the dizziness showed no signs of abating, leaving you feeling increasingly vulnerable and out of control. With a shaky exhale, you braced yourself against the couch, willing the sensation to pass as you fought to regain your composure.

It took several long, agonizing minutes, but eventually, the wave of dizziness began to subside, leaving you feeling drained and exhausted. Slowly opening your eyes, you took a deep breath and reached for your water bottle.

Taking a long sip of water, you closed your eyes once more. With each swallow, you felt a sense of calm wash over you, the rhythm of your breath gradually returning to normal as you focused on the simple act of hydrating yourself.

After what felt like an eternity, Ben finally returned to his office, only to find you fast asleep on his couch, your hand resting gently on your little belly. The sight of you, so peaceful and serene amidst the chaos of the day, brought a soft smile to his lips.

He couldn’t help but notice the lone slice of pizza left on the plate, evidence of your earlier hunger. Chuckling softly to himself, he gently picked up the plate and set it aside, not wanting to disturb your slumber.

With a tender touch, Ben brushed a stray lock of hair from your face, his fingers lingering on your cheek as he watched over you with a mixture of adoration and concern. However, as his hand moved, he noticed the dried blood staining his fingers, a stark reminder of the chaos that had unfolded downstairs.

His gaze flickered to his supe suit, still stained with the remnants of the altercation.

As Ben gently caressed your face, lost in his thoughts, the sudden intrusion of Annie storming into his office caught him off guard. His hand froze mid-motion, his gaze snapping up to meet hers with a mixture of surprise and frustration.

Before he could say anything, Annie's voice cut through the air like a knife, her words sharp with accusation. "Was it really damn necessary to kill that dude?", she demanded, her tone laced with anger and disbelief.

The sound of her voice jolted you awake, and you blinked groggily, trying to make sense of the situation. But Ben's expression darkened at the interruption, his jaw clenched tightly as he struggled to contain his mounting anger.

With a sharp exhale, he straightened himself, his gaze icy as he met Annie's defiant stare. "You have no fucking right to barge in here like that", he growled, his voice low and menacing. "And you sure as hell have no fucking right to question my decisions".

As you slowly sat up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, your gaze fell upon the dried blood staining Ben's hands and clothes. Concern flickered in your eyes as you took in the sight, a knot of worry forming in the pit of your stomach.

Before you could voice your concerns, Ben's spoke up. "You fucking woke her up", he snapped at Annie, his tone biting with irritation. Though Annie didn't intend to disturb your rest, her presence had clearly riled him up.

Annie recoiled slightly at Ben's outburst, her own frustration evident in the set of her jaw. "I didn't mean to", she muttered defensively, though her tone still carried a hint of resentment.

Ben’s frustration seemed to simmer just below the surface as he muttered under his breath, his words tinged with exasperation. “It’s like dealing with a bunch of fucking retarded rugrats with this sorry excuse of a team”, he grumbled, his tone tinged with annoyance as he rubbed a hand over his jaw.

As Ben's patience wore thin within seconds, he stepped towards Annie, his expression darkening with anger. Without hesitation, he grabbed her by the throat, his grip firm as he pushed her against the wall.

"Listen here", he snapped, his voice low and dangerous as he locked eyes with her. "I've had it with your attitude and your constant interference. You think you can just waltz in here and question my every move? You're out of fucking line woman".

Annie's eyes widened slightly as she struggled against his grip, her breath coming in short gasps. Despite the fear in her eyes, there was a glimmer of defiance as she met his gaze, refusing to back down in the face of his aggression.

The tension in the room crackled with intensity as the two of them stood locked in a silent battle of wills, their confrontation escalating with each passing moment.

Your voice pierced through the tense atmosphere, sharp with urgency and authority as you screamed Ben's name, demanding him to stop. In that moment, the weight of your words cut through the chaos, reminding him of the one person he had always listened to: you.

"Ben, stop!", you cried out, your voice echoing in the room as you moved towards them, your heart pounding in your chest. "This isn't the way to handle things. Let her go".

Ben's grip on Annie's throat loosened slightly as he turned to face you, his expression torn between anger and concern. For a brief moment, the intensity of his gaze softened as he met your eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the power you held over him.

With a heavy sigh, he released his hold on Annie, stepping back as he ran a hand through his hair in frustration.

Annie's voice was laced with venom as she muttered under her breath, "Fucking asshole", before she turned and stormed out of the room, her anger palpable in the air.

Ben rolled his eyes at her retreating figure, his frustration still simmering beneath the surface. But as he grabbed the last slice of pizza and nodded towards the door, his expression softened slightly, a silent invitation for you to join him.

With a nod, you followed him out of the office, relieved that the tension had finally dissipated. You knew Ben was stressed, more than ever.

At home, Ben gently guided you into the bathroom, his hands resting reassuringly on your shoulders. "Come on", he murmured softly, his voice gentle as he led you towards the bathtub. "I think the two of us could use a nice little bath".

Ben helped you undress, his touch warm and comforting against your skin, before he washed his face and hands at the sink, getting rid of the dry blood. You watched your reflection in the large mirror, taking in the subtle changes in your body with a mix of awe and trepidation.

"Checking yourself out, huh?", Ben teased lightly, a playful glint in his eyes as he caught your gaze in the mirror. "Can't blame you, though. You're looking pretty fucking hot, if I do say so myself".

You couldn't help but chuckle at his remark, the tension of the day slowly melting away in the warmth of the bathroom.

Turning towards Ben, you met his gaze in the mirror, a hint of uncertainty in your eyes. “Do you see anything?”, you asked softly, your voice tinged with a mixture of hope and apprehension.

You gestured towards your belly, your hand resting gently against the slight curve that had begun to form.

As Ben watched you, his eyes flickered briefly to your hand resting on your belly before wandering up to your chest. A mischievous smirk played on his lips as he let out a low chuckle, his gaze lingering on your breasts.

"Well, I see something alright", he replied, his voice husky with desire. "But I don't think it's what you're asking about".

You rolled your eyes playfully at his comment. Despite his teasing, you couldn't help but feel a flutter of warmth in your chest at the way he looked at you, his desire palpable in the air between you.

Stepping towards you, Ben closed the distance between you, his hands reaching out to pull you close. With a gentle yet firm embrace, he drew you against him, his warmth enveloping you.

Dipping his head down, he captured your lips in a tender kiss, his touch both gentle and passionate. As his lips moved against yours, you felt a surge of desire coursing through you, the heat of his kiss igniting a fire within.

As the warm water surrounded you both in the bathtub, you found yourself back against Ben's chest, his strong arms wrapped around you protectively. His palms rested gently on your small belly, his touch tender and reassuring.

With your head nestled against his chest, you could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath you.

“I can see that little bump”, he murmured, his tone filled with tenderness as his fingers traced delicate patterns over your belly. Each touch was gentle, as if he were afraid of breaking something precious.

You smiled at his words, a sense of warmth flooding your heart at the reassurance in his voice. “Yeah?” you whispered in response, your voice filled with quiet contentment. “I guess it’s really happening, huh?”.

While you couldn't shake the echo of the doctor's words from your mind, the subtle worry lingering at the edges of your thoughts. However, you chose to keep them to yourself, not wanting to burden Ben with any additional concerns.

In response to your whispered affirmation, Ben's touch grew even more tender, his fingers continuing to trace soothing patterns over your belly. "Yeah", he admitted softly, his voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability. "I've been trying to inform myself about… well, about some stuff regarding pregnancies".

His admission caught you by surprise, and you turned to look up at him, meeting his gaze with a mixture of surprise and gratitude. Despite his tough exterior, it was moments like these that reminded you of the depth of his care and concern for you and your growing family.

Feeling his arms wrap around your smaller frame, you couldn't help but feel a rush of warmth at the protective embrace. "You did?", you asked, a hint of surprise coloring your voice as you looked up at him.

Ben couldn't suppress a grumpy yet playful grunt, his lips curving into a teasing smirk. "Yeah, yeah, don't act so shocked", he teased. "I've been doing my homework, you know".

As Ben traced lazy circles on your back, you couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over you. "You know", you began, your voice soft as you looked up at him, "you're actually managing this whole relationship thing pretty well so far".

Ben chuckled, a playful glint in his eyes as he mocked you lovingly. "Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence", he teased, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "I'll be sure to add it to my resume". Despite his jesting tone, there was a genuine warmth in his expression as he looked down at you.

You chuckled softly, turning slowly onto your chest so you could face him completely, sitting up slightly in the warm water. Ben raised a brow, his gaze wandering over your figure with a mixture of appreciation and desire.

"What a sight", he mumbled huskily, his eyes lingering on your wet breasts before meeting your gaze with a mischievous glint.

With your palms resting against his chest, you could feel the warmth of his body beneath your touch, and you were acutely aware of his growing arousal pressing against your ass. A playful grin danced across your lips as you leaned in closer, your breath hot against his skin.

"Someone seems eager", you teased, your voice low and husky as you trailed your fingers lightly over his chest. "Aren't you supposed to be relaxed?".

Ben let out a low chuckle, his hands sliding around your waist as he pulled you closer to him. “Relaxed?”, he echoed, his voice laced with amusement. “I was relaxed until someone decided to turn up the heat in here”.

You grinned, pressing yourself against him, feeling the tension between you both grow with each passing moment. “Oh, so it’s my fault now, huh?”, you teased, trailing your fingers teasingly along his chest. “I didn’t realize I had such an effect on you”.

Ben's lips curved into a playful smirk as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. "Oh, trust me, sweetheart", he murmured, his voice dripping with mock innocence. "You have no idea the effect you have on me. But I'm sure you could find out".

