#he makes me feel Infinite emotions

[ddarker-dreams]

on your birthday, yan scaramouche acts strange.

he's been irritable, almost absentminded. not with you, per se, but any poor soul that's happened to be in your general vicinity. the fatui grunt who served you tea earned his sharp condemnation for 'obviously trying to scald you' because they were pouring it too fast by his standards. similar incidents in this vein occur throughout the day. this unease culminates when he hands you a box with a beautiful ribbon on top. he struggles to look you in the eye and holds his breath as you unravel the neatly done wrapping.

what lies inside is a miniature doll that perfectly replicates your features.

this little you has jewels for eyes and a soft, sweet smile. the outfit you're depicted in is one from before he took you away, which you never recall wearing around him, but you try not to dwell on that fact. everything from the texture of your hair to any distinguishing marks on your person is present.

he waits all of about three seconds to hastily throw in the comment that he just threw this together, and that if you don't care for it, you can throw it away. in truth, you don't know what you feel, as you cradle this vulnerable creation. flattered? disturbed? a little pity for its creator? perhaps this is an example of your soft heart that scaramouche insists led you straight into his hands.

his hands that, presently, have a few needle pinpricks from the countless hours he must've spent sewing this doll in your likeness.

so, you insist on keeping it, even if your thoughts are in disarray. for if there's anything you've learned from your time with scaramouche, it's that abandoning creations new to this world brings nothing but misfortune.

[dawnsfragrance]

I regret to inform that I’ve been afflicted with the I can’t write about love unless it’s heartache syndrome

[timeisacephalopod]

On one hand my one sister is Big Stupid and pregnant again, which I wouldn't care as much about if this wasn't the fourth kid with the fourth shitty fucking father who will do nothing but cause even MORE pain and suffering to my sister's life, and on the other hand my other sister keeps sending me apartment ads which is very sweet because she ALSO just had a baby (in August and also her situation is stable, I'm very proud she managed to pull off what she did considering where she's come from. Her boys, especially Older Nephew were SO excited for the baby and I love listening to Older Nephew talk about his sister, it's so heartening to see him so happy and excited. Something tells me my other sisters 3 girls won't be nearly as impressed, especially not Oldest Niece and it's gotten to a point where I feel somewhat compelled to try and mentor this poor kid but I don't know SHIT about kids and don't want to let this poor kid down like everyone else has, she deserves better than that).

Granted my whole life I've preferred Apartment Sister to Making Poor Life Choices sister but also recently Making Dumb Choices has made some serious improvements to her life, very impressive ones too, so it's just disappointing to watch her backslide especially into the same bullshit she's been doing since she was 18 and is now 32. But at least I'm not the only one apartment hunting 😂😂 her efforts are super appreciated given that she just moved herself as well, plus having a fresh baby (very cute baby too). Now with any luck my OTHER sibling will get her shit together hopefully before we're on child number six with father number six with all the same fucking personality flaws and mental health problems not one of these men take even remotely seriously because that's exhausting to me let alone my damn sister.

[isildheir]

Honestly, my abuser saying Louis was just as bad as Lestat or basically implying they hate how people write Lestat off as more abusive than he is or that Louis was just as abusive was a red flag I should've put a lot more stock into.

[sassy-cass-16]

look man. look

essek saying "bren" out loud, claiming a position on caleb's side as the mouthpiece of his regards to astrid, did something to me. i can't tell if it opened a wound or punched me or gave me a hug. all i know is that i am feeling so many emotions right now

more under the cut because i'm about to get rambly:

"bren aldric ermendrud" is a separate character from caleb widogast. he's a young boy learning how to make magic. he's a deeply traumatized and indoctrinated teenager. he's the boy who curled up with astrid and eadwulf in a freezing tower for warmth all night.

essek never met bren. he met caleb and he's never known him as anyone else. if i'm remembering correctly, caleb never even said the name "bren" to him during the campaign, and neither did any of the nein.

essek knows caleb widogast. he knows the man who held up the object of his worst crime and then kissed him in the bowels of a ship and made a floor of infinite stars for them to walk through together. he knows the person who healed over bren's wounds—thinly, but enough. he knows the man that the boy has become.

