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pretzel-box · 2 days

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REVERSE AU MASTERLIST HERE

PART 7 : A cure so sweet

Tags: Reverse AU, Fluff, Established Relationship, Lots of cute interactions, sick sebby

Words: 1,3k

If Sebastian hated one thing above all, it was feeling sick. That strange, sickly sensation would settle deep in his bones, weighing down his every movement. His nose constantly ran, and sneezes came out of nowhere, only adding to the misery. Hiding from monsters in a deadly facility was already hard enough, but being sick made it almost unbearable.

Fortunately, he had you—a brilliant partner with a shop filled with a strange assortment of junk, some of it actually useful.

"Aw, come here, Sebastian!" The moment he stepped in, you pulled him into the warmth of your shop. Several heaters hummed along the walls, and Sebastian already knew you’d make him settle in his usual spot, close to one of them.

Sebastian groaned as he slumped into his designated spot near the heater. His head was heavy, and he shivered despite the warmth. You knelt down in front of him as best as you could with a soft, concerned smile, your hands already busy. A blanket appeared out of nowhere (probably pulled out from one of the shelves), and before he could protest, you draped it around his shoulders.

"You're worse than I thought," you teased lightly, brushing his messy raven hair away from his forehead. "You always try to power through it, but not today."

He gave a half-hearted grumble, but leaned into your touch, appreciating the small moments of comfort. "I’m fine," he muttered, but the rasp in his voice betrayed him. "Just need to—"

"Nope." You cut him off, placing a gentle finger on his lips. "Today, you’re resting, no excuses. I’ll handle everything."

Sebastian sighed, but the softness in your eyes melted his resistance. You moved away briefly, returning with a cup of hot tea. "Here, it's ginger. It'll help with your throat. I found it recently in a cupboard down the hall near a break room.”

He took the cup, his fingers brushing against yours. "Thanks," he murmured, taking a sip and wincing at the sharpness of the ginger, but the warmth spread through him, soothing his throat. "You always know what I need."

"I know you better than you think," you said with a grin, settling beside him.

He glanced at you, eyes softening. "I'm lucky to have you."

You leaned in, resting your head on his shoulder. "You always take care of me in the chaos out there. Let me take care of you now."

Sebastian’s lips curved into a faint smile as he closed his eyes, leaning into your warmth. The world outside might be a mess, but in this small shop, with you beside him, he felt a little less broken.

Sebastian let out a long sigh, sinking further into the blanket as you pressed closer to him. The warmth from the heater mixed with the comfort of your touch, and for the first time all day, he felt a bit of the tension leave his body. He placed the half-empty cup of tea on the floor beside him, his hands finding their way to you, pulling a part of you gently onto his lap.

"You know," he whispered, his voice still hoarse, "you make it really hard for me to stay grumpy."

You smiled, shifting so you could wrap your arms around his neck, your noses nearly touching. "That's the plan," you said softly, brushing a light kiss against his forehead. His eyes fluttered shut, the simple gesture easing away the lingering weight of sickness. "I like it when you're all soft like this," you teased, your voice dropping to a quiet murmur.

Sebastian chuckled weakly, his hands slipping around your waist, pulling you closer. "Only for you," he whispered back, his voice low and rough but filled with affection.

The moment hung between you both, thick with the warmth of shared comfort. You leaned in again, this time pressing a tender kiss against his lips. It was slow, gentle—like neither of you wanted to break the moment. He kissed you back, lazy and soft, as if all the energy he had left was reserved just for you.

When you pulled back, your foreheads rested together, and Sebastian's eyes stayed closed, his breathing steady. You shifted slightly, nestling into him, your head resting in the crook of his neck. His arms instinctively tightened around you, his hand slowly tracing circles on your back.

"You know you don’t have to push yourself so hard," you whispered against his skin, your breath warm and comforting.

"I’m used to it," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your hair. "But with you… it’s different. You make me want to slow down. Just… be here."

You smiled against his neck, letting your lips brush against his skin before you placed a lingering kiss there. "Then stay here," you said, your voice tender. "With me."

Sebastian let out a content hum, shifting slightly to pull you even closer. "I think I could get used to this," he whispered, his lips finding yours again in a slow, lingering kiss, as if time itself could pause in the warmth of your embrace.

Sebastian sighed softly into the kiss, his lips barely brushing against yours as he held you close, the warmth between you both making the world outside feel distant. When you finally pulled back, your fingers instinctively moved up to his hair, threading through the soft strands and gently stroking his scalp. He leaned into your touch, eyes fluttering shut once more as a content hum escaped his throat.

But then, a small frown appeared on his face as a particular thought hit him too late. He shifted slightly beneath you, as if something was gnawing at the back of his mind. "Hey," he murmured, his voice still raspy. "You should probably keep some distance... I don't want to get you sick."

You paused your gentle strokes, tilting your head to meet his gaze. He looked so torn—worried, even in the middle of all the comfort you'd been giving him. His brow furrowed slightly, like he was already kicking himself for letting you get this close while he wasn't feeling well.

"Sebastian..." you whispered softly, brushing a thumb against his cheek. "You know I don’t care about that."

He opened his mouth to protest, but you silenced him with a gentle kiss—quick, reassuring, filled with all the affection you'd been holding for him. His breath hitched slightly, his hands tightening around your waist, but before he could get another word in, you pulled back just enough to look into his eyes.

"I’m not going anywhere," you said, your voice firm but full of warmth. "You’re stuck with me, sickness and all." You gave him a soft, teasing smile, your fingers resuming their gentle motions through his hair. "Besides, what kind of partner would I be if I didn’t take care of you?"

Sebastian’s face softened, but his concern lingered. "I just… I don’t want you feeling like this," he muttered, his thumb absentmindedly tracing small circles on your hip.

"Maybe I will," you shrugged playfully, "but we’ll deal with that later. Right now, all I care about is making sure you feel better."

His heart swelled at your words, and the way you kept running your fingers through his hair was slowly breaking down his resolve. He leaned his head against your chest, his eyes closing again as he let out a deep breath. "You’re impossible," he murmured, though his tone was soft, affectionate.

You grinned, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "And you love it."

"Yeah..." he whispered, his arms wrapping around you more tightly. "I really do."

For a moment, you both stayed like that—Sebastian curled up in your arms, his worries slowly fading as you held him close, your fingers moving rhythmically through his hair. The warmth between you was more than just physical; it was the kind of comfort only you could give him, a sense of peace that no amount of chaos in the world could take away.

"You’re everything to me, you know that?" His voice was quiet, almost as if he was afraid to say it aloud.

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you gently tilted his head up so you could look into his eyes. "And you’re everything to me," you replied softly, leaning down to kiss him again, slow and deep, as if you could pour all the love you felt for him into that one moment.

Sebastian kissed you back, his worries finally slipping away as he melted into your touch.

It took exactly two weeks till you were bedridden and absolutely sick, crying out loud for your boyfriend.

#sebastian solace #roblox pressure #sebastian solace x reader #sebastian solace x you #pressure #sebastian solace fanfic #pressure x reader #reverse au

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theladyofbloodshed · 2 days

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@nessianweek

Day 6: Legends and Destiny

When Cassian, the Lord of Iron Crest, has a meeting with the High Lord of the Night Court in Illyria, destiny nudges Lady Death into his path.

Illyria was not for the faint-hearted. It was a place with claws and teeth that chewed you out if you were tough enough – if not, it swallowed you whole.

Cassian landed with a heavy thump upon the sun-scorched earth of Windhaven. His presence echoed through the camp. Males paused from their talking and females kept their heads down as they worked. Lord of Bloodshed they called him. It was a moniker he’d earnt. From the moment he was pushed towards this Gods-forsaken camp, Cassian had spilt blood. He quickly learnt as a child that nobody would extend a hand to a bastard. If he wanted to eat, he had to be the one to put food in his hands. There were the odd few who’d be willing to offer a meal in exchange for a hard day’s work. The smiths were always in need of strong boys to shovel coal and run with a wheelbarrow with logs. On top of his training, the work used to leave him aching and hungry, and some pricks would take the work and refuse the meal at the end. It was easier to fight the bigger boys and take what they had. Cassian soon grew larger than them, quicker and more reckless too. He knew little of self-preservation. Soldiers were born to die.

‘Devlon.’

The camp lord of Windhaven inclined his head in the merest of acknowledgements. He had trained Cassian, many years ago. Over five hundred, to be exact.

‘Is he here?’

‘Not yet.’

Good, thought Cassian. The High Lord of the Night Court would find no allies in Illyria. The other lords had been summoned too. As the Lord of Iron Crest, Cassian couldn’t afford to be late. He was the first bastard to hold the mantle and he intended to keep it, regardless of the amount of blood he’d need to shed. He would do things his way, but an example needed to be set.

Iron Crest made Windhaven pale in comparison. Situated beneath the mountains in the north of Illyria, its summers were bitter and the winters brutal. They lost more to the cold and starvation than the Blood Rite every year. If a child made it to adolescence, it was a thing to be celebrated in the north. Iron Crest made hard bastards of them all, even the females.

And thanks to a petty, little high lord’s son, Cassian was shipped off there at ten years old. He’d beat Rhysand too many times when they sparred - and other times when Cassian attacked him whenever the opportunity presented itself. He'd pressed his face into the mud, laughed when he’d broken his nose and his mother swept him into her arms to coddle. They had been at war ever since. Cassian let Iron Crest mould him into something better rather than be crushed by the weight. In the Blood Rite, he'd needed no alliances. He was the first to reach Ramiel and managed it on the third day. Rhysand and the shadowsinger made it on the sixth, bleeding and exhausted. It would have been cowardly to kill them then - although Cassian had wanted to. A hand on his shoulder told him no. If the Mother had other plans for them then Cassian would follow her wherever she led.

When the war came, Cassian had barely been fully-grown but he was sent to the front lines against Hybern. He carved a name for himself by shedding blood and breaking bones. He bodied the spirit of Enalius himself. Cassian watered the ground with the blood he spilt. On the return to Iron Crest, he realised that there was no fight he couldn't win. No opponent that he could not best. So he took Iron Crest for himself. He would create the Illyria that he believed in.

No camp lord had wanted Cassian to rule alongside them with Iron Crest, but once the newly-crowned High Lord made his displeasure in Cassian known, the tide changed. Illyrians stuck together. It was in their nature to push against their high fae rulers. A half-breed who leaned more to his high fae side was unwanted as a ruler. They dreamt of a free Illyria – and Cassian was better to keep on their side because one day, he would cut Rhysand's throat.

Devlon glanced up at the sky. It had been an unnaturally warm summer. Not a single cloud marred the blue sky which was odd for Illyria. Cassian didn’t like it. It wasn’t right. Still, if it meant his people could plough the fields for longer and reap the benefits of good weather, maybe he wouldn’t lose so many to famine.

‘Rumour is that he will bring the high lady.’

‘No surprise,’ replied Cassian, scoffing. ‘They have been inseparable since their mating bond snapped.’

Maybe Cassian was a bastard in his heart too because he wished the high lord nothing but ill. Their people had been slaughtered as he stood by Amarantha – as he pleasured her - night after night for fifty years. Then he found his happiness in a mate he’d helped to torture. Illyrians did not have mating bonds, but the high fae blood in Rhysand overpowered his heritage enough to grant him a bond. Cassian wished she hated him. Wished she bucked and reared away from him. But no. Scouts spoke of an undying commitment between them. So, Illyria was left with a half-breed high lord and a once-human high lady who knew nothing of their customs that they were forced to bow and scrape the knee to.

‘They will bring the sisters.’

Few traders ever passed through Illyria due to its hostility but there were outposts to the east where one could barter passage to the Continent or where ships made port and paid cheaper fees than in the Day or Dawn Courts. Foreigners carried snippets of news. They spoke of unrest in Hybern – a brewing threat of war – and a division in Prythian between the seasonal courts due to Spring’s alignment with Hybern. As a result, the high lady’s sisters had been stolen from their beds into Hybern’s cradle. They had met their fates in the Cauldron. Rumour had it that they’d come out wrong. Cassian would decide if they were threats that needed eliminating. Anything that threatened Illyria would be removed eventually. It was taking time, but little pockets of rebellion were building. Soon, they’d strike out and demand their independence. What could the high lord do? Turn his Darkbringers on his Illyrians and lose two armies?