You laughed softly, the sound echoing in the intimate space between you. "Is that a challenge, Soldier boy?", you teased, tilting your head to meet his gaze, your eyes sparkling with mischief. "Because I never back down from a challenge".

As Ben lifted you by your butt, his touch both firm and gentle, he positioned you so that his throbbing member lined up perfectly with your eager entrance. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he teased, “Are you ready for the challenge then, sweetheart?”.

As you took his length from his hand into yours, a grin playing on your lips, you carefully and slowly lowered your hips, feeling the delicious sensation of him filling you inch by inch. A soft whimper escaped your lips as the pleasure mixed with a hint of pain, the exquisite sensation overwhelming your senses.

Ben's jaw clenched as he watched you, his own desire mirrored in his darkened gaze. Every time he slid into you, every inch of his length enveloped by your warmth, his heart skipped a beat. The intensity of the moment, the sheer pleasure of being connected with you in such an intimate way, sent a surge of desire coursing through him, igniting a primal need that only you could satisfy.

As the intensity of the moment surged between you, Ben couldn't deny the profound effect you had on him. Every kiss, every touch, every thrust felt heightened, as if amplified by the depth of his feelings for you. It was a sensation he had never experienced with anyone else before.

Deep down, Ben knew that you had him hooked in a way he had never imagined. Despite his reluctance to admit it, you had captured his heart in a way that no one else ever had.

Ben's hands dropped from your waist to your hips. He guided your movements, his touch firm as you surrendered to his lead. His gaze remained fixated on your body, his eyes tracing every curve and contour.

While your eyes were closed in ecstasy, and the sweet sound of your moans filled the air, Ben fought to maintain control, his own pleasure threatening to overwhelm him. He couldn't help but remember the intense pain you experienced the last time you were intimate, and he was determined to ensure your comfort and pleasure this time around.

"Does it feel good, sweetheart?", he murmured as he sought reassurance that he was giving you the pleasure you deserved.

Your breath caught in your throat as Ben hit all your sweet spots from his angle, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. It was almost impossible to form coherent words as you were swept away by the intensity of sensation.

"Y-yes", you managed to gasp out between ragged breaths, your voice barely a whisper as you surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure. "Oh fuck, yes".

As Ben's hand brushed up your body, cupping one of your tits and tugging on your nipple, a sharp gasp escaped your lips, your body reacting instinctively to his touch. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure straight to your core, causing you to clench around his throbbing dick, amplifying the intensity of the moment.

With a husky voice, Ben leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "You like that, baby? You like when I play with your tits while I fuck you?".

As Ben's dirty talk washed over you, igniting a fiery desire within you, you couldn't help but respond to his deep voice and the tantalizing sensation of his lips against your ear. A shiver ran down your spine, and your nipples hardened further as arousal coursed through your veins, heightening every sensation.

"I want to make you feel so good, baby", Ben murmured huskily, his voice dripping with desire as he trailed kisses along your neck. "I want to hear you scream my name, feel you come apart in my arms".

With a primal growl, Ben sat up, adjusting his position to hit a different angle that sent waves of pleasure coursing through you. Your loud moans filled the room, mingling with the sound of skin against skin as your nails dug into his back, urging him on.

"Keep going, sweetheart", Ben urged, his voice husky with desire as he felt your legs growing weak beneath you. "You're doing so good. Just a little bit more".

You met his thrusts with every roll of your hips.

"You're so close, baby. I can feel it", he murmured, his hands gripping your hips firmly as he guided you in rhythm with his movements.

As the intensity peaked, both of you reached the pinnacle together. Ben's lips pressed against your shoulder to muffle his deep moan as he released into you, his body shuddering with the force of his climax.

Feeling the light dizziness wash over you, you instinctively clung onto Ben, seeking his sturdy presence to steady yourself. Without hesitation, Ben tightened his grip around your small waist, ensuring that your wet bodies remained securely intertwined, unwilling to let you slip from his embrace.

"You´re okay?", Ben's voice was soft against the crook of your neck as he held you close.

"I think so", you mumbled softly, your breath still somewhat labored as you slowly caught your breath, feeling the rush of sensation slowly ebbing away.

As Ben helped you out of the bathtub and handed you a towel, you quickly wrapped it around yourself, feeling the warmth and softness enveloping your body. Watching him stride towards the bedroom, towel wrapped around his hips, you couldn't help but admire the way the muscles in his back moved beneath his skin.

As Ben slipped into some boxershorts, he couldn't resist a playful tease, even though his back was facing you. "I can feel those eyes on me, you know", he remarked with a chuckle, his tone light and teasing as he turned to shoot you a playful wink.

Your cheeks started to flush a bright red, while you stood in the doorframe, clutching your towel tightly against your breasts. Ben couldn't help but notice your reaction, and he couldn't resist coming close again, cupping your face gently in his hands.

"Will you ever stop blushing at me?", he murmured softly, a tender smile playing at the corners of his lips as he looked into your eyes.

He dipped his head down, his lips soft against yours. A sense of belonging washed over you. In that moment, you knew you were his, and no one else could ever kiss you, touch you, or love you the way he did. Despite the challenges of his life as a supe, his temper and everything else and your own vulnerabilities as a human, you had chosen to love him.

As Ben pulled slowly away from the kiss, he heard the persistent ringing of his phone. Rolling his eyes with a sigh, he stepped towards the desk where his phone lay and answered the call from A-Train, already bracing himself for whatever urgent matter the speedster had to discuss.

Meanwhile, you took the opportunity to get dressed, discarding your towel and selecting your clothes from the wardrobe. Despite the interruption, a smile lingered on your lips, grateful for the tender moment you had shared with Ben moments ago.

As Ben watched you dress, his gaze lingered on the bruises that adorned nearly every inch of your body. Each mark was a testament to the intensity of your encounters, the passion that often led him to lose himself in the moment or underestimate his own strength.

A pang of guilt tugged at his heart as he took in the sight, a reminder of the fine line he walked between pleasure and pain, between desire and restraint.

While Ben continued his conversation with A-Train, he approached you and gently took the panties from your hand, silently signaling for you to pause your dressing. His touch was tender as he guided you to turn around, his eyes scanning your back and ass, both adorned with bruises in various colors.

A sense of unease washed over him as he took in the sight, the marks serving as a stark reminder of the physical toll your passionate encounters often took on your delicate body.

As Ben met your gaze, a heavy sigh escaped his lips, his expression a mix of concern and guilt. You looked at him with a hint of confusion, having grown accustomed to the sight of your body adorned with bruises over time. While you were used to it, Ben's reaction made it clear that he was just now fully realizing the extent of the bruises covering your skin.

Despite seeing you naked countless times before, in that moment, it seemed as though the reality of your condition had finally hit him.

As Ben hung up the phone, his grip on your wrist loosened slightly, but he didn't release it entirely. With a frustrated sigh, he tossed his phone onto the bed before turning his gaze back to your body, his eyes scanning once more over the bruises.

You noticed the intensity of his gaze and the troubled expression on his face, prompting you to inquire, "What's wrong, Ben?".

He met your eyes, his expression conflicted as he struggled to find the right words. "I… I didn't realize…", he began, his voice trailing off as he gestured towards the bruises covering your body. "I didn't realize it was this bad".

“What?”, you questioned, furrowing your brow in confusion before following his gesture, your eyes landing on the bruises scattered across your skin. “Oh…”, you mumbled softly as realization dawned.

Ben’s jaw clenched, his frustration evident as he inwardly scolded himself for not being more mindful of his own strength during your intimate moments.

You brushed off the bruises with a dismissive wave of your hand, trying to downplay their significance, but Ben wasn't having it. His expression hardened with resolve as he gently took your hand in his, his gaze intense as he met your eyes.

"No, (Y/N)", he said firmly, his voice tinged with a hint of frustration. "This isn't okay. I shouldn't have let it get to this point. I need to be more careful with you, especially now".

As you looked down at your belly, a flicker of concern crossed your features. "The baby is fine", you reassured, though your voice held a note of uncertainty.

Ben's expression softened as he reached out to gently cup your cheek. "I know", he murmured, his voice tinged with regret. "But what if I hurt the baby without even realizing it? Or you worse?".

You gently cupped Ben's face, looking up at him with reassurance in your eyes. "Ben, you won't hurt the baby", you said softly, your voice filled with conviction. "I trust you, and I know you'll be careful".

Despite your words of reassurance, Ben couldn't shake the fear that gnawed at the edges of his mind. He was afraid, a feeling he rarely allowed himself to acknowledge. Yet, even in the face of his fear, he couldn't bring himself to admit it. Instead, he forced a small nod, his jaw set with determination as he silently resolved to do everything in his power to protect you and the baby.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

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Part 30

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Taglist: @deangirl96, @thatgirljayy, @suckitands33, @deans-spinster-witch@mimaria420@kaz11283@uncle-eggy@jackles010378@vxnilla-hxrddrugs @meowmeowyoongles@sarahgracej @zemosdarling228 @leila22rogers @mostlymarvelgirl@emily-winchester @blacknoirr @onlyangel-444@seasonofthenerd@staple-your-mouth@artemys-ackles@selfdestructionandrhum@mystic-mara @kat-nee @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @star-yawnznn

[whereslynx]

Hi, please, please, could you make one where Oscar Diaz ends up fighting with the reader??? and he ends up saying horrible things to her and she is furious, but then there is a happy ending, please?!?!?

I believe Oscar would cry 🤏🏻😒

a/n: OFCCC👏👏 haven’t written angst in a fat minute, so i’m a bit rusty!