astrid knows bren. she barely knows who caleb is. she still calls him bren after hearing him referred to as caleb repeatedly. she can't know him as the man he is, she only knows the boy. there's some of bren in caleb, but there is no caleb in bren.

essek saying "bren sends his regards" is him gauging astrid's reaction, on one level—if she freaks out, which she did, she's in opposition to caleb's cause and thus a threat. on another level, it's essek delivering a very different subtextual message from caleb: "the boy who loved you is giving you one final warning."

because essek is a threat to astrid. their last meaningful interaction was slinging spells at each other in the blooming grove. and that's funny in a "current boyfriend vs ex girlfriend exclusively fight each other" kind of way, but it's also deeply tied to caleb's recurring theme of transformation. "bren sends his regards" also means "i have healed enough to love enough for someone else to know this name and use it with my consent. and this someone else is your enemy. what does that make you think i've become?"

it also does a fantastic job of communicating subtle offscreen discussions that have happened over the years since the end of c2. we don't have the details of when or how caleb told essek his birth name, but we know that he did, and we know from all of c2 that the name bren occupies a place of immense emotional weight for caleb. it functions similarly to a deadname in terms of who uses it and for what purpose. trent exclusively calls caleb bren to wound him and place himself in a position of power. astrid calls him bren to remind both him and herself of who they used to be—same with eadwulf, though obviously he's not here.

the first time we hear essek say "bren" is on caleb's behalf and confronting one of the narrative representations of caleb's trauma. it's four words that manage to communicate "i, your enemy on a hundred levels, can speak for both the man i love and the boy who loved you, because i know him in his entirety."

astrid knows bren and essek knows caleb, but only essek can speak for both. because at some point, caleb gave bren to essek. and we know this from four words. four IMPROVISED words.

god. this moment is just so fucking good

[solbaby7]

I love your work, and I’ve been creeping on your master list and it’s so good 😭❤️❤️❤️… pls do one with Azriel and AFAB reader who finds out first that they’re true mates but says nothing at all, too scared that he’ll reject her cause he’s in love with Elain and she witnesses the whole necklace gifting/almost kiss between them and runs away, tries to avoid both of them for days and gets sick or injured or something and that’s when Az realizes it too and smut ensues 🫶😭❤️

Since You Have A Lover

pairing : azriel x afab!reader

warnings: angst babe, torture too (oops👀🤣), not proofread, swearing, probs typos, mild smut at the end, testing out the longer fics and then we’re gonna figure out if longer or shorter is better 🫣

thank you for the request bean! i switched it up a little to add some much needed angst but i’m so happy you’ve been enjoying 💗💗

oh and…educate a girl. wtf is afab?👀 respectfully ofc

—

Deep breaths and a lowered gaze is how you make it through family dinners as your stomach lurches uncomfortably.

The feeling never got easier, even after months of enduring the debilitating emotions that ensued from watching your mate love another.

It’s instinctual to be jealous—to compare yourself to Elain when Azriel refused to tear his eyes away. He was supposed to be your equal and yet the longer dinner went on with overhearing their hushed conversation and not-so-sneaky touches under the table; you felt anything but suitable in comparison.

Drowning those thoughts is surprisingly easy, a plethora of wine bottles are scattered about the table and not a single person bats an eye when you snatch one up for yourself. They’re too caught up in each other to realize you’ve slipped away; abandoning the suffocating love that permeated from every direction besides your own.

Fresh air helps a little, the stolen bottle of wine aiding in keeping you warm from the unforgiving nighttime chill. Eventually the cool bite doesn’t send shivers down your spine and you barely even flinch when bare skin meets cold stone, your gaze dipping down to lively town below.

Time moves too quickly as the observer, seconds bleeding into minutes until hours have passed and the bottle has nothing left to offer. There’s a brief moment where your foggy brain contemplates the effort it would take to retrieve another when your solitude is broken.

Two bodies burst through the balcony doors on the furthest side, mostly concealed by trees and flowers but you’d recognize those wings anywhere. A hand smacks over your mouth to conceal any sound, body freezing in place as you witness Azriel press Elain into the wall, his hands cradling the sides of her face lovingly.