‘Watch the skies tonight,’ Cassian murmured. He caught Devlon by the elbow as the elder camp lord tried to move past. ‘And watch for shadows. Even in the dark.’

Since slaughtering his way to the position of camp lord, Cassian had done things his way. The archaic laws of his people mattered little to him. Their hearts mattered more. Any bastard who wanted a chance to train – and train fairly – was welcomed at Iron Crest. As such, their numbers were swelling. The Bastard Camp, some had taking to calling it. He’d rather have bastards who were loyal to him watching his back than pampered sons of high lords who went home to their mothers every night for rich food and a warm bath.

One by one, the other camp lords flew in. They knew to acknowledge Cassian now. The few before them who’d dared scorn him soon found a knife in their chest. And those that had ignored him lost their tongues. If they would not speak to him, they did not need a tongue at all.

When the high lord arrived, his violet eyes scrutinised what little he could see of Windhaven. As long as Devlon kept it tidy, it was all Rhysand cared for. He never bothered to greet its citizens or ask about their upcoming harvest. Their traditions and celebrations were not attended to by any of the ruling party. As long as his soldiers were honed to perfection ready to be utilised, the high lord cared for little else regarding Illyria.

The high lady was not what he expected. Her long, burnished gold hair was loosely braided and she wore the leathers of an Illyrian. She was petite with the spiked ears of the high fae. She certainly looked upon Illyria with the distasteful expression that only the high fae could manage though, her opinion of the land decided before truly experiencing it.

With a scowl, Morrigan – his second – surveyed Windhaven. Beside her was the shadowsinger. A waste of Illyrian talent. One who’d sold out his heritage to stand at the high lord’s side. Azriel would find no companions in Illyria. When their eyes met, Cassian’s siphons thrummed in challenge. The shadowsinger’s blue ones flashed in response. They hadn’t fought since they were boys. Cassian couldn’t say who would win now. He was stronger than any – but Azriel had speed and unholy shadows on his side. He was a bastard too though, who should be standing on their side of history, not Rhysand’s.

One of the sisters was meek. She cowed her dark head towards the ground as if Illyria was too much of an eyesore for her to face. Her gown was the colour of a sunrise, the pink silk at odds with the steel and blood needed to survive in this land.

Shepherding her towards the group was the third sister. This one did not bow and bend. Although she too wore a gown that swept the dusty ground, it was a dull grey. The material was plain and practical. It tucked in tightly at her slender waist to offer a glimpse of generous breasts. She tilted to her head towards her sister and spoke softly in her ear. She had the same colour hair as the high lady although it was braided in a coronet to hide her ears. Was she ashamed to be high fae? Cassian would be.

‘High Lord,’ Devlon greeted. As this was the camp in which he oversaw, it was his duty to welcome the ruling party. Cassian could not name a time in which the high lord had visited Iron Crest; certainly not while he ruled it.

‘Good,’ said Rhysand. ‘You are all assembled. And on time.’

They were soldiers. Punctuality was a staple of their life. Cassian gritted his teeth rather than start an argument.

‘What is that?’

One of the males off to the side asked. His finger pointed at the high lady’s sister, the taller of the two. He felt it too - that strange aura that she exhibited. Not wrong entirely, but something not of this world. Something greater. Power made the air around her go static and Cassian tucked his wings together.

‘Is she a witch?’

The female’s head raised slowly like a predator catching a scent. ‘Yes.’

The semi-circle of camp lords beside him recoiled from her. They had come out wrong, rumours said. One was a seer. One had powers she should not. The power of death. Silver fire.

Her gaze snapped to Cassian. Silver ringed her irises. She looked as though she wanted to burn him on the spot. There was no joy to be found in her face, only endless emptiness. like the bottom of the ocean. And yet, when she looked at him, Cassian went as taut as a bowstring. A ringing sounded in his ears. A need to bow roared through him. His lungs felt as though they were splitting and he fought the urge to reach for her.

It couldn’t be.

Could it?

Didn’t bloodshed go hand in hand with death?

***

‘We’ll stay in here while they have their meeting,’ Mor explained as she gestured to the few low-seated couches within the grey canvas tent. ‘Does anybody want tea?’

It was cooler in Illyria than Velaris. Although the sky was clear, a wind ripped through the camp but the Illyrians didn’t seem to notice it as they mopped their brows and continued their work. Nesta followed in behind Elain, trying to ignore the feeling like a target had been painted on her back. It had felt that way ever since her sister had returned from the dead with two faeries and promised to protect them. Their protection was as worthless as their word. She ran a hand against Elain’s hair and tried not to be revulsed by the pointed ears that they had been cursed with. It was difficult not to feel cursed. Elain spoke in riddles as she offered glimpses of an unstable future whilst Nesta’s powers had a habit of ripping out of her whenever her mood wavered and her silver fire rotted the world around her. She had melted the flesh from a male’s hand in Velaris when he’d placed an unwanted hand on her shoulder to get her attention. Lady Death they called her. Nesta hated it.

‘What is a witch? Do they exist?’

At Nesta’s question, Morrigan flopped down onto a couch. Her blonde hair splayed out around her. ‘Yes. They’re rare though. They amass more power than their natural reserve with devastating consequences.’

Feyre blew out a breath. ‘Then aren’t all three of us witches? None of us should have any magical reserves.’

‘No,’ said Mor. ‘The how is most important. Witches use spells to harness magic that isn’t theirs. Your magic comes from the High Lords of Prythian and yours,’ she gestured to Elain and Nesta, ‘was gifted by the Cauldron itself.’

Gifted was an interesting choice of words when Nesta had pulled out the Cauldron’s heart with teeth and claws.

The quiet shadowsinger cleared his throat then gave Mor a pointed look. ‘We should not speak of this here.’

Nesta refused to lounge like her sister and Morrigan were doing. Elain also remained sat upright in the tent. Their mortal habits were retained. ‘The Illyrian lords. They didn’t like that I said I was a witch.’

‘Illyrians don’t like anything, least of all a female who will look them in the eye and answer their superstitious questions,’ said Rhysand as he entered the tent. He shook his head. ‘Az, I need you in there. They’re out for blood today. Mor will guard the Archerons.’

‘Who was the male who didn’t step away?’

Nesta was showing all of her cards, she knew. The other camp lord couldn’t move away quick enough at the accusation of her being a witch, but that one – the one that had towered above the others - had remained rooted to the spot eyeing her without fear. It hadn’t been fear that quickened Nesta’s heart either.

‘That one is a pain in my ass,’ grumbled Rhys. ‘And he’ll drag his feet to make this meeting as difficult as possible. Az, let’s remind them who their high lord is.’

The pair departed in silence and only the idle chatter of Morrigan and Feyre broached it. When Nesta could no longer take the boredom of whittling away the time listening to their inane chatter, she announced that she needed fresh air. The words to try and stop her fell on deaf ears. Nesta needed to feel the air on her face. This was part of the Night Court, was it not? Surely, she should be able to walk freely through it.

Illyria was a stark contrast to Velaris. Instead of ornate rows of town houses with elegant facades and pristine gardens, most Illyrians lived in tents with better-off families having small, wooden cabins. The nights grew cold in the north, so Nesta could not imagine the misery of winter in such a place. There were no markets or theatres. It was without art galleries or boutique shops. Illyria was, for lack of a better word, bleak. She understood a little why Azriel abhorred his heritage. As Nesta walked through the well-tracked routes of the camp, many males either leered at her or made a sign against evil in her presence. The females kept their heads down while they worked if they were allowed out at all. The commonality amongst the females was that all of them had scarred wings. Some had deeper, heavy-handed scars as though they’d bucked from being clipped, whilst others had more clinical scars as if they had been sedated.

Nesta let her feet wander. Further out from camp, nature reigned supreme. The rugged terrain was unlike anything she had ever seen before. The hills were streaked with pink heather and rough gorse. Streams trickled through the hills into a fast-flowing river so Nesta stopped to cup the clear water with her hands and drink from it. There were so many birds flying freely in the sky. It had been so long since she'd heard birdsong in their tower of red stone in Velaris.

On her ambling through the outskirts of camp, she came across a boy. Tears had tracked through his grubby face. His dark hair had been cropped to the skull and the clothes he wore were too big for him.

‘Don’t run from me,’ she said, voice more severe than she intended it to be.

The boy stood his ground. He lifted his chin and asked, ‘Are you the high lady?’

‘Her sister. And who might you be?’

‘Fedor.’

Nesta caressed his cheek. ‘Where are you parents?’

‘I haven’t got any.’

Life in Illyria was hard – worse still if you were an orphan. Nesta had heard from Morrigan how orphans in Illyria had to fight for the clothes on their back and the food in their bellies. Nobody reached out a hand to help them. Only Rhysand's mother opening her arms to Azriel had saved him from that life.

‘What are you doing all the way out here?’

He searched the hills then his eyes flitted briefly to her face. ‘Nothing.’

‘Were you running away?’

Her fingers fit beneath his chin so Nesta tilted it upwards. His lashes were long and tears filled his eyes.

‘They’re sending me to Iron Crest.’

‘What is wrong with Iron Crest?’

Fedor jerked away from her touch then picked a stone up from the ground. He hurled it away from them so it landed with a splash in the river; Fedor had managed to throw it much further than she’d be able to.

‘It is the worst camp,’ he said. ‘Nobody wants to go to Iron Crest. The Lord of Bloodshed rules it. I hit too many boys here so Lord Devlon is sending me away. It’s not fair.’

Nesta could not bear to see a little boy’s tears – not when he had nobody else in the world. She reached her arms around him, pulling him against her abdomen. The boy sobbed against her. She leaned forwards, cradling his head to her body, as she shushed and soothed.

It took a great deal of time, but Nesta coaxed Fedor to return to camp with her as the dusk encroached. At the sounds of an argument coming from the high lord’s meeting, he clung to her hand so tightly that it hurt. The offer of a free, hot meal was too good to resist as much as his instincts told him to bolt. The boy was too afraid to enter the tent where her sisters and Morrigan remained, so Nesta brought the meal to him and they dined together upon a wooden trunk for weapons near a sparring ring. He ate so quickly that she had to ration his serving to slow him down before he choked.

‘This meeting is not done,’ came Rhysand’s voice.

The tent flap opened then the striking Illyrian stormed through. ‘I say it is done.’

His dark hair was pulled back into a loose knot, with many strands falling free. Although he shared the same hazel eyes and brown skin of the Illyrians, he carried himself differently. The ones she had seen either sneered or snivelled. This one did neither. He walked proudly, his head held high, like a male who knew his weaknesses as well as his strengths. Like Azriel, he wore seven siphons. Instead of the cool blue of the shadow singer’s, his were the colour of rubies.

‘Eat up,’ she murmured to Fedor, giving him her portion too.

As the darkness swallowed them, Nesta watched the camp lords departing one after the other with a spread of their wings into the sky. Rhysand exited shortly afterwards with a hand on Azriel’s shoulder as he spoke in his ear then the shadowsinger disappeared into the darkness as though he’d never been there at all.

‘You have my boy,’ a low voice rumbled.

Stepping soundlessly towards them was the broad chested Illyrian with a scar cutting through his right eyebrow.

Nesta stood in front of Fedor. ‘You are mistaken.’

‘He is to come to Iron Crest with me.’

She felt her lip curl in distaste. ‘You are the lord of Iron Crest?’

‘You’ve heard of me then,’ he replied, an arrogant smile dancing upon his lips.

‘Unfortunately.’

‘Cassian.’

‘I don’t care,’ Nesta snapped. ‘You are not taking Fedor with you. He will be coming with me.’

That incensed him. His wings spread out behind him to show off their massive size like a preening peacock. ‘No. He will not be going to the Hewn City. Illyrians stick together.’ Bypassing her entirely, Cassian knelt near the boy. Quicker than Nesta could blink, Fedor struck out at him. Cassian was quicker, catching the boy’s boot before it kicked him in the face. ‘You will come with me tonight to Iron Crest, Fedor. Lord Devlon has agreed it.’