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The tension had been simmering for days, an invisible line between you and Oscar that neither of you had crossed until now. The nights had grown longer, filled with silent dinners and conversations that felt half-hearted, missed texts, and nights where Oscar wouldn’t even come home. Neither of you knew how to bridge the widening gap. But tonight, the silence broke.

You stormed into the living room, the door slamming behind you, the sound echoing through the room. “Oscar, what the hell is going on with you?” Your voice cracked through the air, filled with frustration that had been pent up for too long. “You’ve been distant—shut off, and I’m tired of trying to figure out what’s wrong.”

Oscar sat on the couch, his posture rigid, the tension in his body unmistakable. His hands were clenched into tight fists, resting on his knees as if he were trying to keep himself from snapping. The muscle in his jaw twitched, and when he finally stood up, it was slow and deliberate, like every movement was calculated to contain the anger simmering beneath the surface. His eyes met yours, hard and unreadable, a storm brewing behind them.

“What’re you talking about?” His voice was rough, already laced with irritation, the edges sharp. The defensive tone hit you immediately, the frustration that had been building between you both finally bubbling over. “Ain’t nothing wrong. You’re just overthinking, like always.”

His words came out clipped, dismissive, as if he was trying to shut down the conversation before it even started, but the tension in his shoulders and the way his fists flexed at his sides told you there was more going on than he was willing to admit.

“Overthinking?” you repeated, letting out a bitter, humorless laugh as you took a step closer, the hurt unmistakable in your voice. “Oscar, you’re not here anymore. You barely talk to me, and when you do, it’s like I don’t even exist. I’m not making this shit up!”

Your words hung in the air, raw and exposed, but instead of softening, Oscar’s expression hardened. His eyes flickered for just a second, a glimpse of something beneath the surface, but it quickly disappeared, replaced by cold defiance. He squared his shoulders, his stance becoming even more rigid, as if bracing for a fight.

“I’m handling business,” he shot back, his voice sharp and dismissive, like he was throwing up a wall between you. “I don’t have time to sit around and coddle you all the time.”

The word hit you like a slap, stinging deep, and for a moment, your breath caught in your throat. “Coddle me?” you echoed, disbelief mixing with the pain that now bubbled up as anger. Your hands trembled at your sides, fists clenched tight as you fought to keep control. “Is that what this is to you? I’m your girl, Oscar. I’m not here to be an afterthought.”

He didn’t flinch, his jaw set as he glared back at you. “Well, then stop acting like one!” he snapped, the anger in his voice cutting through the air like a blade. His eyes flashed, frustration pouring out now. “You’re always on me, always needing something. I can’t breathe half the time!”

The room seemed to close in, the weight of his words crashing down between you, each one pushing you further apart. The vulnerability of the moment twisted painfully, the raw emotions hanging heavy, suffocating.

You stared at him, your heart sinking fast, like it was being pulled into some dark, empty place you hadn’t expected. He had never spoken to you like this before—never with such coldness, such cruelty. His words echoed in your head, stinging, unraveling everything you thought was solid between you. “So, what?” you demanded, your voice trembling, caught between anger and heartbreak. “I’m just too much for you now? Is that what you’re saying?”

Oscar ran a hand over his face, dragging it down like he was trying to wipe away the frustration that was building inside him. Every line of his body was tense, coiled like a spring about to snap. “I’m just trying to keep it together, alright?” he shot back, his voice harsher than you’d ever heard. “I got enough on my plate without you adding to it.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut, each one sinking deeper than the last, cutting through the air between you. Your throat tightened, but you swallowed hard, refusing to let the tears spill. “If I’m so much of a problem,” you said, your voice thick, barely holding steady against the wave of hurt, “then why don’t you just leave? Why are you even here?”

The silence that followed was suffocating, your words hanging in the space between you like something final, something breaking that neither of you knew how to fix.

For a moment, silence filled the room, thick and heavy, both of you standing there, breathing hard as the weight of the argument pressed down on everything. The tension was palpable, and then, like a balloon slowly deflating, Oscar’s shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of him. He took a shaky step back, his hands falling limply to his sides. “You really think I don’t care about you?” His voice was low, raw, almost broken.

The vulnerability in his tone made your chest tighten, but your anger was still too fresh, too sharp. “I don’t know, Oscar,” you bit back, your voice trembling as you blinked away the tears that threatened to spill. “You sure as hell don’t act like it.”

He turned away from you, pacing the room like a caged animal, frustration radiating from him. “I’m just—” He stopped mid-sentence, running a rough hand over his face, his movements frantic. The fight in him seemed to evaporate all at once, leaving only the bare truth behind. “I’m scared, alright?” he admitted, his voice quieter now, almost a whisper. The typical growl in his tone that he bared against the world was nowhere to be found. “I don’t know how to do this. How to be what you need me to be. Every time something goes wrong, I push people away, and I don’t know how to stop.”

His confession hit you like a tidal wave, the sudden weight of his words crashing over you. The anger that had been swirling inside you began to ebb, replaced by something softer, something sad. For the first time in the midst of all this, you saw past the frustration to the fear lurking behind his eyes. The fear of losing you, of failing.

“Oscar…” you whispered, your voice gentler now, the hurt still there but fading into understanding.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice cracking as he finally turned to face you, his eyes glassy, emotion spilling out. “I didn’t mean any of it. I just… I’m scared of screwing this up. Of losing you.”

His admission hung in the air between you, softening the tension, but the sting of his words still lingered. “You hurt me,” you whispered, your voice small, raw with emotion. “You can’t just say things like that, Oscar. You don’t get to push me away and then act like it doesn’t matter.”

“I know,” he muttered, his hand reaching out as if to touch you but stopping halfway, unsure. “I don’t deserve you. I don’t deserve how good you’ve been to me.”

You took a shaky breath, still holding onto the anger but feeling it start to crumble in the face of his raw vulnerability. “Then why do you keep doing this? Why do you push me away?”

“Because I don’t know what the hell I’m doing,” he said, his voice thick with frustration and guilt. “I’ve never had something this real, and it scares me. I’m scared of losing you, so I mess it up before you can leave.”

The honesty in his words hit you like a ton of bricks, the truth of his fear unraveling everything. “Oscar,” you said, stepping closer to him, your anger slowly dissolving. “You don’t have to be perfect. I just need you to let me in, not push me away.”

He let out a shaky breath, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. “I don’t wanna lose you,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any of the shit I said. You mean everything to me.”

Your heart ached at the sight of him—Oscar, the tough, unbreakable man, standing before you, breaking down in the face of his own fear. Slowly, you closed the distance between you, reaching up to cup his face in your hands. “I’m not going anywhere,” you said softly, your voice filled with warmth. “But you gotta stop pushing me away.”

He leaned into your touch, his breath shaky as a tear slipped down his cheek. “I love you,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “I’m sorry, I love you so much.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you pulled him closer, your foreheads resting against each other. “I love you too,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “We’ll figure it out, okay? We’ll get through this.”

Oscar nodded silently, then pulled you into his arms with a desperate kind of urgency, holding you so tight as if letting go might mean losing everything. His body trembled against yours, and you felt the soft, quiet sobs wracking through him, the weight of all the anger, the fear, dissolving into something raw and real. You held him just as tightly, your arms wrapped around him, anchoring him in that moment.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured again, his voice thick with emotion, barely above a whisper. “I don’t deserve you. After everything I said…”

“You do,” you whispered, your voice soft but firm as you pressed your forehead against his. Your fingers threaded through his hair, soothing the tension that still lingered. “You do, Oscar. Just… don’t shut me out again, okay? I’m here. I’ve always been here.”

He let out a shaky breath, his grip on you tightening, as though he was trying to ground himself in your presence. The storm between you had passed, leaving behind something fragile but healing. The fight, the harsh words, all of it seemed to dissolve, leaving just the two of you—holding on to each other like lifelines.

As he held you, the world outside faded into the background, the sounds of the night muted by the quiet space you shared. For the first time in days, the knot in your chest loosened, and you both breathed a little easier, knowing that no matter how bad things got, no matter how much hurt had been thrown around, you’d always find your way back to each other.

And in that moment, wrapped up in his arms, it felt like enough.

[buckysgrace]

Hi, I love your writing so much! I have a request if that’s cool. I desperately need a blurb of Billy jerking off in his room to a picture of his on again off again girl. They broke up (again) and he’s too stubborn to say he’s lost without her and seeing her in her little skirt all day at school is too much for him so he goes home, closes his bedroom door, takes his shirt off and gets the Polaroid he took of her and jerks his thick cock. Thanks 😊

Hope you enjoy!! <3 Thank you for reading my stuff!!

Billy Hargrove and mentions of female reader!!

He was beyond frustrated.

He couldn't remember exactly why they had split up this time, only that it had been over something dumb. But their fights were always dumb, their reasons always dumb.

This time was different though, different than all of the other petty little fights and break ups. You were ignoring him, insistent on getting the last word and proving that he needed you just as badly as you needed him.

He hated the games, hated the way that you wanted him to admit defeat so he didn't. He ignored you in the same way. Well, he tried.

You were a menace. You purposely wore low cut shirts and tiny skirts just to make his eyes linger and his walls weaken day by day. You'd bend over in front of him, acting like you were grabbing something from the floor only to flash him the pair of panties that drove him wild.

Today had been a particularly hellish. You sat near him in all of his classes, purposely crossing your legs in the right manner that little to no imagination for what was hidden underneath. You would glance at him, sending him lustful eyes before you turned your attention to some other poor guy while he was left simmering in his seat.