A part of you shatters when you catch that sparkle in his eye, the eagerness in his movement to have her closer until her cheeks go flush and thick lashes flutter closed in preparation for the sweet kiss Azriel is sure to grant her.

You’re unable to stomach another moment and neither of them even flinch when you shuffle from your spot and make a bee-line for the exit. Tears cloud your vision, shoulders shaking and steps unsteady as you all but run through the halls, darting up the stairs and colliding right into another body. “Oh,” The startled sound is all but whimpered out of you and red eyes and splotchy cheeks are the first thing Nesta sees as you look up. “Gods, I’m sorry.” You scramble to your feet, retrieving the book she’d dropped in the collision. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t watching here I was going.”

“That’s not like you.”

A weak smile quirks at the corner of your mouth, unbound hair in unruly strands down your shoulders. “I’m not quite myself at the moment.”

Nesta hums in response, slender arms crossing over her chest and the fabrics of her nightgown shifts with the motion. Her gaze is scrutinizing, picking apart the truth from the lies and you’re infinitely grateful that she doesn’t call you out on your state of disarray. “Want me to walk you to your room?”

“No.” You whisper, hastily wiping your cheeks and attempting to smooth down stray hairs and wrinkled silks. “No, I think I’m going to go for a walk instead. I could use the fresh air.”

“It’s three in the morning.”

Nesta's neck cranes, slowly turning on the balls of her feet as you swiftly slip past her and make way for your chambers. Perhaps, it's the defeated slump of your shoulders that catches Lady Death's attention; that emptiness in your eyes that couldn't even be filled by the overflowing tears that stained your cheeks.

She considers waking Cassian--he always was better equipped to handle the emotions of others but you're already gone, disappearing behind the door without even saying goodnight. Something about the interaction forces her to linger, smutty book long forgotten as she waits to see you creep out that same room ten minutes later.

You're dressed to better accommodate the weather now. Thick leathers insulating body heat while subconsciously providing much needed compression--the tight fabric mimics comfort in its attempt to hold together the broken bits of you shoved inside.

Nesta's lips part, a million possible words resting at the tip of her tongue but you're quick to intercept, tone numb and alarmingly empty. "Don't wait up."

--

Being alone was supposed to be relaxing.

Distracting, at the very least.

But, all you could feel was the cool prickle of awareness at the back of your neck the whole time you sat at the edge of the mountains that overlooked the Sidra. Each time you'd slow your breathing and attempt to regulate the unusual beat of your heart with the captivating view of Velaris at night. While most were inside, the homes that resided there were full of life; lights glowing golden through their windows, laughs ebbing through the woodwork and creating a sense of serenity that refuses to wash over you as well.

Eyes narrow, shoulders squaring and fingers twitch for the sharp daggers strapped to your thighs. The thick trees you’d come through seems far less attractive now, branches craning out like grabbing hands with gaps of murky darkness that resembled giant mouths waiting to swallow you up. “Nesta?”

The chuckle that breaks through the clearing is anything but feminine. “Not quite.”

It happens too fast--the hand that smacks over your mouth to mute the startled scream that rips free. You push against the solid wall of a body stationed behind you, attempting to sway his stability in order to break free but a sharp sting in your neck renders you still.

The burn that follows is instant and before you can stop it, the unforgiving darkness becomes all you know.

--

The palpable tension at breakfast is suffocating.

Azriel's seething brood casts angsty shadows along his strong build, creating a visible wall between himself and his High Lord after the stern conversation he was forced into the night before. It runs on repeat in the shadow singers mind, the order given to back off on his affections towards the middle Archeron sister.

It seems cruel. A sick form of punishment that Azriel can't quite wrap his mind around because who was really in charge of the tragectory of his life? Azriel ? Or his High Lord?

The mere thought has his teeth grinding in silent contempt, his gaze flickering around the table before landing on the bare spot directly across from him. His brows furrow, confusion briefly sweeping away the rage as he considers the time--your usual schedule and the words leave his mouth before he can stop them. "Where is she?"