Fedor tried to wrench his foot away, but Cassian held it tight.

‘Stop it,’ Nesta hissed.

A tear tracked through the grime on Fedor’s face. Cassian used his thumb to smear it away.

‘I will not say do not cry because change is scary for males like us.’

‘Us?’

‘Orphans. Bastards.’ Cassian shrugged. ‘They will throw every name at you, Fedor, but not in Iron Crest. I will not allow it. You will have a home. A bed. Warm food every day.’

He raised his dark head, hope brimming on his features. ‘Do I have to fight for it?’

‘You will train, but even if you lose every day, you’ll still have food.’

The boy eyed him with scepticism as if it was too good to be true. Nesta shared his sentiments. She asked, ‘And what do you gain from it?’

Cassian’s stare was too intense. It set a fire in her body. One that couldn’t be cooled. ‘A better Illyria.’

When he stood, the male towered over Nesta. She was not used to craning her neck up to look at males; usually she could look them in the eye without straining. He was simply enormous. The broadness of his chest was almost thrice her own. There were inches between them. The siphon on his chest pulsed in time with the beating of her own heart.

‘Come, Fedor. It grows late and we have a long flight home.’

At Nesta’s nod of approval – because Cassian’s words had struck a chord with her – Fedor slipped down from the wooden chest. He threw himself at Nesta, arms going tight around her. She held him just as tight, a hand stroking his bristly hair.

‘Has the high lady’s sister been kind to you?’

Fedor gave an emphatic nod with his arms still latched around her waist. Cassian gave a chuckle and stroked the boy’s head.

‘Perhaps the high lord will deem Iron Crest worth a visit and she can come too. You are emissary for the Night Court, aren’t you? It would be worth your while to get to know every part of this court – and Fedor would be glad to see you again.’

The cocky grin informed Nesta that Cassian did know he was backing her into a corner. To refuse would break the boy’s heart.

With a promise to visit him in a month, Cassian ushered the boy across the camp to Devlon to say a goodbye so that he could speak with Nesta privately. She squared her shoulders then stood up onto her tip-toes.

‘If any harm comes to him, I will strike you down,’ she vowed. ‘I care little for your reputation or your siphons, Lord of Bloodshed. If that boy is harmed in any way under your guidance, I will shred your wings with my bare hands.’

‘You have the heart of an Illyrian,’ he said.

Cassian reached for her so Nesta let her flames wreath her hands in warning. It did not stop him. The arrogant male placed both hands on her shoulders and pushed her back onto her heels so she lost a couple of inches in height. He stepped closer, closing the gap between them.

‘Is it true that you have killing power?’

Nesta kept her lips firmly together. The less who knew the truth of her powers, the better.

‘They call me the Lord of Bloodshed,’ he continued. ‘And you, it’s said, are Lady Death.’

She delved into a place within her chest that was cold and empty. Did her best to show that impassable ice on her expression to try and push him away. But Cassian gave her such a heated look that she was the first to look away with heat burning in her cheeks. His rough fingers caressed her cheek and lifted her face.

Nesta could hardly breathe as Cassian held her gaze.

‘Death and bloodshed walk hand in hand,’ he murmured. ‘I will thank destiny for leading me to you.’

From behind them, Feyre was calling her name. Before she could respond, Azriel appeared. His hand went to Truth-Teller in its sheath on his hip.

‘Step away from her.’

Cassian trailed his fingers down her face with such tenderness that her knees nearly gave way. She had never let a male put his hands on her that way.

‘No harm done, Shadowsinger,’ said Cassian, holding his hands up in a protest of innocence. He bowed his head to Nesta as he stepped away. ‘When you’re in Iron Crest, emissary, I’ll make sure to say hello.’

#nessianweek2024 #nessian #me coming out of my cave to post nessian

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lovemybluebully · 12 hours

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It's For Science

This is just a little something I scrounged together, inspired by a post by @snugglyfluffle 😊

https://www.tumblr.com/snugglyfluffle/761535277842022400/since-logan-has-a-shorter-waist-then-wade-does-do?source=share

Damn, writer's block has been a biiiiiitch. I wrote a lot of this in the later hours of the night after my long workdays so sorry if it's nothing spectacular, or if there's any spelling/grammatical errors.

Wade gets it into his head that maybe not all humans have the same number of rib bones. His logic being that since Logan has a shorter body then he may be an exception. Unfortunately for Logan this is far too ticklish of an experiment for him to bear.

A small bit of ticklish!deadpool at the end too. 😉

Warnings for foul language and other Deadpool-type stuff.

"Deadpool and Wolverine"-verse

M/M Tickle Fic

Word Count: 4,234

"The skeletal system is comprised of bones that give structure to the body and work with the muscles and joints to provide movement. The human body contains 206 bones….," the certified doctor on the television explained as he gestured to a replica model human skeleton while Wade sat watching on the couch.

"207 if I'm watching Gossip Girl, hehehe. Shit, I already made that joke in the movie. Well it's still true anyhow, am I right?" Wade snorted a laugh as he turned from his position on the couch with his hand up for a high-five, but found his roommate leaned back in the couch with his eyes closed and his hands on his lap.

It had been a nice lazy afternoon for the two of them and Logan had KO'ed quite a few beers as the monotone voice of the television host was making him doze off.

"Pssht! Old man can't stay awake for five minutes," Wade waved him off as he turned back to the tv.

"The ribcage has an important job in providing protection to some of the most vital organs being the lungs and the heart. There are 12 ribs on each side, making 24 in total…"

The merc blinked in curiosity as he sat up tall and now slowly began to feel up each side of his body to count the ribs within, having to dig in pretty thoroughly to get through the muscle.

"Hmm I'm only feeling 20 here….," he rechecked to be sure, finding all the ones leading up to his collarbone.

"The 11th and 12th pair of ribs are called 'floating ribs' because unlike all the others they are not attached to the sternum but are still attached to the backbone….," the doctor went on as he pointed to two pairs of ribs on the back area of the skeleton.

Wade's hands wound around to his lower back and found the missing pairs right where the doctor said they'd be.

"Huh. What do you know, he's right. I mean, duh!" He bopped himself on the forehead, "Of course he's right. He's a fucking doctor. Hey Wolvie, you're missing some interesting stuff here."

"Mmph," Logan only grunted in response, not even hearing what Wade had actually said as he started to drift further into fully passing out.

Wade then had a thought pop into his mind as he looked over at his near-comatose friend. Logan's torso was a lot shorter than his own so he wondered if it was true that all humans had the same number of ribs. The doc hadn't specified if it was possible to have less and Wade's hyper mind needed an answer right away.

"Hmm. I suppose I could just Google it to find out for sure, but nah! I prefer to do my own field study. Plus you all need a fun little fic to read, and I know Logan won't mind if it tickles just a teensy little bit. Commence Operation How-Many-Ribs-Does-A-Wolverine-Have."

He slid over and wiggled his fingers up in the air before placing them on the bottom of Logan's ribcage, pressing in gently to feel the first two ribs as the man immediately jumped and blinked his eyes open in a groggy daze.

"Whatistha….Wade? What-heheh-What're you doin'?" He batted at Wade's hands with very little accuracy from being half-asleep, giggles escaping him as the fingers moved up to the next set of ribs.

"Well if you had stayed awake Peanut, you would have seen this educational program I've been watching about the human body. They say there are 24 ribs in a human, but I was curious if it applied to all body heights. Being that you're a little shorter than me I wanted to see if you had the same," Wade explained his current lunacy as Logan started to wake up a little more though it took him a moment to really process everything that had been said.

"Huh? The fuck are ya-eheheheehee-Ribs? Course I do, dipshihihit. Now stohahahop it," he was unsuccessful in trying to block out Wade's hands as they continued up his sides.

"I sure will. Once I have verified the facts. Though I'm pretty sure this would go a lot quicker if you would just hold still," Wade smirked big time, knowing there was absolutely no way Logan could ever stay still for something like this when his torso was so ridiculously sensitive, "Okay looks like that's number 5…..and oh, there's 6…."

"How abohohout I c-count your teeheeheeheeth after I knohohock 'em outta your fuhuhuhucking head?" Logan chuckled hard, taking a half-hearted and easily dodge-able swing with his fist towards Wade.

"Don't threaten me with a good time, muffin cakes. Come on, this is a fun game. At least smile, would ya?" Wade teased, looking down at his friend while increasing the speed that his fingers wiggled around against his sides.

The X-man's grin had lit up his normally stoic face while he made many attempts to shove Wade's arms away, but those nimble fingers were practically glued to his sides.

"Of ahahahall the stuhuhuhupid-Eeeheheheheheheh! Stahahahap, ya mohohohoron! Thehehehey're all thehehehere!" Logan was giggling uncontrollably and sinking back into the couch cushions, trying to will his body to phase through and escape but there was only so much give that he was allowed.

Truthfully after the relaxing day he'd had and the keg of beer in his belly he found that he wasn't too bothered about Wade waking him up with his dumb experiment.

"How can I be certain? Got any proof? Any reliable witnesses to corroborate your case? Hmm? Perhaps you have an x-ray of your body to show me? A scientific essay conducted by a world renowned researcher? Any of those would be acceptable."

Logan obviously could only shake his head.

"N-Nohohohohoo, buhut I can cuhuhut myself opehehehen and-ahahahahaa-you cahahahan loohoohook for yoursehehehelf!" He released one claw from his hand as Wade gasped in horror and quickly grabbed his wrist to pin it to the couch with his knee.

"Ohhh no you don't. You're crazy if you think I'm gonna allow my precious little badger to cause himself any harm. Besides my method is way less messy. Just wish I knew why you find it to be so funny," he stated, playing dumb as Logan attempted to growl through his giggles, though the intimidation factor was completely lost.

"Yohohohou f-fucking knohow why I'm lahahahahaughin', ya ihihihihidiot!" He retracted the sharp blade back into his body, trying to squirm free, "Now gehehehet outta thehehehere, ohohor ehehehelse!"

The threats were in full effect, but the claws remained sheathed.

Wade recognized that Logan was in a more light-hearted mood than normal, and he wasn't going to let it go to waste. If he had woken up with murder on his mind then Wade might have been more inclined to back off sooner. But now that he had the green light it was on!

"Or else what? Doesn't seem like you're trying too hard to stop me," he called his bluff and grinned at how the man weakly pulled at his wrists with his one free hand and was trying to curl up in defense.

He knew Logan would be fighting him a lot harder than this if he was really as disagreeable as he wanted him to think.

Actually, Wolverine had a little secret he was keeping. He would die before admitting it out loud, but there were times he found that he actually enjoyed this. Yes, enjoyed getting tickled within an inch of his life.

Definitely not at first though. And to fully grasp the situation we'll have to rewind the story just a…

"Aw nohohoo bub! Thehehey don't neeheed to hehehear all o' thahahat!"

Wade's heart skipped a beat as he gasped in excitement.

"Oh em gee! Your first fourth wall break! I'm so fucking proud of you!"

Shush, we're doing this.

Anyways Logan couldn't remember ever being tickled before so the day Wade had discovered that he was in fact quite ticklish he did everything in his power to fight him off and avoid it altogether. Wade wouldn't back off though and inevitably got him pinned down, even though it resulted in several stab wounds to his head and torso.

Having been alive for over 200 years Logan was very used to experiencing pain of some of the highest levels physically and mentally, but tickling was something very alien to him. Not surprisingly he struggled with processing the maddening, yet gentle touches.

He didn't like to show any signs of weaknesses, but being tickled completely overwhelmed his heightened senses, especially in the touch department, and it was impossible for him to not react to it. There had been feelings of anger and humiliation at how easily simple fingers were able to render him powerless, and it only got worse once he finally broke into agonized laughter.

Logan hated the feeling of not having control, especially over his own body. Once he had managed to break free, he had been extremely cross with Wade and went into one of his brooding moods for the majority of the day.

After giving him time to cool off, Wade eventually approached him to apologize, and Logan shrugged it off now that his temper had died down. Though he had been working on trying to better himself and he explained to Wade what it had made him feel and why he had reacted so strongly against it.