It didn't matter how many cigarettes he smoked, his nerves were still frayed and left him jittery. He tried to avoid you, but his eyes just seemed to always fall to you somehow.

"I hope you have a good weekend, Hargrove," You whispered, gripping his bicep as you pressed yourself against him. You were close enough that he could smell your flowery perfume, could feel the swell of your boobs against his skin, "Two little words and this will all go away." You reminded him, not looking a least bit phased by the way he grumbled and slammed his locker in response.

"You're in my way," He reminded you, cocking an eyebrow as you gave a gleeful shrug and walked away. He stared after you, his stomach twisting and turning at the way you moved your hips. He watched in fascination at how the material of your skirt hugged your legs, making him feel even more insatiable, "Shit." He cursed, moving quick to get out of here before his walls completely broke.

He offered no explanation to Max as to why he was driving so fast or why he was so frantic to get home on his own. He locked his door and made sure that his music was up loud enough so that no one could hear him.

He stripped off his shirt, glancing in the mirror as he did so to confirm that the love bites that had once littered his chest had faded to a dull pink. He touched them for a moment, thinking of the way your mouth felt on his skin.

He inhaled deeply, his cock aching inside of his jeans as he stripped those off next. He quickly positioned himself on his bed, his thick length aching to be touched as he reached over on his side table to pull free a picture of you.

It wasn't sexy or scandalous, but it was you. You were still stunning as you smiled brightly, your eyes glinting as the rays from the sun bounced off of the side of your face. It had been hot that day and he could tell by the slight sheen on the top of your forehead.

He groaned as he wrapped his thick fingers across his fat girth, giving himself a little squeeze before he spread his precum down the length of his cock. He sighed, his lips parted as he imagined what he'd do if you were here now.

You were always good with your mouth, eager to please as you'd stare up at him the whole time. He liked the way you'd squeeze at his balls as you built a steady rhythm with your mouth.

Your name lingered on the tip of his tongue as he jerked his hips forward, squeezing his aching cock in his hand as he thought about the pretty sounds that would roll off of your tongue. He liked how loud you could get, how he'd often have to shove his fingers or your panties in your mouth to silence you.

He thought of the way your eyebrows would furrow together, the way your lips parted as your features contorted into pleasure. He could feel his own spreading through his stomach, warming his body as he rolled his hand up and down the length of his cock a little faster.

He exhaled roughly, a soft groan pouring out of his mouth as he thought about the last time he'd had you. You had snuck in that night, the both of you sharing a blunt before he'd hidden himself away between your thighs. He loved the taste of your cunt, loved the way your legs would spasm and how you'd tug on his hair when your high approached.

A grunt left his mouth as he stared at the photo of you, his hips jolting forward in his hand as he came suddenly. He kept his eyes open, staring at your features as he fucked his hand until he was too sensitive to touch himself again.

He sighed as he dropped the photo, cursing to himself as he grabbed his shirt and roughly cleaned the mess from his hand. He stared at it for a moment, thinking that it shouldn't be wasted on his shirt.

He stood, sliding his jeans back on quickly before he opened his door and strutted out the hallway. He had a phone call to make.

[ssweetleaf]

smarty.

emmett (a quiet place ii) x reader

you break one of emmett’s rules and go outside alone. he makes sure you are never to do it again.

warnings: spanking, thigh riding, unprotected p in v, daddy kink, reader is implied to be younger, praise

Intoxicated.

That was how you felt— completely inebriated and already a little dumb from the way he rocked you back and forth, back and forth on the tensing muscle of his thigh. Strong and rugged underneath you, tinged with sweat and blood, the smell so familiar now, consoling you further and you pressed your nose against his neck, eager to have him surround you entirely.

“Look at me,” he grunted, holding your chin between a thumb and forefinger, face so stern and eyes so blue when they bored into your own. “you gonna tell me why you went out on your own?”

You were playing dangerous, or maybe it was the stars that clouded your mind when your clit bumped against his thigh— coy to his question, the welt upon your cheek stinging still from the alcohol he had pressed against it, the skin around your eye already starting to swell…

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, daddy.”

Fuck.

There it was, that- that name. A singular something that drove him absolutely insane, causing his cock to swell and his jeans to tighten — you had him wrapped around your little finger, whether he liked it or not.

Emmett sighed, squeezing his eyes shut before wrapping a hand loosely around your throat.

“Last chance, baby-” he spoke slow, almost mockingly, “why did you break my rules?”

Silence. That was your response against pouted lips, you knew what was coming next and he’d have the reason sooner or later.

“Come on then, over my lap— you know what to do,” you whined at his command, but obeyed, your ass arched nice and pretty over his lap, the only barrier being the cotton of your underwear and you inwardly mewled for the sting of his palm. “atta girl.”

Rough palms kneaded at the globes of flesh, pulling the saturated cotton taut against your clit before inflicting a sharp slap to your poor cheek— the skin simmering, the weight of his palm still there, even after he pulled away to spank the other.

“Daddy, please-!” Another one, the force behind it enough to have you jolting forward, though the pain was enough to keep your mind off the wounds that stippled your pretty face. “It hurts!”

You were whining, unable to struggle in his tight hold and your pussy was soaking, dripping onto his jeans and smearing all over your thighs from the constant clenching— clit throbbing furiously, just aching to be touched and played with.

“I know it does, sweetheart- supposed to,”

Smack. Smack. Smack.

Three quick blows, hard enough to leave a print, stinging the backs of your thighs before smoothing his harsh hand over those pretty welts.

“But it’s for your own good.” Joel’s fingertips inched closer and closer towards your pussy, slipping between your thighs to press the warmth of his palm against you, just barely grazing your puffy clit. “If y’woulda just stayed inside I wouldn’t have to punish you, silly girl.”

Fat tears ebbed over your waterline, glistening down your cheeks to leave them all puffy and red.

“M’sorry-” you hiccuped, mindlessly arching into his palming hand, even through that immense humiliation that circled the pit of your stomach.

“Sorry doesn’t cut it, girlie- y’know that—” once again, after the warmth of his fingers disappeared from your pussy, he cut his speech with another spank— this time with enough force to have you shift up the length of his lap, leaving your eyes to swirl around, all dumb and compliant now.

Smack. Smack. Smack.

You cried out, various babbles falling from your puffy lips, slick with spit and swallowing your tears— so frustrated from the lack of touch to where you needed him most, your clit throbbed and begged to be pressed and rolled between his callused fingertips, arousal still dripping down, the wet spot on his jeans a massive indicator to how badly you needed him to sate your clenching pussy.

“P-please!” Your throat crackled from all the constant whines and mewls, reaching a hand behind your back for something, anything to hold onto, but only resulted in him grabbing at your wrist and pressing it tightly against your back, keeping it there, a silent command; no touching.

You felt so sore, the backs of your thighs victim to his blows, skin so soft and fleshy, just begging to be kneaded and smacked.

“Emmett! Daddy please, I-I’m sorry!”

“I know-” he cooed, his unoccupied hand smoothing over your forehead and petting at your hair. “Just a few more. Gotta make you learn.”

Your ass was searing once he had finished, palm smoothing over the hot skin, no more anticipation, just soothing circles into throbbing flesh.

“Come on, up you get— let’s dry those tears, hm?” You shifted, trying hard not to put pressure against your bruised backside when you straddled his lap, his callused thumbs careful when they swiped away the tears that managed to slip before cradling your face between his palms. “Y’gonna give me a smile, sweet girl?”

You pouted before cracking a little smile, your hands gripping at his shoulders, something to ground you.

“There she is,” Emmett cooed, smoothing the soft wisps of hair out of your face, thumbs rubbing circles over the apples of your cheeks. “Y’know I care about you, baby— don’t want you gettin’ hurt.”

“I know,” you sighed, leaning forward to nuzzle your nose against his, “and I love you for it.”

“I know,” he repeated, he didn’t have to say it back, you just knew, you could tell with the way he held you, looked at you, surrounded you.

“I need you, daddy,” you whispered, continuing your shifting and grinding upon his lap, “please can I have it?”

He knew what you were asking for and he’d let you have it till the end of time.

He unbuckled his belt, popping the button to his jeans and pulled out his cock, hard and leaking at the tip, your mouth started to water, pussy clenching at the idea of having him inside you once again.

“Come on, lay down for me.” You nodded, shifting around in your shared bunker, heat rising and causing your skin to perspire.

Emmett pushed your panties to the side, no more, nothing in the way now, just sweet, hot pleasure.

The blunt head of his cock tapped crudely against your clit, before he swiped it teasingly along your folds, getting it nice and wet before inching it inside your opening— the pillow that was stuffed beneath your hips, along with your sopping arousal had him sliding in with little resistance.

“There ya go,” he hummed, bottoming out completely— you could feel the heavy drag of his balls against the throbbing skin of your ass when he pulled out just to push himself back in, his thrusts so hard it had your mouth watering, brain struggling to keep up, instead just letting mindless babbles slip. “Good girl.”

DaddyDaddyDaddyDaddy.

A constant mantra fell from your spit-slick lips, nothing else coming to mind, not while he fucked you into the stained mattress— so dirty and obscene, it had your eyes practically rolling to the back of your skull.

You were close already, clit throbbing and pussy clenching, all creamy and wet, sticking to the wiry thatch of hair at his base.

He knew you were close. That’s why he stopped his thrusts, leaning in close and squeezing at your cheeks with a large hand, lips jutting into a pout.

“Know you were close, sweet girl,” he cooed, mocking your pout with one of his own, chuckling at your desperate whines. “but daddy’ll only let you cum if you promise me you’ll never go outside alone again.”

sorry i’ve been away again, please forgive me.