A brief pause, the casual conversation slowing to a halt until Azriel catches a glimpse of something on Nesta's face--a strain of guilt he'd seen a million times on a trillion different faces. "Left earlier this morning." Polished silverware scrapes at fine china, pushing aside food that her body refuses to indulge in. "Said she was going for a walk."

Discontentment settles into Azriel's bones--a feeling he struggles to understand and Nesta's answer only exasperates the unsteady sensation.

"In this weather?" Grey clouds are thick in the sky, shades of slate and granite completely masking the sun as relentless rains pour down from above. "When was this?"

"Around three."

Cassian swears lowly from beside his mate, a sturdy hand resting at her shoulders but the regret lacing his features speaks plenty about the decision to stay quiet for so long. It was too dangerous, especially after the last few meetings Rhys had with Kier in Hewn. Change took time and the Steward and his men were complaining about that change taking too long. Hateful words were thrown in the name of the people of Hewn City and how they had desires too; dreams of a better world for themselves and their children but the High Lord’s better judgement rose question to the other consequences that could arise from giving what they were asking for. "Ness that was nearly eight hours ago."

The screech of Azriel's chair draws attention, a sudden boost of fuel being injected in his veins. "Did she tell you where she was going exactly?"

Nesta’s tone turns into vitriol, a subconscious reaction to the guilt that gnawed at her bones for not seeking for you sooner after finding you in your state. The reminder of tears streaming down your face flashes behind her eyelids; the choppiness of your words through labored breathing. How desperately you’d attempted to wrangle it together just long enough to make it to your room and suddenly the eldest Archeron feels that familiar uselessness creep beneath her skin. “She didn’t leave me a map with a drawn out route—she just said she needed air.”

“While crying?” It wasn’t intentional, Rhysand seeing the flash of memory that Nesta had unknowingly projected; her mental walls caving for just a fraction of a minute before the iron doors had regained their formidable security. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Silverware clatters against the table, staining table linen in strawberry jam but no one seems to give a shit when the severity of the situation behinds to settle over the room. Nesta runs a hand against the material of her dress, smoothening out wrinkles and creases in order to avoid all of the eyes settling over her face. “I was just going to the library to read and we bumped into each other. She came from the balcony—I offered to walk her to her room but she just…” A sigh pulls free, jaw setting tightly. “I let her go.”

“Nesta.” Feyre’s slow shake of her head holds enough disappointment to have Nesta’s shoulders squaring on the defensive.

“I’m not some evil bitch, I waited up!” She seethes, the beginnings of those silver flames lapping at the steely grey of her eyes but the fight within isn’t truly directed towards Feyre or anyone else but herself. Because she’d felt the exact moment that you walked from the doors and winnowed away, that she’d made a grave mistake. Nesta’s shoulders sag, fingers bunching unforgivingly into the inky linen cloth until she felt the tips of her nails digging into the polished mahogany underneath. “I waited.”

Azriel’s already out of the room without a word.

He didn’t have a right to shame her because Azriel had a feeling he knew what sent you running.

His teeth grind together when thinking back to the night before when he and Elain had scuffled off onto the balcony at the witching hour; hoping their sins would be shielded by the dark cast of night. Too caught up in one another to consider another already occupying the space.

And, no matter how many times Azriel brushed his fingertips over the soft curve of Elain’s cheeks or vyed for a fleeting touch when passing in the hallways—the kiss he thought he wanted lacked the spark he was sure would flicker to life when lips grazed.

He’d pulled away so abruptly, brows furrowing in a stark line discontentment that was visible to anyone with eyes and then he heard the broken whimper of a gasp.

It’s been too easy to pass it off as Elain and far easier for him to forget about it altogether after Rhysand had found an embarrassed Elain rushing back to her room with flushed cheeks and an unsteady gait. He’d never heard his brother shout so loud, the veins in his neck protruding as he ordered Azriel to never even look her way again. That if a quick fuck in the dead of the night was what he desired then Azriel should wander along the cobblestone streets of Velaris and find himself a suitable pleasure house and pay for it.

The words act as fuel, Azriel’s senses working on overdrive; shadows scrying for information faster than ever before until they’d returned with something he could work with.

Dropped neatly in his palms were the cool steel of your twin blades that never left the secure holsters forever strapped to your thighs.