Wolverine being vulnerable enough to share his feelings with him was one of the only times Wade was ever completely serious and really gave his full attention. Despite getting a kick out of always annoying him Wade never wanted to cause him true stress and it made him feel like a real asshole when Logan ended up apologizing to him too.

Wade promised to never do it to him again but added that he just got carried away due to the fact that he really liked seeing Logan not only smile but laugh especially. Logan had become utterly stupefied by that confession. He thought Wade had only been trying to torment and embarrass him, which was what had really set him off.

He had then taken the next few days to reflect on that. He could definitely empathize with how good it felt to see someone you really cared about experiencing joy. Knowing that Wade's intentions were far from malicious had really put his mind at ease about it, realizing that his pride had gotten the better of him.

And the more he thought back on it it really wasn't that bad.

Which was why Wade's squawk of surprise when Logan tackled him from out of nowhere to attack his sides with tickles gave Logan the same fuzzy feeling he assumed Wade had had. Wade not only was laughing from the tickling, but from relief as well, realizing that he'd been unspokenly forgiven.

He didn't even fight it and just let Logan tickle him to his heart's content until finally the man stopped and grunted that he had hoped he'd "learned his lesson" while giving him a small smirk.

Wade was able to read between the lines and took the chance to pounce him the very next day, and despite some growling threats he received the older mutant didn't seem entirely displeased. Logan had completely let his guard down, which now enabled him to truly experience it in full.

Still, he made Wade work for it before he finally stopped holding in his laughter. The crazy merc then proceeded to make him laugh harder than he could ever remember doing in his past, and he found the brain chemical effects from that to do wonders for his mood.

The funny thing about it to Logan was that even though he was rendered helpless from tickling he realized that he was still 100% safe, and he found that to be a very comforting thought. It was a new experience for him to be in such a close proximity struggle where the end goal wasn't to try to hurt or kill him.

Sure, Wade would use tickling as a form of retaliation a lot of times, but it was all the same to Logan by now. Naturally he wasn't always in the mood for a tickle attack, but these days more often than not he didn't fight it too much and was quite content to let his roommate turn him into a squirming, wheezing wreck.

Of course, for appearances sake, Logan would still curse his head off and threaten the man's life at every turn. Up until the mischievous merc would tickle him to the point he could barely take it and turn that macho attitude into desperate pleas for mercy.

Which brings us back to our current situation.

"Dahahammit! I-I dihihihidn't ahahask for a wahahahaake up cahahahall!"

"No thanks needed! It's totally complimentary in el Casa de Wade. But don't mind me, feel free to go back to sleep. I'm just going to keep counting these ribs here until we get to the bottom of this. Ah, finally we found 7 and 8."

Wade was still acting as if this whole idea was just to count his ribs and hadn't even acknowledged that he was purposely tickling him and realizing that made Logan feel even more giddy as he let out a snort and shook his head.

"Wade c'mooon! Get ohohohoff! Ya-heehehehe-Ya know I'm ticklihihihihish, fucker!" His big-muscled arms were clamped so tightly against his sides, but there was no stopping the determined fingers crawling up his ribs.

"Whaaa? Wolverine? Ticklish? Ha! That's absurd! My guy Logan is way too mean and strong and tough to be affected by something so childish! Oh boy, and I thought I was the king of jokes around here. Now come on, stop messing around and just move your arms out of the way so I can finish this," Wade smirked, loving to tease him about his ticklishness in regard to his hard-core reputation.

"You fuhuhuhucking ahahahasshohohohole!" Logan snorted hard and now fell over to the side as he began scooting along the couch to get away.

"Heheh, where do you think you're going? Stop being so dramatic, Nancy Kerrigan. It's okay to make that joke now, right? 30 years later is fair," he shrugged at the camera, not letting up one bit as he followed along with his squirming prey, "I can feel 9 and 10 now. We're almost halfway there! Oooh! How exciting!"

"Cuhuhut it ohohohout! Heeheheheheheheh! Juhuhust drohop this stuhuhupid ideheeheeheea!"

The higher Wade went the stronger the tickling sensations felt, and Logan was pretty sure he was going to die before the last of his ribs were even reached, though in his mind it honestly wasn't the worst way for him to go.

"🎵 Ohhhh the itsy-bitsy spiders crawled up the waterspout….🎵," Wade effortlessly sing-songed with clawed fingers continuing their torturously slow progress, thoroughly scraping over every rib bone they came across, "🎵 Down came the rain….but couldn't wash the spiders out because they were having too much fun counting all these cute little ribbies. 🎵."

It always made Logan feel silly whenever Wade's teases took on a more juvenile form. He was the tenacious and deadly Wolverine and yet Wade was treating him like he was just some harmless little kid. He was never able to stop the blush from spreading across his face.

"Shuhuhuhuut uhuhuhup! Ohohor you're gohohonna haahahave another fuhuhuhuckin'-Hahahahahahehee-hohohohole t-to breheeheeheeathe outta yohohour fahahahat hehehehead!"

"Wow. We're body shaming now? I'm very sensitive about my fat head, you know. Well have you looked in the mirror lately, mister? Just walking around with those big, sexy arms and your handsomely chiseled jawline, and don't even get me started on all that sculpted beef that you're hiding in disgrace underneath this shirt. Yeah, doesn't feel so good now, does it, you absurdly attractive man? Uh huh….oh….yup, right there we got 11 and 12."

Wade was just so ridiculous sometimes, but when Logan was already caught in a laughing fit the merc's unstoppable blabbering only succeeded in making him laugh even harder. And unfortunately, he was slowly losing his will to carry on with acting tough through this tickle session.

"Fihihihiiine! I'm-heeheehehahahahaha-I'm sorrrrry! I tahahahake it bahahahaack! Just stooohohohoooop!" Logan didn't know how much more he could take of this. Actually, he did know due to having suffered under Wade's fingers for months now, and the answer was a lot.

"Why? I'm just trying to get a count here. 13……14…..It's for science. Hey look, I'm sorry……," Wade pretended to show some remorse before breaking into a huge smirk, "Sorry my wittle Wolvie-polvie is too freakin' ticklish for his own good!"

Logan's back finally met the armrest of the couch, preventing him from going any further as he leaned back over it to try to get away. Though this now had his ribcage fully stretched out as Wade stepped it up and dug his fingers in mercilessly between rib bones, making Logan positively howl in laughter.

"Ahahahahaa! Wade naahahahahahahaho! Pleheheease! Thahahahaat tickles!" He thrashed madly trying to wiggle away, but Wade had him pinned right where he wanted him as he just snickered at the situation.

"I think at this point you know that was part of my plan all along. Hehehe, but we're so close! Think of the prestige we'll get from this scientific breakthrough! Oh! I think I just found 15! Oooh! And could that be 16?! C'mon, buddy! Bear with me now!"

The upper ribs were basically in Logan's armpits that were covered with a more fleshy layer and Wade was really having to probe in there to actually feel the bones beneath.

"Not thehehehere! Noohot thehehehehehehhehehere! Haahahahaheeheeheeheehaa! Mehehehehercyyyyyy! Logan squealed helplessly with his head tilted back and showing off his elongated canine teeth; his face as red as a tomato as tears squeezed out of his tightly shut eyes.

The feral man's t-shirt had ridden up, exposing the lower half of his ripped stomach and Wade was currently in a position where it was at eye level. He smirked as he thought about how crazy Logan got whenever he would blow raspberries into his tummy, and he found the urge to do so was just too strong to resist as he took a deep breath.

"WAAAHahAHaHAhaHAHAAADE!!" Logan screamed with the first oral assault landing directly around his navel, breaking into silent laughter while wheezing desperately for air. Many more blows were delivered to his belly and ribs while the fingers continued tickling in his armpits as Logan summoned up any energy he had left and pushed with all he had in him at Wade's head and shoulders.

Eventually after being slapped and punched in the head so many times, Wade finally allowed himself to be pushed away, taking one last nibble at his hip bone.

"Geez, calm down Hugh, you over actor," he chuckled as he looked down at the man who was currently swallowing all the air he could and gingerly wiping away at tears.

"Okaaahaahay…..Fuckin' Hell……That's it…..for nohohow…..Y-You got me…..good……No more….right?"

"Weeeeeell if you would have just stayed still, we could have had this all over with. But noooooo, you just had to make me lose count," Wade sighed loudly in feigned disappointment, "Looks like I'm gonna have to start aaaallllllll over again."

With a wicked grin he began reaching out towards the still incapacitated man who was now shaking his head frantically as his hands raised in defense.

"N-No Wade. Not again. Stay back. Heehehehe-please. I can't take any more," he couldn't help giggling in anticipation as Wade hovered over him again.

"Hold still now…Don't worry Peanut, we'll get through this together. So that's 1……and 2…….and a coochie coochie coo…," Wade started again on his waist to get at his bottom ribs as Logan was already breaking into squeals.

"20?! Again?! For real?! I've counted three times already!"

Logan was hanging halfway off the couch; his hair sticking out in every direction and his cheeks slicked with tears as he coughed and tried to regain any hint of sanity he had left.

"It's……It's……fine…….Wade…..I'm sure……..they're in……there……somewhere……," he panted weakly, slowly starting to feel his energy revitalize.

"Or maybe you really do only have 20? My theory that you have fewer since you are shorter may be correct!" Wade was getting lost in his thoughts, but then at that moment a voice of reason sounded off.

"And remember, the 11th and 12th pair of ribs are referred to as 'floating ribs' and are only attached at the backbone….," the television was still on and by this point the doctor had gone back around and was summarizing everything he had just talked about.

The light bulb finally went on in Wade's head.

"Oh yeeeeah……forgot about those little buggers," Wade slowly turned to look at his friend whose eyes went wide as he scrambled to get away.

Five seconds later and Wade had Logan pinned on his stomach as his fingers wiggled into his lower back to find the missing rib pairs while Logan cackled wildly and pounded his fists with his feet uselessly kicking at the cushions.

"23…..and 24! Well would you look at that! I guess all humans are the same after all!" Wade declared happily as he finally climbed off of his roommate, signaling the end of his reign of terror, "Whaddya think, Wolvie? Aren't you so glad to have that useful little tidbit of information at your disposal?"

Logan gradually rolled over onto his back and raised an annoyed brow.

"Could've just fuckin' Googled it, bub," he growled, though a smile was still stuck on his face.

"Okay I admit waking you up may not have been the nicest way to go about it, but you know how impatient I am. And be honest, you really don't seem that upset about it," Wade grinned, reaching over to scribble fingers over his now exposed stomach while Logan snorted chuckles and tried to block him out with his knees before rolling away.

"You're lucky I didn't piss my pants, asshole. Drank a shit load of beers right before I fell asleep. I gotta piss like a fucking racehorse now," Logan stumbled to his feet and walked off to use the bathroom.

Wade grinned as he watched him walk away before turning to the audience.

"He's cute, ain't he? And I didn't hear any denial in that, did you? He doesn't know that I heard the author spill his secret earlier. It's nice to know that he actually enjoys it, even if he won't say it. I'm totally good with that."

The sound of Logan groaning in relief echoed down the hallway followed by the toilet flushing several moments later before he walked back out to join Wade on the couch.

"Did you make sure to put the seat back down? Althea won't be happy if she falls in again," he asked as Logan looked at him with a frown.

"That one was on you, shithead. I always remember to. You've lived how many years with this poor lady? I seriously don't know how she's put up with your stupid, inconsiderate ass for so long."

"Exactly the same way you do, sugar tits," Wade grinned and pinched his cheek, receiving an adamantium elbow into his side and grunting as the air was knocked out of him momentarily.

"It's a daily struggle that's for sure. But I owe ya a lot for breaking me out of my destructive cycle, so we'll call it even," Logan had softened his demeanor, knowing he truly owed Wade his gratitude as the other man noted this and took advantage of his guard being down.

"Awww there it is! Right there! I knew you loved me!" Wade squealed as he jumped onto Logan's lap and wrapped his arms around his head in the tightest of hugs.