[theitgirlnetwork]

Girl. THANK YOU, thank you so much for creating the Better series! I am IN LOVE. I’m crying, I love your writing so much! I wanted to ask if it would be possible to request a one shot? I was thinking one where Charlotte gets really sick, and Lip dotes on her and takes care of her, and is really domestic? If not, that’s okay! Just wanted to let you know that I love your writing!

Note: I could bore y'all with the explanation about all the stuff I was doing...but I'll just offer the promise to do better now. Thank you so much for this, I received one other one from an anon similar to this. I'm so glad you enjoy my writing, to be honest these messages mean so much, I really appreciate y'all's investment, creativity and thinking about what you'd like to see from the characters. It's a little long and all over the place and angsty but I'm getting back in the swing. I love and appreciate you all for reading. I think I'm gonna keep doing one shots for a little as I get back into the swing of characters and then get back to the fics but there are chapters in the works. Let me know what you think <3

Warnings: Mentions of illness (some from research, some from personal experience); strong language

Better: Sick Fic

Lip adjusts his backpack on his shoulder as he digs his house keys out of his pocket. He grunts irritably as the keys slip between his fingers and tumble to his feet, head falling backward as he works up the strength to bend down and pick them up.

It’d been a long day. A really…really fuckin’ long day. He’d arrived at the office with 13 messages waiting for him and two programs he’d developed sent back down the line for absolute bullshit reasons. Then, he’d received a call from the lobby, letting him know that there was a piss soaked drunk man making a fucking spectacle out front, demanding to see his son, Lip, who works there. After encouraging the security to take Frank out back and beat him within an inch of his life, Lip hoped to settle into his office during lunch, eat the food his wife made him, and talk dirty to her on the phone to hold him over until he could go home.

None of that happened. Because his coworkers are fucking incompetent. And his boss is weirdly becoming obsessed with saying he was his protege or something and forcing him to take on tasks that have absolutely fucking nothing to do with his work. And the cherry on top, Charlotte didn’t pick up the phone. 

He’d called once, twice, three times, growing more and more worried with each dial tone and message of Hi, this is Charlotte Gallagher… Lip was already picking up his bag and logging off of his work computer when he received a vague text that lowered the nervous burning in his stomach to a strong simmer. Can’t talk, see you when you get home.

It makes the blond man feel slightly better that she responded, but this short, curt text left Lip other questions. Charlotte always wants to talk on the phone. Why was she not answering his calls? Is she mad at him? Hurt? Busy? No, not busy. They’re never too busy to answer each other’s calls. 

As he shoves the door to their townhome open his wide blue eyes scan the room for his wife. Lip haphazardly dumps his bag on the floor, stepping over his spilled belongings, making a mental note to come back and pick it up before Charlotte has to leave for work later. He expects to hear the quick clicking of her slippers shuffling across the floor to meet him. Even when she’s angry she always welcomes him home in one way or another. Either greeting him with bright eyes and a kiss or furrowed brows and crossed arms. But still, always there. Not this time. 

“Bunny, m’home.” He calls into the void, pausing to listen for a response of some sort of scoff, or high pitched harumph to start whatever rant she was about to ream him with. But nothing. No sound. No doors slamming. No sniffles born of fat, angry tears cried out of frustration because he’d fucked up in some way he’d already forgotten. Silence. 

Something Charlotte does know is that Lip doesn’t do well with being ignored. Call it abandonment issues, or narcissism, not being acknowledged triggers the fuck out of Lip. If…if this was some attempt at the silent treatment he doesn’t fuckin’ like it. His jaw clenches as he kicks off his shoes and starts to storm around the lower level of the home looking for her. “Charlotte.”

“Charlotte.” He pushes the downstairs bathroom door open, checking the kitchen and out back before heading up the steps. “Charlotte, c’mon, seriously?” 

He huffs as he turns the corner, his feet sinking into the cheap carpet on their hallway floors, rounding into their shared bedroom. The door is slightly ajar and all Lip can do is ponder why his wife would set herself up in their room and wait for him ominously like some kind of supervillain. That’s until he found her lying on the floor, still only wearing the ratty navy blue t-shirt from his cafeteria job and a pair of his boxers. Her brows furrow as he enters the room, but she remains unmoving on the floor as Lip moves closer, crouching next to her.

“Babe,” the blond starts, moving his hand to smoothe one of her fallen rollers from her forehead only to recoil away. “Jesus, Charlotte, what the fuck? You’re burning up!” He presses his hand down more aggressively this time, moving from her forehead to her neck, nudging her head out of his way with his knuckle.

Charlotte grunts and yawns, large brown eyes glassy as they flutter open to meet his blue ones that are storming with worry. “Bubba, you’re home…and you’re loud.” she pouts.

“What the fuck?” He whispers under his breath again, moving to sit fully on the floor as he inspects her closer. “You sick, Bunny?”

His wife just shifts, sitting up to move between his legs and lean her back against his back, trying to hide her face as she winces in pain with each movement, forcing cheer into her voice. “Phillip, m’fine, just sleepy.” She tries to reach behind his head and run her fingers through the soft hairs at the nape of her neck, and Lip shakes his head in distrust, catching her wrist when she can’t bite back the gasp from the sharp ache in her joints.

Echoes of Charlotte’s father’s voice fill Lip’s head. Do you know that she suffers from chronic pain. That she has sickle cell. Do you know that? Are you ready for that?  Is…should he be doing something? Calling someone? Fiona? She’s always taking care of him when he was sick. Maybe. Maybe her…maybe V? 

He fumbles in his pocket for his phone, only to realize he’d left it downstairs. He eyes the woman between his legs, feeling her body making stifled jerks, her teeth quietly chattering behind her closed lips. His beautiful girl’s normally vibrant, pink and brown lips muted versions of themselves. Dry. Dehydrated? 

“Let’s get you off the floor.” He murmurs, either to himself or to Charlotte, it was hard to tell. Lip is cautious as he hoists her into his arms, eyes locked on her as he carries her over to the bed, and lays her down. “Do you…um, what do you…did you eat?”

“M’not hungry.” she sighs, settling into the pillows, snuggling under the blankets, leading Lip to question if he should pull it off. She’s too hot. Isn’t she too hot?

“Okay, I’m gonna be right back. I’ll be right back, okay, Bunny?”

“Okay.” Charlotte hums weakly, eyes fluttering shut again before Lip can even make it out of the room. His chest clenches as he jogs down the steps, brain moving at rapid speed. He immediately digs through his discarded bag for his phone, pulling it out and dialing his older sister’s number.

“Come on, Fiona. Come the fuck on.” His teeth grind as he paces, once, twice across the living room floor before deciding to balance the still ringing phone between his ear and shoulder as he grabs ice from the fridge. He ignores the pins and needles in his hands as he shovels the cubes into a ziplock bag. Each ring of the phone before the dial tone hits pisses him off until he hears the voicemail prompt Fiona, you know what to do…except no the actual fuck he doesn’t. And thank you for absolutely nothing Fiona, and suddenly his phone is under the couch and its battery is somewhere against the wall because somebody might have thrown it. 

“Baby, here.” Lip mumbles as he pads back into the room, sitting on the edge of the bed, worry growing as he notices that in the two minutes he’d been downstairs she’d already been back to sleep. He tries to push the baggy full of ice that he’d wrapped in a paper towel on her forehead, only for her to groan and push it away. 

“No, wait, Phillip-”

“Bunny, you have a fever, we need to cool it down.” He sighs, trying to push it forward again.

Charlotte holds his hand away, scooting further on the bed and wincing in pain again. “No, Phillip, it’s gonna make the pain worse. With what I have,  I can’t be cold, okay? No ice.” Her eyes soften as she watches him pull back, tossing the ice on the dresser.

Make the pain worse. Lip can't breathe. “Okay. Okay, so what can I do to help you?” 

“Maybe breathe, just a little bit. And tell the vein in your neck to chill out before it bursts. And..and you’re doing that thing you do. You know, when you’re upset, so you start annunciating each letter of each word you say. S’weird, bub.” She giggles through her chills and chattering teeth. “I’m fine, Bubba. Just come cuddle with me, I’ll warm up.”

“Charlotte.” Lip isn’t amused. His wife is sick and it’s not funny. He’d…distantly known, one day he’d be faced with Charlotte experiencing discomfort in some function. Her father’s words about her illnesses had yet to be confirmed by her so he’d assumed eventually they’d been a ploy to scare him into trying to send her back to her parents. But now, she was sitting before him, looking beautiful as ever, but sick. She looks weak. And all he can think is how he’d missed it. This morning, how slowly she’d moved, how she’d fallen back asleep when he showered. The lack of texts and calls. Were her eyes that glassy then? Was she in pain like this all day?

And so Lip decided he was the worst husband ever. It’s not the first time he’d come to that conclusion, but this time he really felt it. He should’ve rushed home. Hell he should’ve stayed home. He had all night to berate himself. Charlotte had almost immediately fallen asleep after he’d climbed into bed with her. Her hand that’d been rubbing slow circles on his chests halted and got heavier. 

So, Lip got to work. He slid out from underneath her, and snuck downstairs to grab his work laptop. Ideally, his source for symptoms for sickle cell crises would be a doctor, or someone else who’d actually had an idea of what they were doing, but google would have to do for now. He’d turned the screen light down and carried the laptop upstairs. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Lip sat up all night, rotating between reading horrific facts and worse-case scenarios and sticking his finger under his wife’s nose to make sure she was breathing. His eyes burned as he would take breaks from reading to stare at her, watching the rise and fall of her chest, feeling the paranoia fill his own.