And they were soaked in your blood.

—

You recognized the suffocating dank smell that tended to fester when stuffed so far beneath the earth—the perfect dungeon.

One you’d been in countless times before, wearing that shadowy mask of indifference when masquerading as the soulless monster that became necessary to survive while in Hewn City. It took decades of assistance by Azriel’s side; an apprentice of sorts when the bounds of your affections had just begun testing its limits—wondering to see just how far you’d go just to be near him.

To get him to notice you. Your mate. Yours. Yours.

All of that seems so foolish now. Insignificant compared to the dire situation you’d found yourself entangled in.

Sharp twinges of pain throb up your neck, aches settling in from the uncomfortable position and it’s a strain when you shift in attempts to take in your surroundings. Fear lurches in your chest when your hands don’t move, restrained by chains that had you hung up like a prized hog after a fresh hunt.

Not good. Not good. Not good. So, not good.

“I always did love that look.” Immediately your spine goes ramrod straight, fingers clenching into fists over the cool bite of the chains as that voice washed over you like a bucket of water. Refreshing on your own terms and a horrible wake up call when it wasn’t. “When panic shifts into realization—truly a sight worth capturing. Especially when attached to such a delicate disposition.”

Delicate?

You’d never once used that word in ordinance to yourself.

Hearing it now, under such circumstances makes your heart lurch, it’s beat untamed against your ribcage and it takes every bit of strength left to smooth that look of utter calm across your features. “Come a little closer, let me show you how sweet I can get.”

The underlying threat is easily palpable and Kier is wise not to follow the bait; aware of the wounded animals ability to put up a considerable fight and he’s too coward to brawl fairly. “As tempting as that is, it won’t be me who plays with you tonight.” Your teeth bare into a snarl, pure promise rumbling from your chest and the sound encourages a chuckle from the male.

He’s not close enough to injure; to swing the brunt of your weight around for a well-timed kick that you knew would disable long enough to figure a way out of these damn restraints. But even with the distance between you, the resemblance between this male and Mor was striking. She’d inherited the shape of his lips, even if the words she spoke were far sweeter than the shit spewed from her predecessor. More similarities are spotted during your scrutinizing evaluation of him; the line of his nose, the shade of his hair, the confident air that oozed from his form—no matter how misplaced it was.

“I’ll kill anyone who dares lay a finger on me.”

“So much fight in you,” Kier all but croons, his eyes raking across your body in a way that was less than savory. “I can’t wait to see how long it lasts.”

Breathe.

Years of training beside the spymaster had prepared you for this very moment and it’s easier to drift back into the memory of just another session; before things had gotten so complicated and he’d just been a friend eager to teach if you were willing to learn. Countless times you’d been in a similar situation—you, waking up tied up to some chair with ropes securing every possible joint in place and Azriel would leave you there as long as it took for you to figure your way out of it.

Allow the thrum of your heart be the beat that keeps you focused.

Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

Relax and take in your surroundings. Notice things no one else thinks is important because that could be the one thing that keeps you from an untimely death.

The cell wasn’t very large, four stone walls covered in grime and mildew with just enough space for two grown men to fit semi-comfortably. No windows. One door with a thin slot at the top large enough for two eyes to peer inside. No fire. No light. No warmth. No breeze, just stale, dank air that tasted of iron when your breathed in too deep.

Just stay alive long enough to get help.

“What do you want from me?”

Kier inhales a greedy breath, his chest expanding in the ornate armor worn. It glistens even with no light—proving that even with his privileged title, he was never the one who got his hands dirty. “Many things,” He finally confessed, the words airy and nonchalant. He’s too cocky. Too comfortable. “But first, I want you to tell me about the Cursebreakers sisters.” He dares a step closer, arms crossed casually behind his back as a dark look begins to worm its way into his eye. “I want you to tell me everything you know about the Made ones and the power they stole from the Cauldron.”

Breathe. Focus on your heart beat. Stay alive.

Breathe. Focus on your heart beat. Stay alive.

Breathe. Focus on your heart beat. Stay alive.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

A smile works its way across his face—one so familiar it taints good memories with its stain. “I hoped you’d say that.” Kier walks past, the smell of his cologne burning your nostrils and you couldn’t imagine ever smelling tobacco and ash, bergamot and oakmoss without gagging ever again.