"Gaah! Wade! Fuckin' dammit! Let go of me!" Logan struggled to pry Wade off of him until he was hit with a moment of inspiration as he latched his fingers onto Wade's unprotected sides to start tickling him with everything he had.

"Aahaahahah! Logan dohohohohooot! Thahahahat's nohohohot fahahahaaair!" Wade yelped with giggles as he quickly tried to escape, but Logan held him firmly in place.

"Fair? Okay, let's be fair. See we learned that all my ribs are there, but seems we've overlooked yours. Think it's best we check that out right away, don't you?" Logan asked with a crooked grin as Wade frantically shook his head while thrashing in his lap, "No? Well ain't that just too damn bad."

Logan dug right in with both strong hands, not even hiding the fact that his mission was to tickle the absolute shit out of his roommate.

"Okaahahahay yohohou cahahan cheheheck! Heheehhehahah! Juhuhust nohoho tihihihickling!"

"Now how do ya expect me to do that? You got an x-ray or some bullshit to show me? A fuckin' thesis paper on the matter? What? Ya don't? Well that fuckin' sucks for you. Looks like we're doing this the old-fashioned way. What number was I on? Oh yeah….1…….1…….1……1 again….."

"Cahahahahaaan't you fuhuhucking cohohount, you neahahahanderthal?!?!"

Logan smirked big time, repeatedly prodding into the same rib over and over.

"Guess not. Numbers apparently aren't my strong suit. Looks like this is gonna take alllll day then."

Wade could only laugh and squeal in response, knowing he had sealed his own doom.

#tickle fic #ticklish!wolverine #ticklish!logan #lee!wolverine #lee!logan #ler!deadpool #ler!wade #deadpool tickle #wolverine tickle

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chicgeekgirl89 · 17 hours

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Rating: K Summary: T.K. is eager to return to the firehouse for his first shift post-icy pond coma. He's feeling great, excited, and ready for anything. What he doesn't expect is a surprise visit from a lonely Carlos in the middle of the night. A/N: This one has been sitting for a while and I figured I should probably release it before we FINALLY get some new material to work with this week!!

Read on AO3

“Did you pack extra socks?”

“Yes.”

“Your vitamins? Your hoodie?”

“Yes, Carlos.”

“I put an extra blanket for you in a bag by the door, make sure you grab it on your way out.”

“Okay, this is starting to feel more like my first day of Kindergarten than my first day back at work,” T.K. chuckles.

Carlos shifts uncomfortably and huffs. “I just want to make sure you have everything you need.”

T.K. puts a hand on his chest, steadying him. “I’m going to the firehouse. Not the moon. If I need something you can bring it to me. It’s twelve hours Carlos. One overnight shift. I’ll be okay.”

“I still think maybe you should have waited until there was a day shift available,” Carlos insists. “You need your sleep.”

“Babe, I want to go back. I need to go back. If I sit around here for much longer I’m going to go crazy,” T.K. says gently. “The doctors cleared me, my dad cleared me, Tommy cleared me. I’m good to go.”

“Nobody asked me if I cleared you,” Carlos grumbles low, almost as if he doesn’t mean for T.K. to hear it.

T.K.’s mouth twists into a half smile that he tries to suppress. Carlos has been extremely attentive and serious about T.K.’s recovery care since coming home from the hospital. There have been schedules and spreadsheets and alarm reminders about medications and appointments. T.K. has been plied with so much of Andrea’s soup that it feels like his eyeballs could float.

He still tires a little quicker than normal, especially toward the end of the day, and he hasn’t quite shaken off the permanent chill that ate its way into his bones in that frozen pond, but he feels almost back to one hundred percent. And he’s definitely well enough to get through one shift.

“I will be okay,” T.K. promises him. “If anything feels off I’ll tell Tommy and come right home.”

Carlos eyes him, still not convinced. “Promise?”

“I promise.”

His phone buzzes and he checks it. “Nancy’s here. I’ll see you in a few hours. You’ll barely even know I’m gone.”

“Be safe,” Carlos says.

It was their standard standard farewell before. Before the fire and the breakup and the ice.

“I will,” T.K. responds. The words have an odd weight in his chest. The last time he went to work they were broken up. He couldn’t promise Carlos that he would be safe, and he wasn’t. He fell through a frozen pond and died and woke up to a second chance with the love of his life.

It feels good to be able to make that promise again.

“Love you,” he says, pecking Carlos on the lips as he shoulders his work bag.

“Love you too,” Carlos says. “Ah! Blanket!” he calls as T.K. reaches for the doorknob.

T.K. accepts the bag from him. “Thanks Mom.”

Carlos rolls his eyes, but there’s a fond, slightly embarrassed smile on his lips. “Shut up.”

T.K. takes the elevator down to the ground floor and exits out the front doors to where Nancy is parked and waiting. “Aw yeah!!” she yells out the car window. “Get in loser! We’re going to work!”

T.K. throws his bag giddily into the back seat and buckles his seatbelt. “Freedoooom!!” he crows happily as she puts it into gear.

“Oh, yeah, like it’s been so hard for you recovering with Carlos catering to your every whim,” Nancy teases.

She’s not wrong; he has no complaints. Carlos has been with him as much as possible for the last few weeks, rebuilding the fractured splinters of their relationship into something that finally feels solid again. T.K.’s heart is nearly as recovered as his body. There have been painful moments, lots of tears, anger, and some difficult confessions, but already T.K. feels stronger for it. The break up was awful, and part of him still hates himself for his role in it, but it almost feels worth it to be where they are now.

“So catch me up on the gossip,” T.K. says as they drive. “What’s the firehouse tea?”

“Mm! Yes! God, I missed you,” Nancy says fervently. “Okay. Someone froze Paul’s boxers last week and he’s still so mad about it. He thinks it was Mateo.”

“And was it?”

“Nope.” She pops the ‘p’ and smiles wickedly. “It was me and Marj.”

“Nice.” T.K. sinks into the seat, already feeling like he’s settling back into normal. “What else?”

“Torbin’s girlfriend left him. Again,” she says. “And your dad found the decoy candy stash, but the real one is still safe.”

“Third cabinet from the left behind the spare hoses?”

“You know it.”

“Are there Sour Patch Kids?”

She takes her eyes off the road for a second to smile at him. “I restocked them for you as a welcome back gift.”

“Aw, thanks Nance,” he says, heart warming at her kindness.

The entire 126 has stepped in a major way over the last few weeks. The fridge in the loft hasn’t been empty of food once, everyone has stopped by to check on him, and the group text thread has been full of encouraging and silly texts. It had hurt to watch them all get back to work once the station opened; he’d been able to attend the ceremony but hadn’t been cleared for duty yet. But tonight they will finally be all together again.

When they arrive the house is quiet. There’s no flurry of activity in the bays; everything is oddly silent and dark.

“What’s going on?” T.K. asks as they get out of Nancy’s car, nerves fluttering. Have they been shut down again for some reason? They literally just reopened a couple weeks ago, if they’ve been taken out of service already….

The lights flick on and there’s a cacophonous shout of “SURPRISE!” as the whole team pops out from behind the engine and the ambulance. There’s a giant banner with “Welcome Back T.K.” on the front of the rig, along with balloons and streamers, and Paul is holding a massive cake.

The grin that splits T.K.’s face is so wide it hurts and he feels tears prick at the corner of his eyes. It’s Marjan who comes to him first, holding out her arms as she runs over for a hug. “Welcome back,” she says warmly and he squeezes her tightly before letting go to catch the next person in line.

Judd claps a hand onto his shoulder. “Good to have you home brother.”

“Thanks,” T.K. says. “And please tell Grace thank you again for all the meals. It’s made our lives so much easier these last couple weeks.”

Even with a newborn in the house, somehow Grace had managed to send over meals to make sure Carlos and T.K. didn’t starve during his convalescence.

“Yeah between you and Paul she’s been basically running a catering company out of our kitchen,” Judd says. “Gotta make sure everybody’s taken care of. But you’re cut off now,” he announces loudly. “Time for y’all to do your own cookin’ again.”

“Bro, I can’t believe you didn’t even lose any toes or anything,” Mateo says when it’s his turn. His hug is accompanied by a back slap that chokes the breath out of T.K. for a second. “I mean it’s good, but like, that would have been pretty gnarly.”

“Yeah, I’m glad I kept all my appendages,” T.K. says. “I find them pretty essential.”

“Still, would have been a cool story,” Mateo says a little wistfully.

“Mateo his story is already plenty cool,” Paul says. “In fact, it’s so cool, it’s almost frozen solid. And that is why we got you this cake.”

He holds it up for T.K.’s inspection and T.K. bursts into laughter. It’s got Frozen characters all over it and reads “The Cold Never Bothered T.K. Anyway.”

“It’s an ice cream cake,” Paul says proudly, like this is the greatest collective idea they’ve ever had.

“I love it,” T.K. says. “It’s perfect.”

“Okay, okay, let the adults have a turn,” Tommy says, breaking through the crowd and pulling T.K. into a warm, soft hug. “Welcome back T.K. It’s so good to see you well.”

T.K. hugs her back, a little extra tight. He’s very aware that he’s not the only one who lived through several days of trauma because of that pond. This woman’s hands saved his life, kept his heart beating long enough for help to arrive. Even when the question of whether he’d live had been answered, there was still uncertainty about how functional he would be. That he’s back at work like nothing ever happened is astonishing. It’s a triumph for both of them.

“Cap I don’t—“ The words stick in his throat because how do you thank someone for doing what she did?

She pulls back and squeezes his shoulders. “I know baby,” she says softly, eyes looking a little moist. “It’s okay. You’re here. That’s all that matters.”

Tommy looks past him and T.K. turns to find his dad. “C’mere kiddo,” he says warmly and T.K. ducks his head, slightly embarrassed by this display of fatherly affection in front of his team. “Love you,” his dad murmurs, pressing a quick kiss to his hair before patting him sharply on the back. “All right team! Let’s celebrate the 126 being finally, officially back together!”

T.K. takes a photo with the cake to send to Carlos before they cut into it. Paul makes sure T.K. gets the piece with Elsa’s face on it and they all talk and joke and laugh like no time has passed at all.

When the bells go off he feels a thrill go down his spine, excitement tinged with a little bit of nerves. “You ready?” Nancy asks as they climb into the rig.

“You know it,” he says with a grin. “Cap?”

Tommy buckles in. “Let’s roll.”

“Yeah!!! TNT is back in action!” Nancy honks the horn as they roll out of the garage and peal off toward an elderly slip and fall.

It’s a relatively easy call, a good, low stress reintroduction to the job. They drop the woman off at the hospital with a possible concussion and sprained ankle and are on their way back to the station when another call comes in for a fire in a single family home.

They meet up with the rest of the crew at the address, where they find a relatively small, but smoky kitchen fire. They’re not needed beyond basic first aid and are sent to a call for a choking at a restaurant next.

T.K. is practically buzzing with energy by the time they finally get back to the station an hour later. Some of it is probably sugar from the large piece of cake he downed before they started, but he’s also flying high on the joy of saving people. He’d known he missed the job, but he hadn’t realized quite how much until he’d snapped on his gloves and started taking vitals again.

He bounces out of the ambulance into the bay, already knowing that he’s not going to sleep at all tonight. Maybe he can persuade Mateo to pull a Mario Kart all nighter with him.

It’s past ten but the rest of the crew is still up, most of them in the showers still trying to get the stench of the kitchen fire off. T.K. is on his way to grab a second piece of cake when he hears Judd call his name from the doorway to the locker room.

“What’s up?” he asks.

“Found something that belongs to you,” Judd says, an odd smirk on his face.

“Something that belongs to me?” T.K. wrinkles his nose. He’s barely been back five hours, what could he possibly be missing already?

As realization dawns he rolls his eyes. “Is this a welcome back prank? What’d you do? Put my keys in jello? Hide a fish in my locker?”

“Nope,” Judd says. “You’d better go check your bunk though. It’s waitin’ for ya.”

His bunk? What the hell? Giving Judd a final suspicious look he heads for the bunk room.

He enters with caution, aware that this is likely a trap. When his eyes adjust to the darkened lighting he finds Judd was right; there is a familiar lump that most definitely belongs to him curled up in the middle of his bed. T.K.’s heart stutters and he crosses the room in only a few strides, sinking down onto the edge of the mattress.