“Uh, thanks, V.” Lip places the machine onto the counter before pulling his wife’s cousin into a hug. “Sorry you didn’t get to say hi, she’s uh..really tired lately.” 

Charlotte’s not getting better. 

No matter what Lip does, she won’t just fucking get better. For three days, he played her game. At least a little. He agreed not to involve anyone else. He went to the pharmacy and bought her tylenol for the pain and the headaches. He wrapped her in heating pads and his arms, staring down at her with pools of worry. He let her sleep as much as she wanted. On the condition that he could watch to make sure she woke up. 

She’d tell him over and over she was fine, and that this feeling would pass. She refused to call it what it was and tried to carry on with business as usual. But Lip’s not stupid. Charlotte’s either going into crisis or already in it. 

He hasn’t been to work in 3 days. 

He hasn’t showered alone in 3 days.

He hasn’t slept more than an hour at a time in 3 days. 

The first and only time he’d left the house was to get the medicine and heating pads. The first person he’d spoken to aside from Charlotte had been V. 

Fiona had called from some fucking detention center. Something about a mix up and a boyfriend was what the voicemail said. Lip had sent her a text to go fuck herself before blocking her number. That was day 2. That day, Charlotte had tried to hide from Lip as she cried in pain in their bed while he brought her lunch. He didn’t have time for the bullshit. And at 4:00am leading into day 3, she’d tried to sneak and go to the bathroom by herself, and got so dizzy she fell back on the bed, alerting her husband. 

That’s when Lip tried to call her parents. 

“Don’t call them!”

“Charlotte, you’re sick! We have to call your parents.”

“I’m fine!”

“You’re sick, I don’t know how to fucking help you, I’m calling them, okay? Jesus, fucking-Bunny, Bun…Charlotte you have to stop crying, you’re gonna make your chest tight.”

It was too late. So they had to compromise.

Lip called V. V brought Charlotte’s nebulizer, kissed her forehead and left. It was an older one. A big clunky machine, with tubes and plugs. Different liquids that need to be poured into it at different measurements. All of this shit just to help the love of his life breathe normally. To get her lungs to work at their full capacity. Lip swallows the lump in his throat as he puts the mask around her pretty face, watching as liquid medicine turns to fog for her to breathe in.  The sound of the machine fills the room as Charlotte falls asleep again, and Lip goes downstairs.

He scrubs his hands down his face before going to the kitchen to start making her a grilled cheese to eat when she wakes back up and the doorbell rings. Lip assumed V had forgotten something during her brief visit. He wasn’t expecting for his fuck up sister to have the audacity to be standing at his doorstep. “Yeah, fuck that, get the fuck out of here.” he sneers, turning and pushing the door to close behind him, only for her to catch it with her foot.

“Lip, why didn’t you tell me Charlotte’s sick?” Fiona’s lip curls as she takes in his disheveled form, his hair and clothes eskew and stained, very similar to the state of the kitchen and living room. “This place is a mess.”

“You know, I’m not sure why you’re still here.” The blond snatches a red notebook off the couch, producing a pen from behind his ear and scribbling in it. “What time is it?”

“I’m here to help,” She picks two plastic bags off of the floor and folds them in on each other. “Clearly you need it-”

“Fuck you. The time? Can’t find my goddamn watch-”

“9:36. Why?”

Lip huffs, running a hand through his uncombed hair. “Why are you here? Like you said, my wife’s sick, and none of the drugs she’s taking can get you high so, you’ll have to take your bender elsewhere-”

“Okay, fuck you, because if you’d un-fucking block me you’d know that was a mixup and I’m completely clean. I’m gonna ignore the fact that you’re being a complete asshole right now because I’m here to help my sister, alright? Move. What’s that burning smell?”

“Fuck!” Lip rushes over to the stove and takes the pan with the crispy remains of a grilled cheese and throws it in the sink. He kicks at the cabinet in front of the sink and tugs at his strands again. “Fuck, fucking-I needed help 3 days ago! My wife is fucking sick and I don’t know what to do. It’s not a cold. She’s not going through withdrawals or ODing. She was literally just fucking born with something that could kill her and I have the fucking nerve to be tired. She can’t move. Her bones hurt. She gets a fever for nothing. She can’t fucking breathe right. And I’m tired. Be-because I can’t sleep. I have to watch her. A-and, my mind is constantly trying to think of what she needs next. I’ve got a fucking notebook full of medications and times so I can keep them straight I want her to get better. I need her to get better now.”

Fiona stands quietly as her little brother tries to even out his breathing. She takes careful steps forward, sweeping the tears from his cheeks before using her sleeve to wipe the snot from his nose. It’s easy to forget. Lip is a man now. But every now and then, Lip reminds her he’s only 20 years old. That he’s her first baby. 

“Go take a long shower.” She says, taking her bag off her shoulder.

“I can’t, I need to check on Charlotte.” He sniffs. “I don’t like leaving her alone that long.”

“I’ll check on her. You can’t take care of her if you’re not taking care of yourself. Plus you’re gross.”

Charlotte is sitting up in the bed by the time Lip comes back to their room. It was the first time in 3 days that they’d been apart for an hour. Fiona had brought her a new grilled cheese sandwich and wiped the tear tracks from her own face when she acknowledged that she’d heard Lip’s breakdown from before because her nebulizer had turned off.  The younger woman used shaky hands to pick at her nails as she watched the door for her husband after her sister left.

She felt guilty that he had to take care of her so much. Charlotte had always had health issues, and they’re a lot on anyone. Her parents had even hired help when they were really bad when she was younger. She has always had her own feelings about feeling like her body betrays her randomly sometimes, that excruciating pain can come from nowhere and occasionally her parents would use that as a way to control her.

 But Lip isn’t like that. He just cares. He cares to the point that he’s angry for her. At the situation. At himself. She can feel him. Looking at her at night, making sure she’s breathing. Kissing her temple and trying to massage the migraines from her head. She knows he called her parents despite her wishes. And she felt his disappointment and desperation when they told him that since she decided she was grown, she was on her own. Her husband spent the past few days driving himself insane, just in hopes of her getting a little bit better. And she couldn’t even promise him that.

“Hey, baby, you’re up.” He smiles softly, tugging on a pair of pajama pants over his boxers. 

“Boo, I was enjoying the show.” Charlotte offers him a tired grin back.

He shakes his head, placing a hand on the back of her neck under the guise of pulling her into a kiss, not very discreetly feeling to see if she has a fever. “Fuckin’ perv.” Lip presses his lips against hers once, twice, before resting his forehead against hers. “Pain level.”

“3.”

“So 6.” He sucks his teeth, “Headache?”

“Nope.” she pops the ‘p’, rubbing his nose with hers and pouting at his disapproving look. “Promise.”

“You have to be fucking honest, Bunny, really, we can’t play with your health.” 

“I’m fine-” she groans, pushing him away lightly only to pause when she sees his face. It’s stoic and strict. Almost angry. Almost, if not for the water glittering on his waterline. 

“I don’t have to say the fucking words, I know you don’t want me to say them. But, I need you. So we need to handle this right. I have to take care of you, because this is freaking me the fuck out, baby. I know it’s fucking annoying that I keep waking you up, and making you take things you don’t wanna take. I know you don’t want me to carry you around, but Charlotte, please. Seriously. Fuckin’ please.”

Charlotte bites her bottom lip, eyes slipping closed, she reaches up, waiting for her husband to lean down into her arm. He does, encasing her, holding her. Like glass, she hates this. But she can understand. If Lip looked the way she looked, felt the way she felt, she’d feel horrible. “Okay. My…my head hurts a little bit.”

“Okay.” Lip nods against her shoulder, reaching over to the nightstand, grabbing the tylenol bottle and the glass of water Fiona had left. Charlotte opens her mouth and Lip places the small white pill in her mouth, ignoring the shiver of familiarity he gets from it and reasoning to himself how different this is from anything with his own parents. “Thank you, Bunny.” He breathes as he watches her swallow down the water he holds to her lips. 

“Thank you, Bubba.” She scoots over and pats the space in the bed next to her. “Time for my other medicine.”

Blue eyes roll as he climbs under the covers, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her to his chest. “You’re so fuckin’ corny.” Lip relaxes a little as he nuzzles his nose against her head, breathing her in and feeling her heartbeat as his fingers run along her wrists. “You’re starting to have the energy to make stupid jokes again, so you must be getting better.”

Charlotte hums as he smooths his hands along her arms, stomach and legs. Her head drops back against his shoulder. “Eh, I wouldn’t take out that life insurance on me just yet.”

Lip brings her hand to his lips kissing her wrist before speaking against it. “Fuckk, there goes that vacation I was supposed to take my other wife on.”

“Yeah, Helene will simply have to wait.”

“Eyes and mouth closed, brat.” he snorts.

"Phillip?" she starts.

He sighs, letting his own eyes slip shut, resting his head on hers. "I'll be fine when you are, Bunny." And he means it. Charlotte is Lip's life. His wife is the best thing that's ever happened to him. He...was overwhelmed earlier. But he'd loose 3 more days sleep. He'd keep a million notebooks. Keep track of hundreds of medications. Just to see her feeling better again. "Just get better for me, baby."

[direwombat]

tagged by @josephseedismyfather for this fine wip wedesday (tysm~ <3)

working on the damaged (aka, the jakesyb slasher au) becuase this fic holding my brain hostage in a cage. so here's a scene from later in the fic (which is to say, after syb and jacob have made their truce fucked and caught feelings) during their road trip to montana. this is a super rough rough-draft and will be edited. also. uh. trigger warning for lighthearted discussions of cannibalism (but none actually depicted, it's all hypothetical).