One knock on the thick steel door and slender male with hair like soot and eyes like a raven enters.

Your face remains a blank slate. Even as you take in the rubber material of his apron and the sturdy material of his leather boots. Well used gloves cover his hands and tucked under his left arm is a rawhide holder filled to the brim with all kinds of terrifying treats.

Breathe. Focus on your heart beat. Stay alive.

“Who are you?”

He takes his sweet time answering. Making a show of neatly setting down the holder and undoing the braided leather straps holding it in place. “You can call me the Butcher—everyone else does.”

“How original.” A thick swallow to quell the nerves; to shove away the shake that threatened to disturb your carefully curated cadence. The chains rattle as you shift, the tips of your toes just barely skimming the cool ground beneath you but not quite enough to relieve your wrists of the burden of bearing the entirety of your weight. “Well, Butcher—come make yourself useful and loosen my chains, will you? It’s starting to chafe a bit.”

His head shakes in his denial, barely acknowledging the departing Steward and the heavy thud of the shutting door—a lock sliding into place. “You don’t really want me to do that.” For donning such a threatening title, the Butcher is deceivingly soft-spoken. It sends your nerves into a fritz, triggering your fight or flight and for the first time since your eyes had opened and the darkness had waned; that delicately woven web of control slips from your grasp. “If you’re as stubborn as I think you are,” The sharp ring of metal twangs through the air and in his grasp is a perfectly polished knife a little too curved to be considered a scalpel. “You’ll need something to hold onto. It helps with the pain…for a time.”

Breathe.

“Then let’s just get this over with, shall we?”

Butcher chuckles low under his breath, full lips concealed by an ever fuller beard—the only thing about him that wasn’t perfectly trim and proper. “Not a fan of foreplay?”

Fingers curl around the cool bite of thick chains, your chest rising and falling in a steady pattern as you began to dissociate. An attempt to keep your mind as protected as possible from whatever was to come. “I’m more of a rip-the-bandaid kind of girl.”

Death clings to the pristinely polished rubber of his apron, the creak of his gloves filling the space as worn fingers ready around the hilt of his weapon. “You know,” Inhale through your nose, exhale through your mouth. Disappear off into that numb place deep, deep within your mind. Ignore the bite of the blade poking around already sensitive wounds. “Under entirely different circumstances, I think I might’ve actually liked you.”

The switch flips so fast—too fast for you to catch but it’s impossible to miss the devastating burn that ripples through you as flesh is severed, muscle flayed and so, so much blood spilled.

It’s hard to keep track of how much time passes down here without access to windows and you’re certain that it’s intentional, aiding in the psychological aspect of their torture.

Relax and take in your surroundings. Notice things no one else thinks is important because that could be the one thing that keeps you from an untimely death.

The masculine baritone of Azriel’s teachings repeated like a mantra in your mind until it becomes the only thing distracting you from the sound of your flesh tearing, your blood drip, drip, dripping a misshapen puddle beneath you.

You force yourself to keep conscious, mentally noting anything your eyes are able to latch onto. Insignificant things; ebony hair, umber skin, a brand burned into the middle of Butcher’s left wrist in a symbol half-obscured by his gloves.

There’s a block on your powers, not quite faebane in its most lethal dose but paired with the wards humming against the walls, you knew using magic wouldn’t be an option for you. “Tell me about the Made ones and I can stop.”

“I don’t know anything.”

Just stay alive long enough to get help.

“You live there with them,” Butcher goads, crooked teeth exposed when gritted into that grimace of a sneer. Leather creaks under the playful twist of his wrist, the sharpened blade carving at muscle and obliterating sinew until you swear it reaches bone. “You share drink and food, you fight beside them in battle and you expect us to believe that secrets aren’t shared as well?” Every breath is ragged, a sheen of sweat coating your skin and unruly hair sticks to the curve of your neck. “Tell me what you know before I decide to get a little more creative in my methods.”

“Even if I did know anything, why the hell would I tell you? What would Hewn scum do with such knowledge?”