His hand automatically goes to Carlos’ forehead, fear that his boyfriend has somehow become ill or injured in the hours since he left home at the forefront of his mind. “Babe,” he says worriedly, brushing his fingers across Carlos’ face and down his neck.

Carlos’ eyelids flutter and he blinks up soft, brown, confused eyes at T.K. before quickly pushing up to a sitting position. “Hey,” he says, a little breathless as he tries to recover from his late night nap.

“Baby, are you okay?” T.K. asks, his fingers still worriedly searching for signs of fever or injury.

“Yeah, yes, I’m fine,” Carlos says, clearing his throat and scooting back so there’s some space between them.

Relief extinguishes the spike of adrenaline in T.K.’s veins and he relaxes a little as curiosity takes over. “What are you doing here then? Did something happen at home?”

Carlos’ face takes on a slightly evasive look. “No, everything’s fine at the loft.”

“Then why are you asleep in my bunk?”

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I was just waiting for you.” The words are quick, almost defensive.

“Waiting for me?” T.K. frowns. “Did you come all the way over here just to make sure I haven’t passed out or something? Seriously Carlos, we talked about this. I promised I would be careful.”

“No, that’s not—I wasn’t—“ Carlos huffs in frustration and T.K. tries to read the look on his face without success.

“Baby, what is it?”

Carlos looks down at his hands and mumbles something that T.K. doesn’t catch. “What?” he asks, confusion and concern clouding his happy back-to-work buzz.

Carlos sighs and meets his gaze, embarrassment all over his face. “I said, I missed you.”

T.K. softens at these words. “You came all the way over here because you missed me?”

“It’s stupid,” Carlos says, his discomfort at this vulnerable admission written into every line of his body.

“No,” T.K. says, scooching a little closer to him. “No, baby, no. It’s not stupid.”

“It is stupid,” Carlos says. “I’m a grown man. I should be able to spend one night without my boyfriend.”

“It’s okay,” T.K. says with a chuckle. “We’ve spent a lot of time together lately. It’s cute that you got lonely without me.”

“This was dumb, I’m gonna go.” Carlos starts to get up, but T.K. catches his hand.

“No, stay for a little bit.”

Carlos sinks back down reluctantly. “Isn’t everyone coming up soon? It’s late.”

“They’re still cleaning up downstairs. And Judd knows we’re up here. He’ll probably make them give us a few minutes.”

He grabs Carlos’ arm and pulls it around his waist, scooting backward toward the center of the small mattress and pushing against Carlos’ body.

“What are you doing?” Carlos asks in confusion.

“Come on, snuggle me. You drove all the way over here, might as well get some cuddles to remember me by in our bed tonight.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, come on.” T.K. wiggles his butt invitingly until Carlos slides down and spoons him the way he wants. “See? Better already, right?”

Carlos huffs a laugh against the back of T.K.’s neck. It’s a tight fit, both of them on this twin size firehouse mattress, but they squirm around and manage to find a position that’s comfortable enough.

T.K. waits, feeling Carlos relax against him as the minutes pass uninterrupted. His own eyes feel a little heavy; it would be so easy to fall asleep like this. Sleeping on the couch at his dad’s for months had been devastatingly lonely. At the time he’d tried to pretend it wasn’t; that he was glad there was no room for Carlos when he laid his head down at night.

But in the months since, he’s recognized how horribly isolating it was. He’d taken a lot of extra shifts because it was easier to sleep in beds that Carlos had never touched.

These memories stir a thought. “You haven’t been alone at the loft since I came home from the hospital,” T.K. says softly.

He feels Carlos stiffen a little behind him. “Yeah, I guess that’s right.”

“It must have been hard before, all those nights when I wasn’t there,” T.K. says, focusing on every tiny movement and breath happening behind him. In all their many conversations the last few weeks, they’ve mostly talked about what broke them up in the first place and how to keep it from happening again. Carlos has avoided saying much about the actual time they spent apart. T.K. is pushing at a tender spot, one that Carlos has been loathe to talk about in lieu of “moving on” instead. But his boyfriend is here seeking comfort for a reason and T.K. can’t let him go home without uncovering what it is.

When Carlos doesn’t speak T.K. pushes a little harder. “I had my dad and Mateo, but you were there all by yourself.”

“We don’t have to talk about this.”

There’s tension in Carlos’ voice and T.K. awkwardly rolls over until they’re facing each other, refusing to back down. “Did you talk to anyone? All those months apart? Have you told anyone how that felt?”

The lines of Carlos’ brow are tight, like he’s struggling to keep his feelings tucked down deep inside of him. “It’s in the past T.K.”

“If it’s in the past, then why are you here?” he asks, keeping his voice gentle.

Carlos swallows, his eyes closing like he’s in pain. There’s a long moment of quiet and T.K. wonders if he’s going to have to let it drop for tonight. But then, “You were gone. There was no one to tell,” Carlos finally says.

That’s what he’d been afraid of. Carlos hadn’t told his family, T.K. already knew that. And he’s far too polite a person to air his grievances to any of their friends, especially since most of them are also T.K.’s colleagues. T.K. is his person. The one he feels safe with. When T.K. walked out of that loft he hadn’t just left Carlos, he’d taken his entire support system with him.

“I’m here. Tell me now,” he says. “Please?”

Carlos’ eyes drop to the third or fourth button down on T.K.’s uniform shirt, the words too difficult to say to his face. “Those nights were awful,” he tells the button. “I would lie in bed, hating myself for pushing you away, furious at you for leaving me. I was—god—I was so lonely, T.K. I wanted you back so damn much it hurt.

He finally lifts his eyes a little and they look haunted, like mentally he’s reliving those awful, dark hours. “I know this isn’t the same. I know you’re just here at work, but sitting there in the quiet tonight, all by myself…”

“It felt like I’d left you all over again,” T.K. finishes for him.

“Yeah, kind of.” His mouth twists and he shifts uncomfortably. “I know this isn’t the same thing. I kept telling myself I’d see you in the morning, but I couldn’t sleep and I couldn’t stop thinking and I just…I wanted to see you.”

“You can always come see me. If you need that reassurance, I will give it to you.”

T.K. takes Carlos’ hand and kisses it before pressing it over his heart, pounding forcefully with grief over mistakes and lost time beneath his ribs. His other hand he secures on Carlos’ hip, his thumb moving back and forth soothingly. “I am here,” he says firmly. “I am coming home to you. Every day. And every night. From now on. You’re not alone in that loft anymore, Carlos. I might not be there all the time, but I will always want to be. It’s our home. I don’t want it to feel like anything else ever again.”

Carlos gives him a lopsided smile. “Me neither.

“Come here.”

He pulls Carlos into his arms, holding him tightly. The tones go off and Carlos tries to let him go but T.K. tucks him in tighter. “It’s just fire, not us,” he says, feeling slightly guilty that he’s glad his teammates are running back to work because it means no one is going to bother them for awhile.

They stay curled up together for so long, that T.K. wonders if Carlos is going to go back to sleep. But finally he pulls back, his body relaxed and loose. “Better?” T.K. asks.

Carlos nods. “Yes. Thank you.” His gaze turns more serious, assessing. “How are you? Are you feeling all right? How’s the shift been?”

T.K. chuckles. “I’m not the one who fell asleep in my boyfriend’s work bunk. Yes, I’m fine. The shift has been amazing. I missed this so much.”

“You haven’t gotten lightheaded or dizzy? You’re not too tired?”

“No. Not even a little.”

“Good,” Carlos says, relief smoothing out the last of the lines that crease his brow. “I know I’m being selfish, wanting to keep you home with me, but I really am glad you’re back. That all of you are back. It was nice to walk in and see the whole crew together again.”

“Yeah,” T.K. agrees, a warm bloom in his chest.

“I should get going,” Carlos says. “You need to get at least a little sleep tonight.”

“Come on. Since my dad is gone we can raid the secret candy stash before you go. I’ll even let you have some of my Sour Patch Kids.”

Carlos wrinkles his nose as T.K. pulls him to his feet. “I don’t know how you can stand those things.”

“They’re delicious! First they’re sour, then they’re sweet!”

“It’s almost midnight. Didn’t you have cake earlier too? Please tell me you ate a vegetable at dinner.”

#Tarlos #911 Lone Star #Post Ice Storm #This Belongs to You #Emotional Hurt/Comfort #Lonely Carlos

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i5uckersblog · 6 hours

Text

When It Hurt

Summary: Logan cares for Wade during a painful episode, showing him he’s not alone.

Wade was slipping.

The pain felt different this time—worse. It crawled under his skin, dug into his bones, and wouldn’t let go. He had stopped keeping track of the days, the hours. Time blurred into one endless stream of hurt, and the only constant was the hollow ache deep in his body as it rebelled against him. His healing factor, usually his greatest weapon, was failing him tonight. Every cell felt like it was tearing itself apart.

He couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. He was cold. So cold that his teeth chattered, even as sweat dripped down his scarred face. His body lay sprawled on the floor of his dingy apartment, too weak to rise, too stubborn to call anyone for help. Not that anyone would care, right?

The door creaked open, but Wade didn’t lift his head. He couldn’t muster the strength to react, not even when the familiar heavy footsteps approached. A low sigh cut through the silence, and then that voice, rough as gravel.

“Wade.”

Logan.

Wade’s breath hitched, his body convulsing in a painful shiver. He wanted to say something, crack a joke, but all that came out was a broken whisper. “Logey…? Thought you… swore off visiting my… beautiful face.”

Logan didn’t answer right away. Instead, he knelt beside Wade, his gruff demeanor softening for a moment as he took in the sight of the man lying before him—pale, trembling, and looking more fragile than Logan had ever seen him. Wade was always larger than life, hiding behind endless wisecracks and masks, but now… now he looked small. Vulnerable.

“Christ, Wade. What’ve you done to yourself?” Logan muttered, his brows furrowing. His hands were steady as he gently touched Wade’s face, checking for fever. Cold as ice. “You’re freezing.”

Wade let out a weak laugh, the sound hollow and brittle. “Yeah… I’m a walking popsicle… catch me while you can.” His lips quivered, his voice breaking at the end. He hated this—hated being weak in front of anyone, especially Logan.

Logan didn’t bite at the joke this time. His focus was on getting Wade off the floor, his hands moving with surprising gentleness as he hooked them under Wade’s arms. “C’mon. We gotta get you warmed up,” Logan grumbled, lifting him with ease. Wade’s body was limp, too drained to protest.

The mercenary let out a faint groan as Logan guided him toward the couch, his muscles spasming with every step. It hurt. It all hurt. But he didn’t want Logan to see it—didn’t want to let anyone see how much it hurt.

“Logey, if you wanted to… cuddle, you could’ve… asked,” Wade slurred, trying desperately to keep up the act.

Logan just shook his head, his jaw tight. He laid Wade down on the couch, careful not to jostle him too much. Wade could feel the warmth of Logan’s hands lingering on him even after he pulled away. A shiver wracked his body, and his teeth chattered violently.

Logan grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch, covering Wade with it. “You’re a goddamn idiot,” Logan muttered, but there was no anger in his voice—just something that sounded almost… sad.

Wade stared up at him through half-lidded eyes, his vision blurry. “Yeah, but you… you love me,” he whispered, his breath catching on the last word.

Logan froze for a second, his expression flickering with something unreadable. Then, without a word, he disappeared into the kitchen. Wade could hear the sound of cabinets opening and closing, water running. His body ached, the pain throbbing in every limb, but for the first time in days, he wasn’t completely alone.

Logan returned a few minutes later, kneeling beside the couch with a steaming mug in one hand and a glass of water in the other. He pressed the glass to Wade’s lips, helping him drink. Wade gulped down the cool liquid, grateful for the relief it brought to his parched throat.

Logan watched him, his brow furrowed with concern. “When’s the last time you ate somethin’?”

Wade blinked, trying to remember. The days had bled together, but he couldn’t recall the last time he’d had anything besides a few sips of water. “Who needs food when you’ve got… cancer couture?” he rasped, but the joke fell flat, the usual spark missing from his voice.