Sybille kicks her feet onto the dashboard, the dried mud of her boots flaking and dirtying the control panel. "I got a question for you," she says, after taking a drag and letting her arm hang lazily out the open window.

"Shoot."

"You said you's wanted for man-eatin'."

Jacob hums an affirmative.

"What part of me would you eat first?" He takes his eyes off the road just long enough to give her a [puzzled] look. When his gaze briefly flicks to the cradle of her hips, she grins and adds, "Previous meals nonwithstandin'."

He diverts his gaze back to the road and sighs thoughtfully. "I'd start with the organs. Heart, brain—" he casts her a quick side-glance "—probably not your lungs or liver."

She barks a rasping, smoker's laugh. "Wouldn't blame ya. What about the rest 'f me?"

He pauses for a moment, presses his lips in a firm line, contemplating. "Don't take this the wrong way, honey, but you're not exactly prime cut beef."

"Kinda hard to tell what other way I should take that." She takes another drag and casts him a sidelong smirk. "'Sides, weren't like you was complainin' the other night—or woulda any pussy done?"

"That's not what I—" he groans, mildly frustrated. "Look," he says, and he takes a hand off the wheel to run his knuckles down her ribs, allowing them to knock against the protruding bones and notch into the divots between them. It kind of tickles. "You're like a hare. Skin, bones, and muscle, but not much fat. Tough meat."

"Ooh, careful Mr. Hunter," she coos, the teasing sarcasm coats her voice, saccharine and honey-thick, "neg me harder 'n I might feel insecure enough to give ya a blowie." Self-satisfied pride swells in her chest as she watches the tips of his ears turn pink. "Well, fine — 'f ya had to cook 'n eat my tough meat, how'd ya do it?"

He's quiet for a long, long moment. "Stew," he eventually answers. "Take the meat from your shoulders and thighs. Tenderize ya with a mallet. Sear ya off to lock in your — uh — your juices." He coughs awkwardly and her grin widens. "Toss you in a slow cooker and let you simmer with carrots and onions or something. Bag you up, keep you in the freezer and have you as a hearty meal on a cold winter day."

There's a tenderness in the emotion to his voice. If she didn't know any better, she might've called it affection. It settles warmly in her chest and all of a sudden she feels exposed. With words alone he's cracked open her sternum. He might as well be holding her still-beating heart in his hands, and somehow, the image of him lifting it to his mouth, teeth bared and ready to take a bite, sounds more romantic than it does grizzly.

She scoffs. "Just don't forget to season me. 'F I find out you ate me without addin' any seasonin' I'm gon' haunt your ass."

He chuckles. "Got any requests?"

"You will use Slap Ya Mama cajun seasoning and nothing else."

"Heard."

She brings her cigarette to her lips and sucks in another lungful of smoke. "What 'bout trophies. Anythin' you'd keep?" she asks on the exhale.

"Your eyes," he answers, perhaps a little too quickly.

She snorts. "What, you gon' keep'em in a mason jar in that duffle?"

He shrugs. "Dunno. Don't really take trophies."

"Right, right," she waves the hand holding her cigarette dismissively. "Use the whole animal 'n shit."

"Something like that."

"Why my eyes?"

He's quiet for a long moment. "Nice shade of green."

tag list (opt in/out)

@voidika, @buggknife, @cloudofbutterflies92, @la-grosse-patate, @tommyarashikage

@florbelles, @statichvm, @fourlittleseedlings, @wrathfulrook, @harmonyowl,

@ivymarquis, @carlosoliveiraa, @cassietrn, @confidentandgood, @strafethesesinners,

@trench-rot, @miyabilicious, @simplegenius042, @g0dspeeed, @inafieldofdaisies,

@josephslittledeputy, @aceghosts, @adelaidedrubman, @finding-comfort-in-rain,

@socially-awkward-skeleton, and @strangefable

[equinoxts2]

Mod: No Body Type Wants & Fears

I’ll admit it, I’m a proud plus sized simmer. So I don’t always appreciate it when my sims roll “get fit” or “get fat” as a want or a fear respectively. Even with the ability to have fitness as a turn-off and fatness as a turn-on, the former is only ever a want and the latter is only ever a fear. I’m tired of this game body shaming my sims. And I’m sure I’m not the only one.

So I did what I always do when a game element frustrates me: mod it away, and share the result. There are two separate mods in the zip file: one that disables the “fitness” want and one that disables the “fatness” fear. You can use one or both, they don’t conflict with each other.

Download (SFS)

[problemnyatic]

My anger, that ceaseless, burning fury, is not my core. It is not the root feeling that drives me. My outrage, my frustration, they are the scars upon my bleeding heart. I simmer and I boil because my love is boundless and ever-flowing, and i see a world around me so intent on hurting the people i love.

The homeless man, the cancelled tranny, the autistic burnout, the cripple, the mother, my intersex siblings, The single father, the people of color so alienated from their humanity by the white empire. The exhausted worker, the poor student. The lonely young man being taught to blame his pain on other people, the little boy taught not to cry. The children who don't understand why they don't like to be in pictures, the elderly who're only just getting that answer.

The sex worker who's told her lifestyle is paid rape, the sex worker who has no other choice. The fat woman who's told medicine isn't for people like her, the fat man who's told his love is a poison because of his size.

The black trans women who's names are erased at every turn, the children still in cages at the USA's borders. The palestinians forced to beg and beg for comfortable westerners to spare personal mercy to make up for the world's decision to strip them of everything.

The droves of creatures barely clinging to existence against corporate, imperial ravaging of both global and vanishingly small habitat alike, the immunocompromised forced from society because the world has decided to pretend a disabling influenza is the new normal.

the countless many I could never hope to name, humanity at large, and all life on this singular, beautiful planet. I love it all, so, so fucking goddamn much. And it has not known justice in my lifetime.

The human is an animal no different from the beetle or the deer or the fish. It is nature no different from the trees and the molds and the microbes. We are not above nor below our fellow denizens of Earth. Humanity is my family, the world is my home. And we are suffering.

So I'm angry. I'm outraged. I love it all to much to be anything else. We all deserve better. I deserve better. You deserve better. This planet and all life upon it deserves better than something so superficial as money and so childish as the thirst for infinite growth to be what determines who suffers and who dies.

There's nothing reasonable about any of this. And so I am angry. I love us all too much not to be.

[darkittensniper]

Title: It Reminds Me of You

Pairing: Donna Beneviento/ Cassandra Demitrescu

WC: 2.6k

Plot: Uh.... Cass tries to read to impress Donna with a flower that reminds her of her favorite botanist. Uh... Donna like that shit. Fuck it its just library smut, End of story. Enjoy.

@muffinsin this one for you! Great idea for why our little warrior lady would be in the fucking library!

Donna Beneviento, youngest of the four Lord’s. Even with this, she was taller than both of her older brothers, second only to Alcina herself. The black mourning dress’s she wore always made her seem smaller. Tonight was different, with the moon cresting high, the silver gleam bathed the taller women in its glow. Satin black nightgown, stopping just shy of the tops of her knees. Lithe but well-defined thighs held her weight as she prowled down the rather empty hallways of The Demitrescu manor.

 Commissions that come from her only sister always gave Donna an excuse to visit the manor. Leaving behind the rather deadly whispers of the waterwall adjacent to her own manor. Yet an even better excuse to see her. Cassandra, her little doll. A slight twitch of her eye as her bare feet made no sound. The sweet familiar thump of Cassandras heart, the thrum of her flies.

It excited Lady Donna, folding and molding herself to the darkness creeping along the dimly light hallways, jumping from shadow to shadow, her form stretching, The brown-haired middle daughter had no idea she had been found so quickly. The pages of the botany book felt heavy in her lap. The huntress felt rather silly to creep around her own house in the middle of the night, just for the fact she was too prideful to ever be caught dead in the library. Though Cassie did want to impress Lady Donna in the morning with her newfound knowledge of a certain plant. There was one that had peaked the hunter’s eye, with a frustrated sigh the smaller women got to her feet, slamming the book closed. It had no images, and the name of the flower was escaping her sleep addled brain.

A short temper coupled with the want of sleep, but the sheer drive show Lady Beneviento that she had in fact been paying attention fueled Cassandra. Though she was the middle child, her body spoke of the long years of training. Very proud of each flex of brawn that moved with her as she placed the book back in its place. The firelight of the hearth glinted off the yellow amber of her eyes. Narrowed and searching Cassandra read the dusty leather bond books. The hunters’ flies responded to her simmer fury, various parts of her breaking off into her swarm. The thrum of their wings a calling beacon for the actual huntress.

Donna Beneviento had found her doll. Standing in the doorway of the library, the silly girl had so foolishly left open. Anyone could have been there, not that Donna would ever let that happen. This was all hers. Just hers. The soft brown tresses of hair, rough from laying on pillows not that long ago. Donna’s fingers ached to wrap those locks in her grasp. The long white nightgown hugged shapely hips, the flare of them dimpled with muscle as well as giving fat. Tasting the skin there made Donna’s tongue come out to wet her bottom lip.

Her precious doll, for all of her baser nature and killer instinct had yet to notice that she was being watched.

Cassandra cursed, the raspy lilt of it causing Donna’s spine to stiffen. A wave of sheer need to be the one causing her to say such un lady like things. Yet curiosity at just what Cassandra was doing here stayed Donna making her presence known. For now.

“Fuck, think! It had something to do with silver.” The deep growl after each word cut the quiet.