Logan’s hand tightened around the mug, and for a moment, Wade thought he was going to snap. But instead, Logan held the mug up to Wade’s mouth, his touch so gentle it almost felt like a dream. Wade sipped slowly, the warmth of the broth spreading through his chest, taking the edge off the freezing cold that had settled deep in his bones.

“You’re not invincible,” Logan said quietly, his voice rough but soft. “I know you act like you are, but… this? This ain’t a joke, Wade.”

Wade’s breath hitched, a lump forming in his throat. Logan didn’t talk like this. Logan didn’t do feelings. But here he was, sitting beside Wade like a goddamn guardian angel, watching over him with that stubborn look of his.

“Hey… don’t… don’t get all mushy on me, Wolvie,” Wade whispered, but the usual sarcasm was gone. His voice cracked, betraying him. “I’m fine… always fine.”

“No, you’re not,” Logan snapped, but then his tone softened again. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

That hit Wade harder than any bullet or blade ever had. He closed his eyes, swallowing hard against the sudden wave of emotion that rose in his chest. The pain was still there, sharp and all-consuming, but so was something else—something warmer, something that cut through the icy numbness that had settled over him.

“Why do you care?” Wade asked, his voice barely a whisper now. His eyes fluttered open, meeting Logan’s steady gaze. “Why… do you always come back?”

Logan didn’t answer right away. His expression was stoic, but Wade could see the tension in his jaw, the way his hand gripped the edge of the couch like he was holding something back. Finally, Logan spoke, his voice low and raw.

“Because you’re not alone in this,” he said, his eyes never leaving Wade’s. “No matter how much you act like you wanna be.”

Wade’s breath caught in his throat, and for once, he didn’t have a joke. Didn’t have anything to say to that. Instead, he just let the words settle, let the warmth of Logan’s presence wrap around him like the blanket tucked over his shaking form.

Logan stayed by his side, not moving, not saying another word. He didn’t have to. Wade closed his eyes, feeling the heaviness in his chest start to loosen, just a little.

It still hurt—God, it hurt so much—but with Logan there, it was bearable. He wasn’t fine, not by a long shot. But he wasn’t alone.

And for now, that was enough.

#logan howlett #logan howlett x reader #wolverine x reader #x men #marvel #wolverine #wolverine fanfiction #x men fanfiction #deadpool x wolverine #angst #wade wilson #deadpool #cancer

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elysiaheaven · 2 days

Text

𝗕𝗲𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗱𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲 𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺𝗮𝗻𝗰𝗲.?-𝟮𝟳-(The Fox's Wedding)

Words:2279

Mentions of Gorey scenes, Beheading, Blood etc

It is a headless existence

Mimicking the gods of humans

Like the whispers on the wind From a shakuhachi flute

For, say, the worthless creations Of the gods who do not praise us

"We are masters of our fate and we don't need the gods to aide us!"

People tell the stories only

Of the gods that they believe in

Too late...

As the chaos in the room reached its peak, the clash of destinies was imminent. Hoolay's malevolent laughter echoed through the chamber, a harbinger of the devastation he was about to unleash.

The tension built like a storm cloud on the verge of breaking. Hoolay's eyes glinted with cruel satisfaction as he turned his attention back to Jiaoqiu. With a swift, brutal motion, he drew his blade and slashed across Jiaoqiu's chest. The attack was precise, leaving a deep, bleeding gash that brought a pained cry from Jiaoqiu.

You watched in horror, the sight of Jiaoqiu's suffering cutting through you like a knife. The anguish in your heart was almost unbearable, but Hoolay's cold voice cut through the chaos.

"There is a way to save him," Hoolay said, his gaze shifting to you with a chilling intent. "But it comes with a price."

You looked at him, confusion and fear mingling in your eyes. "What do you want?"

Hoolay's lips curled into a sinister grin as he approached you, the darkness of his intentions clear. He grabbed you by the throat, his grip like iron. "Just like my brother, who you killed, you will die a death of beheading."

The weight of his threat was suffocating. You felt a cold dread seep into your bones as he tightened his grip, your breaths coming in ragged gasps. The room seemed to spin around you, the edges of your vision blurring.

In your desperation, you turned to Jiaoqiu.

Jiaoqiu's eyes were filled with a mix of pain and sorrow. But before he could respond, you pulled him close, hugging him tightly. The words that escaped your lips were a whispered confession, a final plea for solace amidst the darkness.

"Though our bodies have been lost, in exchange we've found true love," you murmured, your voice barely audible. "Black in color, in a state of half awake and half dreaming..."

You looked up at him, your gaze pleading. "Would you hold me one last time?"

The weight of your words hung in the air, a hauntingly beautiful contrast to the bleakness of the moment. Jiaoqiu's eyes were filled with a deep, unspoken understanding as he clung to you, the last flickers of hope and affection in a world gone dark.

With a final, heart-wrenching glance, you turned to face Hoolay. The coldness in his eyes was unyielding, but there was a glimmer of something—perhaps a twisted form of respect or a recognition of the bond you shared with Jiaoqiu.

Hoolay's voice was a cruel mockery. "Walk with me," he said, his grip on your throat unrelenting. "Witness the end of your futile struggle."

With a final, desperate glance at Jiaoqiu, you began to walk alongside Hoolay.

A child's long sword of dream, the love of the cherry blossoms

The dance of the charming star lilyThe shining moon overlapping the swaying flowers

Projecting these never reaching feelings

It will never reach him....

The day was perfect—sunny and warm, with a gentle breeze carrying the scent of blooming flowers through the open windows. You stood in the kitchen, staring down the ingredients in front of you like a warrior preparing for battle. The task at hand? Cooking something spicy for Jiaoqiu. Despite your fierce determination, it seemed the more you tried, the more chaotic the kitchen became.

It was on the day of the Fox's wedding......

Jiaoqiu leaned against the counter, watching your increasingly frustrated movements with an amused smile on his face. "Are you sure you don't want my help?"

You huffed, stirring the pot in frustration. "I've got this! It's just cooking... How hard can it be?"

But as the aroma of burning spices filled the air, your confidence started to falter. The fiery mixture bubbled angrily, refusing to cooperate with your best intentions. You glared at the pot as if it were a foe that needed to be defeated. "Why is it doing that?" you muttered, wiping sweat from your brow.

Jiaoqiu stepped forward, his movements graceful and calm as always. He gently took the spoon from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours. "It's because you're treating it like a fight," he said softly. "Spicy food is about balance. Too much, and it overwhelms everything else."

You sighed, watching as he effortlessly adjusted the heat and added a small amount of spices. "I like chaos," you muttered, crossing your arms.

He chuckled, the sound warm and familiar. "Chaos has its place, but not in cooking. Let me show you."

As he guided your hand to add the right amount of seasoning, you found yourself less focused on the food and more on the way his touch lingered, the way his voice softened when he spoke to you. He had a way of making everything feel like it was going to be okay, even in the midst of your culinary disasters.

Once the dish was under control, he stepped back and smiled at you, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "See? It's not so hard when you take it slow."

You grinned back at him, feeling a little lighter now that the fire in the kitchen had died down. "Alright, Mr. Calm and Collected, I'll give you that one. But since you helped me with cooking, it's only fair I get to help you with something."

He raised an eyebrow, curious. "And what would that be?"

Without hesitation, you grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the open space in the living room. "Dancing, of course!" you declared with a mischievous grin.

Jiaoqiu's eyes widened in mild alarm. "Wait, no—"

But you were already leading him into an impromptu dance, twirling him around clumsily. He stumbled slightly, clearly out of his element. "I don't know how to dance!"

"Exactly!" you teased, trying and failing to hide your amusement at his awkward steps. "That's why I'm teaching you!"

You took a step back, dramatically mimicking a dance instructor. "Alright, three, four, getting up and falling over... Are you giving up already, Jiaoqiu? Or are you just frustrated because you can't keep up?"

He gave you a playful glare, clearly not used to being on the other side of a lesson. "I'm entirely unable to dance well," he admitted, trying to keep pace with your random movements.

You laughed, pulling him closer and guiding his hands to your waist. "Come on, try again. I'll teach you."

The awkwardness between the two of you melted away as you swayed together, finding a rhythm that was all your own. His hesitation disappeared as he focused on you, following your lead as you spun him around in what could only be described as a chaotic waltz.

"Aa, God please do," you whispered, a small smile playing on your lips as you gazed up at him. "I wish to have this forever."

Jiaoqiu's expression softened, and though he still stumbled over his steps, there was a warmth between the two of you, a quiet understanding that transcended the need for words. The dance wasn't perfect—it was messy, full of stumbles and laughter—but somehow, it felt right. In that moment, under the sunlight streaming through the windows, it felt like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you, dancing together in your little bubble of happiness.

Eventually, the music faded, and you stopped, still holding onto each other. Jiaoqiu looked at you with a rare, genuine smile, his usual composure replaced by something softer, something more real.

"You're not so bad at this," you teased, your breath a little short from all the spinning.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "I'll leave the dancing to you. But if you ever need help in the kitchen again..."

You laughed, pulling him closer once more, your heart feeling light as a feather. "Deal."

Necks are so itchy, itchy, itchy!

writhing in agony will you give up?

Frustrated you become perverse

You and Jiaoqiu sat together The setting was peaceful, but the mission at hand? Less so. You had decided it was time for Jiaoqiu to learn something new—singing.

Jiaoqiu shifted uncomfortably as you hummed a soft melody to him. He raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical of his own abilities. "Are you sure this is necessary?"

You nodded enthusiastically. "Absolutely. If you can help me cook, then you can definitely learn how to sing. Besides,..."

He blinked, his eyes narrowing in mild disbelief. "You realize I've never sung a day in my life?"

A sly grin spread across your face as you leaned in closer. "That's why I'm teaching you, Jiaoqiu. Don't worry. It's just like dancing, but with your voice."

His expression grew more dubious, but he relented with a sigh. "Alright, but don't expect much."

You clapped your hands together, beaming. "The fox's wedding, the demon's daughter is idle. How about we sing?"

Jiaoqiu rolled his eyes slightly at your dramatic tone but couldn't hide the small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Getting up, the pitch is lost," he muttered, trying to follow along with your melody but quickly wavering.

You grinned and tapped his shoulder lightly. "Writhing in agony, will you give up? Come on, it's not so hard."

Jiaoqiu let out a long breath, clearly frustrated. "I've always been better with numbers than notes," he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

You placed a hand on his arm, your touch gentle as you leaned in a little closer. "Frustrated, you become perverse," you teased with a laugh, your eyes sparkling with playfulness.

He glanced sideways at you, amusement flickering in his gaze. "This time, the song is your specialty."

You nodded, encouraging him again. "Rising, come on, try again. I will be teaching," you said softly, the words meant to soothe his frustration.

He took a breath, trying once more to follow your melody. His voice was rough, unsure, but there was something endearing about his attempt. The two of you sat there, him stumbling over the notes while you sang softly beside him, guiding his voice with yours.

You paused for a moment, your smile softening. "Even if there is another world," you began, your voice a little quieter, "it is too painful to not be with you."

Jiaoqiu's eyes flicked to yours, the playful banter between you both fading into something more serious, more heartfelt. The weight of your words hung between you, carried by the gentle breeze.

He didn't respond with words but instead lifted his hand to take yours, his grip warm and firm. The two of you sat in silence for a moment, the song forgotten as the cherry blossom petals drifted around you. The world seemed to shrink until it was just the two of you beneath that tree, connected by something unspoken, something that needed no melody to express.

"Let's try again," Jiaoqiu said finally, his voice steady.

Dance, dance, chirp, and dance in this bloodbath!

Go crazy, go crazy, dance in ecstasy!

Laugh, laugh, die and laugh at the fox's wedding!

Hey, hey, laugh now, now won't youJust laugh already?Stop it, oh, stop itIt hurts me so muchAaaaaaaaa....Every word you utter is so cruel Aaaaaaaa!Stop hurting meAaaaaaaa!Someone save me

What are you looking at, grasping that blade of yours?

Will she talk to her irrecoverable past self?

Not knowing and not speaking is forbidden

The songstress was bloodstained, and the dancing girl was headless

Their faces were foolish, their geta movements unskilled

Little Miss, It's over! wake up to reality! You were dreaming..Yeah, He sliced it...

Can I think what happened again?

You walked with Hoolay, each step felt like a descent into a deeper abyss. The air was thick with the stench of blood and smoke, and the shadows seemed to dance with malice. Hoolay's gaze was cold, filled with a disdain that seemed to pierce through your very soul.

"How pathetic," Hoolay sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. "Your life has been nothing but a collection of lies and illusions. Every hope, every dream, all of it amounts to nothing in the face of true power."

You looked at him, a bitter smile on your lips. Despite the pain and the dire situation, a dark, defiant laugh escaped you. "Is that so? You think my life was pathetic? Maybe. But not always. I was happy once. I found someone who loved me, truly loved me."

You laughed again, the sound a strange mix of sorrow and defiance. "You'll never find someone like that, Hoolay. You'll never know what it's like to be loved, to find joy amidst the suffering."

Finally, he lifted the blade high and brought it down with ruthless efficiency. The blade severed your head from your body in a single, clean strike. Your head rolled away, eyes still open in shock and defiance, while your body, instinctively reaching for Jiaoqiu, staggered before collapsing in a pool of its own blood.

The room was filled with the cacophony of battle and the grotesque spectacle of violence. As your lifeless body lay still, Hoolay's cruel grin widened. He approached the severed head, his expression almost reverent.

"Drink bloodwine... I hear it is a borisin custom to kill prisoners and drink their blood before battle to stir up their madness," he said, his voice carrying a dark satisfaction.

Hoolay, without hesitation, filled with the blood of your decapitated body. With a chilling sense of finality, he drank deeply, savoring the taste of your life essence. The act was a grotesque celebration of his victory, a testament to his dominance and cruelty.

I'm sorry...

#honkai star rail #hsr fanfic #honkai star rail fanfic #hsr x reader #hsr jiaoqiu #jiaoqiu x reader #jiaoqiu hsr #jiaoqiu

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unconventional-lawnchair · 2 days

Text

Meeting Royalty {Part two}

Remus Lupin x Dutchess!Reader

English Love Affair 5sos

Masterlist

Summary: A chance meeting at a coffee shop}

wc-2210

An: Did I say I wasn't going to do a part two? This is for you amatoanima <3

The idea of trying to sleep that night made your bones ache. You stayed up, in your oversized room, in your oversized bed, tracing the large bit of signature that was left. You couldn't stop thinking about him, not a moment of peace as you found yourself wondering just how far this could go.

Your father could care less about your frequently documented affairs. The flings you would have with men of his court, government officials, other nonfamilial Dukes and even Duchesses if you fancied. He made it clear he was too busy to worry about his wild child. He could tend to his status or his daughter, much like Roosevelt.

You didn't have many rules, outside of what your family dictated for you. You didn't care for prying eyes or who would catch you with a common boy- in fact, the idea of being behind caught with Remus was somewhat thrilling. What a scandalous headline, no longer running around with people of your status or proximity, but just a boy you found absolutely stunning.

Eventually sleep took you. You woke up early in the morning while your lady in waiting prepared tea at the foot of your bed.

“Your grace?” She called over to your groggy form as you turned over to try and get comfortable once more.

“Yes?” You groaned out into your pillow and she huffed, walking over to raise your hand.

“You're getting ink all over your pillows! Up! Up, now!” She scolded and you groaned, forcing your body to sit as she pulled off your bedsheets. Eventually it hit you, ink.

And the mission began. Finding your newest infatuation.

You don't have much luck.

Days turned into weeks, and still, you found yourself haunted by the encounter. You kept the library books on your nightstand, a reminder of your verbal dance with the mysterious stranger. You would find yourself daydreaming, imagining the possibilities of a day where you would see him again. You felt like a teenage girl again.

Eventually, when two months passed, you gave up. As winter approached, so did creep your responsibilities as a socialite. Going to parties and hosting your own, your fathers favorite thing to show off his money. It kept you busy for a while, but you still found time to return to that library.

Then, one rainy afternoon, as you were making your way to your favorite café, you spotted a familiar figure outside. Tall, tanned, and absolutely drenched. He was running across the small street, from a car stopped in the middle of the road. At first you were startled, his mop of sopping hair covered his face.

Now, you never had to deal with any real danger when you were with your chaperones, but someone stopping their car in traffic to run to the coffeeshop in the pouring rain? This was either a romcom or a very poor assassination attempt.

The closer he got the more attention you paid him. Then, the door slammed open and everyone grew just a few decimals quieter. Your heart raced, practically bruising your ribs as you recognized Remus standing in the doorway, his hair tousled and a hesitant smile on his face. The moment your eyes met, the world around you faded away, and all that mattered was that water logged boy and the poor excuse of a withering book in his hand.

“Fancy seeing you here,” He spoke first, walking towards you. One of your chaperones stood but he was stopped by your lady, who dismissed his confused looks. Remus stared him down, a bit startled before you shot him a bright smile and gestured to the seat next to you. He wet his lips and sat down, still unsure of his next move.

He could see, just behind you in the window, Sirius with his head out the window roof of their broken down beater of a car, James slapping the driver side door as he also hung half way out cheering him on. They had the right sense to lower their heads when an older woman in the car behind them began to honk.

Your eyes flickered between him and the window behind you. Watching his friends make a fool of themselves. You smirked and turned to look up at Remus, trying to hide your bubbling excitement, “Still with me, Moony?”

He snapped out of his daze and chuckled, that warm sound wrapping around throat, making you swallow a bit thicker.

“I’ve been meaning to return your book.” He broke the silence, it did nothing to lessen the insane tension between you two. Even your babysitters looked away.

“That so?” You spoke back airily, looking down at his lips. Just begging him to do it.

“Yeah.” He muttered. His eyes tracing the curve of your nose down to your lips as well. He quickly looked down at the book in his hand and smirked. Leaning forward he set the poor book down as it hardly clung to life. The spine was creased, the leather cover was bent, the pages were dog eared and the old binding was loosening worse then when you first bought it.

You couldn't help but laugh, who is this guy? Reads a book like this so many times?

You picked up and flicked a page or two, some falling out of the cover to the table. Then, you saw it. Several little lines of handwriting you could only describe as chicken scratch. They were all over every page and every clear line, random things you didn't quite understand, small comments here or there, but you noticed one thing that seemed to be a constant.

Your name.

Your eyes flicked up to his and he leaned back, still drenched and he looked a bit shy.

“Did you.. write notes? In the columns, for me?” You asked, voice teasing and he rubbed the back of his neck with a small growing smirk.

“May have.”

“You wrote me notes in an old diary from the 1800s? An artifact of time and you defaced it with my name and your chicken scratch? About Werewolves?” You continued, even as you tried to sound annoyed to keep up the act, your smile betrayed you. What an absolute maniac! Who does that? And then have the audacity to look so bloody pleased with himself?

He leaned a bit closer and made the way his eyes traced your face a bit more obvious.

“I couldn't stop thinking about you.” He whispered before gesturing to the book. “It was my only outlet.”

You felt the heat rise to your neck as you imagined just how much of that behavior would reflect in how he treated you. The book was hardly together, it had been read, read, and read again. Yet he still had enough mind to write down every single thought he had. He treated it with care and showed so much passion to every page.

He made a mess of it. He could make a mess of you.

You looked him up and down, before you picked up the pages and slipped them back into the book. You leaned your chin on your palm and looked at him through your lashes. “Behave yourself.”

“You can't exactly blame me.” He continued, nipping at your small weak walls and taking great pleasure in how you squirmed in your seat. “Since I returned the book.. can I borrow something else?”

“Hm? What's that?”

“You. Just for the afternoon.” He was suddenly shy again, not that you minded. You bit your tongue a bit as it poked out to wet your lip, his eyes licked on it and you smirked.

“All yours, Moony.”

You spent the afternoon talking and laughing as the rain poured outside, sharing stories and sly flirts that felt so far removed from what was going on around you. With each passing moment, you found yourself falling harder and harder for him. His charm, his sly comments, his cheeky looks and his flirty remarks. Though, nothing appealed to you more than his mind. You could see a million different things running behind his eyes. You were never one obsessed with smarts, you had your own fair level of intelligence, but you never knocked someone off your roster for their mind alone.

But man was the battle of wits that you two exchanged utterly intoxicating.

As the sky darkened and the café began to empty, you realized that this was the beginning of something dangerously tempting. You both walked out together, your arm tucked under his as he escorted you to the door. You both pretend you didn't see his friends spying on you from a few yards away. Your chaperones left to retrieve the car and left the two of you alone.

“When can I see you again?” He asked without a moment of hesitation. You smiled and reached forward with your free hand, running your fingers over his stuffed button up.

“When are you free next?” You hummed and he stared down at you.

“Tomorrow.”

You almost wanted to laugh. You knew you had a way about you, something that drew the boys in. Usually your tabloid worthy affairs were more coy with their affections. Remus was far more serious. He seemed to get what he wanted.

Oh sweet Mother Magdalene, he could have you if he really wanted.

“Same place?”

“I'll meet you here.” He mused before you both trailed off to silence. Just staring at each other's lips.

“Merlin, just kiss already!” You heard that familiar voice, black haired boy if you remember correctly, shout from their car. You laughed and he leaned in. It startled you at first but you melted in so easily. The kiss was messy and playful, your teeth clashing messily and your lips curled from where you were laughing.

Eventually it melted into a proper and far more hungry kiss. Your hands found his shoulders and his found your waist. He pulled you flush against his still wet clothes.

“Remus.” You whispered between his hungry mouth. “Remus, you'll catch a cold.” You tried to insist but he just deepened the kiss. You had become so familiar with it, you didn't even register the faint click of a camera coming from inside of the cafe.

Eventually, and much to your shared dismay, your chaperones returned and ushered you into the car.

You stared out the window and pouted a bit as you drove away from who you were sure was to be your soulmate. It was a long drive, the longest you've ever taken. It was the first ride you were sure you had taken as just a fraction of yourself. Considering your heart was growing miles and miles away in the scarred hands of a man who promised to take care of it.

You tucked the book closer to your vest and gave a dramatic and fond sigh. “He's just..”

“Your grace.” Your lady tried to scold but you simply shook your head. “This won't be ruined for me, ma'am. He’s just so bloody magnificent! How does a man like that truly exist?” You insisted and your other chaperone shook his head. You huffed at that.

“Truly! Did you see his eyes? His smile? I almost keeled over! Did I play it cool? Oh god I hope I did. Would he think I was weird if I painted my nails with his eye color?” You began to ramble and your poor guardians exchanged a look as you held the book tighter and fell to the side of the back seat, wrist to your head, and your face a complete red.

“He’ll be the death of me. I swear it.” You cooed in a dreamy way and your lady laughed.

“Not if your father hears first.” She tutted and you rolled your eyes. “As if he cares. Let me have my fun!”

~~~

Remus was not in a much better state. Climbing into the car and James quickly began to speed off.

“An hour! Lily wanted me home an hour ago!” James complained and Sirius shook his shoulder.

“Lighten up Prongs! Remus got himself a muggle girl!” Sirius turned to look at him with a smirk. “A fit one at that. Heard she was a {L/N}? A duchess, eh Remus? Fancy yourself a royal?” He teased and Remus couldn't help but smile.

Sirius gawked and Remus quickly tried to hide it. “Oh ho ho! No you don't! What's the deal? Y'all meeting again?” Sirius pushed and Remus leaned back. Face a red mess and staring up at the roof of the car.

Sirius looked to James who adjusted his mirror to see him better. “Oh shit he's whipped.”

“Whipped doesn't even begin to describe it.” Remus muttered.

~~~

The next morning you woke up before your lady came to wake you, you dressed and cleaned your room, planning for company later.

Rushing down stairs and into the kitchen to give your mother a kiss and your father your usual grunt of knowledgement. Then you noticed the front page image of the newspaper. You being practically devoured by your new London boy-

What could possibly be a better wake up call? Oh, you knew. The very same boy waiting for you, to do it all over again.

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