Wondering how either of her sisters found any type of pleasure in these old dusty pages would never make sense to the little warrior. Sharp edges and leaking blood made sense to her, this didn’t. Snatching the next book she touched, opening it still facing towards the bookcase. Calloused fingertips flipping through the yellowed pages.

“There you are!” Cassandra hissed quietly.

Fangs wickedly curved and sharp flashed as Cassie smiled, having found what she wanted. A silver-colored flower that reminded her of Lady Donna. The illustration had caught her eye first, the medium sized silvery white leaves, with yellow and white flowers. The silky cushion of finely cut leaves made her think of Donnas face.  Most of the words next to the picture meant little to the hunter as she scanned them, finding the bolded name of the plant at the bottom.

“Silver Mound,” Cassandra held the book closer to her field of vision. Like it was going to help her pronounce the next words, ”Artem- Artemis-“

“Artemisia Schmiditiana. They are semi- evergreen, even in winter climates. Apart of the perennial flower family.”

Lady Donna molded her taller frame to her smaller lover, pressing her against the bookcase. The crinkle of the aged pages as the book fell from Cassandra’s grasp. Caught easily with nimble fingers as Donna placed her lips to the cold skin along Cassie’s neck. Both women knew that the brown haired women could just swarm and be free of the Lord’s warm body. Pale hand running up the length of Cassandra’s side as the other reached up to place the book back.

“What is my little doll doing out of bed?”

Cassadra growled, mad that her body was already responding to the little marks and nibbles her Lord was placing along her neck. Gentle arching slope of her nose inhaling fresh fragrance of roses. Something Donna loved about her prized little doll was that no matter how many times she cleaned herself, the smell of the copper crimson liquid never really left her skin. Bloodlust seeped from Cassandra at every given second of every day, It drove the Lord crazy, knowing that with a few choice words and actions she could have this fiercely proud and domineering women fold to her ever command. The lack of an answer started the battle of dominance between them.

Dexterous fingers made easy work of threading between the long tawny colored hair, and  giving a sharp tug. Yanking Cassandra’s head back fully. With the Lords clear height advantage Cass had no choice but to accept the view her Lord awarded her with. The moonlight catching the silver like scar tissue, making it shimmer and dance. Making Cassandra fidget from just how mesmerizing  her Lord looked.

“Answer me.”

The edge of the white gown was being hiked up, the grip in her hair switching to her throat. Squeezing as Donna hunched over her prey, her body all encompassing. Even with both hands occupied Donna had no issue with capturing her lovers arms, the invisible warmth of phantom-like limbs always made Cassie weak in the knees. She could feel them, but no matter how hard she looked she could never see them. An unseen force that could rend flesh from bone without Lady Beneviento lifting a finger.

Their purpose now was different now, used to hoist Cassandra’s arm high above her head, iron clad. The hunter could see the indentation of where the fingers were pressing, but like always could not see them.

“Reading.” Cassandra prodded.

The very act of responding in such a disrespectful way, and stating the obvious had the air leaving Cassies lungs as they were compressed along her ribs. Donna having laid her full weight on her, making the bookcase groan in warning. The easy way Donna could bruise the icy skin along the brawn of Cassandras thigh left them both breathless for a second. The pain of those deft fingers digging in and marking her skin made Cass moan softly. Not just anyone could get her to actively bruise this quickly. This just was for her Lord. The bewitching women looking down at her from way up there.

Trimmed nails making work of yanking up Cassandras nightgown to above her ass, baring the lacy blank panties. The sharp slap making Cass jump slightly but giving little room to move from her hands still being pinned. She pulled back against those phantom limbs but like always Lady Donna could easily overpower her little doll anytime she wanted. The hand around her neck, taking the edges of her vision as Donna bent down and placed a tender kiss to parted lips,

“Try again.”

Another stinging slap to the bared skin under her panties made Cass yelp this time, the pain from this one was twice as intense as the first. Drawing a heady moan to leave her as her thighs pressed together, fighting the warm wetness she felt there. The urge to leave more marks on her perfect doll had the Lord attacking every inch of exposed skin between her hold on her women’s neck and along her shoulders. Blunt teeth finding ease puncturing the hard muscled skin she found. Drawing a pained moan from cupid bowed lips.

“I- I wanted to surprise you my Lord. Wanted to show you that I can learn about something you like. It reminded me of you.” Cassandra  simpered, between pants.

The brown-haired women was instantly rewarded for her answer with warm fingers sliding between the hem of her panties, a throaty groan in her ear as Donna felt her wetness. Sliding strong long fingers between, parting dewy lips. The soft hair framing her sex coated in her arousal. Sweet kisses replaced the hand around Cassie’s throat as she was lifted and flipped to face Donna. The slim waist easily fit between brawny thighs. The hunter was completely left open, the tearing sound of her underwear as they were ripped from her. The rough treatment making the smaller women cream at the thought of more.

Cassadra Demitrescu was a warrior. A hunter. The one who always chased her prey. Yet when it came to Donna, her immeasurable power and dominating aura when she handled Cassandra. It made her fold like paper in the wind, all of the strength and bold actions were just that, actions. She played her part for her family, but in the privacy and security of Donna’s arms she let herself go. Always putting up just enough fight to make her Lord put her in her place.

“Gaurdami. I only will ask once. If you look away for even a split second, I’ll stop.” Lady Donna’s voice was deep from misuse as always.

Making Cassandra shiver, arms still held above her head, the ache of this position made her flush. Though she did as she was told, all to familiar with the husky Italian. She stomach cramped sinfully as she watched long fingers slide down her chest and come to cup her breast through her nightgown. Donna smiled as she felt her lover’s nipples harden instantly under her teasing, groping hand. Her other hand slid over creamy thighs, feeling the tremble of them as she danced her fingers just shy of the apex of Cassandra’s thighs.

Every inch of Cassandra enthralled Donna, the flush of her cheeks, the labored way her chest rose and fell, the soft give of her breast, that fit perfectly in her hand. Amber colored eyes framed by lovely eyelashes, cute little cub like fangs poking. Utterly perfect. Silver-tinged eye finding its way between her legs, finding her open and waiting. Her pussy was drooling for Donna, all for her. Possessiveness corded through her lithe frame, her control slipping, the devouring need to feel her around her fingers.

Cass could see the change instantly; she knew just what she needed to really make her Lord release that demon Cassandra craved. Locking her legs around her torso, pulling the larger women flush against her, ruining her nice black night gown with her slick. A few long hard ruts truly cemented not only her scent but her arousal all over her Lords gown.

“You little infuriating thing.” Donna snarled.

The last layer of chains were snapped, driving two fingers deep inside of Cassie before she could make connection  with the fabric of the gown. The scream that wanted to leave was smothered. Lady Donna having sealed her hand over Cass’s mouth and nose, cutting off all airflow to even scream. Having no control of her arms still she could only take all her Lord was giving her. Talented fingers finding her g-spot, curling around the spongy tissue in a ‘come hither motion.

The velvet smooth walls gripped Donna like an old friend, drawing her even deeper with each thrust. Cassandra looked stunning, her head was thrown back, knocking a few books from shelves from just how hard she was being fucked. Neither cared about the mess, Donna was too caught up with feeling her women freely leak cream down her palm and onto her wrist. How could someone look so beautiful on the precipitous of passing out from the lack of oxygen was a large reason why she kept her like this. Tears starting to fall from glowing yellow eyes, her face a lovely shade of red now.

The trust Cassandra had for her Lord always stopped her from swarming away to breath, she knew Donna knew her like the back of her hand, knowing just how long to hold her. Trapping and forcing her lungs to cycle what little air was left in them to prolong this feeling. The light headedness swirling with the searing pleasure between her legs. When Donna finally gave to rubbing the sensitive  bundle of nerves, no longer wanting to tease her poor little fuck doll.

“That’s it, look at how ravishing you are for me. Tell me who owns this principessa.”

Lady Donna voice was hoarse, pent up with need and icy, full of her rightful ownership of Cassandra. Mind, body, and soul all belonged to the Lord and they both knew it. Releasing her hand from over Cassies mouth, the smaller women gasped and panted as fresh air wheezed into greedy lungs. Even though her vison was blurry with tears she dared not look away from her Lord. The rush of ecstasy threading its way through her body, The indent of the spines of the books biting into her back as she was fucked senseless against the shelving.

“Al- All yours my Lord. Only you own me, no- no one else.”

A prideful purr left Donna as she doubled her efforts, releasing the phantom bonds on her lovers arms with a thought. Instantly finding sharp nails digging into her shoulders as she worked Cassandra. Expert flicks of her tongue along the sweaty coolness of her neck, ragged breathing tickling her ear.

Her fuck doll knew better than to be too loud even with her freely moaning in Donnas ear. These little whimpers and yelps were only for her Lords ears. The burning stretch as a third finger was swiftly added, strong limber arm holding up the brown-haired women’s weight with ease. Toned legs flexing as Cass braced her feet along Donnas lower back. The splendid  muscles found there braced for her, making it all the easier to find purchase.

“Cum.”

Cassandras fangs sank into Donnaa neck as her orgasm curled from the pit of the stomach to every inch of her body. Her toes tingled, spine arching as black blood flooded into her mouth. Drinking greedily as another orgasm slammed into her from her bloodlust taking over, needed to be sated as well.

Donna groaned, feeling her own panties soak through from her arousal. Rocking her gently the rather lewd sound of her fingers sliding free from Cassandra, who for all of her endurance never failed to turn rather limp after Donna was done with her. Cassie licked the bruised skin around where she had bitten. Cleaning up the little drops of black blood that had slipped past her lips.

Waiting fingers tapped at her lips, coated in her creamy cum. Her tongue already drawing them in.