Your words have nicked a nerve, robbing the Butcher of that soft-spoken charm and replacing it with something more sinister. “You say the same thing to that bastard Illyrian you’re always seen around?”

A brow quirks, furrowing ever so slightly as it became more and more apparent that this was more than some spur of the moment kidnapping. Their questions, the desire to keep you immobile and battered but not enough to render you unconscious—not enough to be fatal. For whatever reason, they needed you alive and judging by the desperation that claws its way to the edges of Butchers voice, his curses and demands falling on deaf ears as your mind runs on overdrive to accumulate all the information you could before it was too late.

Each breath grows more labored, lashes fluttery and thick with exhaustion but just when it feel like too much—when you feel like giving up and succumbing to the sweet oblivion.

The rake of talons brushes against your mental walls. A cautious prod, testing your durability and utter relief washes over you when that feline lilt floods your consciousness. “We’re coming, just stay awake.”

The syllables barely reach your ears, sound faded by the obnoxious ringing that refused to subside—a side affect from all the fucking screaming and shouting. Swears slurring together the longer you snapped at the male before you, knees jerking and wounds barking in agony when the heel of your foot smashes so hard into his nose, his skull caves in; limp body dropping to the floor with a thud.

It’s all the strength you have in you and the death-grip you have around the chains is released all at once. Time moves in slow motion as you dangle there, vision darkening at the edges and that thrum of your heartbeat loud enough to distract you anymore. “Rhys they want— they want…”

So much blood oozes from your wounds, drenching your leathers all the way through and you were definitely feeling the affects. Your vision blurs, lids going lazy with just enough time to hear that voice—Azriel’s voice bellowing your name. “Stay alive.” He mutters over and over and over when he’s finally reached you, adrenaline pumping so high that he breaks the chains from their bolt with nothing more than his bare hands. “Do you hear me? Don’t you dare fucking die on me.”

You swear you try to obey the command, desiring nothing more than to keep Azriel's attention after finally being front and center in it. But it just felt so safe held in his grasp, tucked so close to his chest while he rids you of your restraints and applies pressure to gaping wounds.

All you wanted was one second. If you closed your eyes just for a second to gather your wits then you'd wake up and everything would be okay.

It sounds like a good idea-- so good that you allow the peace to wash over you like a cool tide washing over the shore in the early days of the burning summer; ignoring the desperate shouts from a vignette of voices that fades in the background like the haunting final notes of a song.

—

Confusion crashes at you in unforgiving waves, memories --or were they dreams?-- flash behind your lids with each blink. A dull throb pounds behind your lids, aggravating your mental shields to the point where you feel them wobble with each breath.

"You should stay still." Azriel's saying without giving you time to clear through the dense fog plaguing your mind. Instead, he busies his hands with fussing over your blankets, carefully tucking bare toes and pressing a five finger grip on your sternum when you attempt to rise from the soft cushion of a mattress that certainly did not belong to you. "It took Madja a while to get you all stitched up. Are you in pain? She left ointments and a few tinctures."

He's graceful enough not to mention the owlish blink of your eyes and their befuddled examination of his room until the crackly rasp of your voice cuts through the space; both of you refusing to address the elephant in the room. "My head hurts a little."

"Yeah," Shadows fuss with warm rags, sweeping it over your forehead and dabbing it along your cheeks while others occupy themselves with filling a glass of water to offer. "Rhys will be by later to apologize for that, I'm sure."

Your brows furrow deeply, nose scrunching when you sip your water. "Apologize for what?"

"You were in distress. We thought you were going to--" Azriel abruptly cuts himself off, fingers curling into fists at his sides. "Rhys went in your mind, said that before you'd gone unconscious that you were trying to tell him something that seemed urgent enough to bypass the usual request to wait for permission."

Your heart begins to pick up speed in your chest and suddenly the desire to rise from this bed and run away was becoming horribly intense. Legs shift under the weight of a duvet that didn't belong to you, attempting to hide the way your sore muscles sink into the overwhelming scent of night-chilled mist. "Okay...and what did he see?"

"He saw you get taken," Azriel turns his back to you, expertly avoiding your eyes but the nervous energy buzzing off his skin was unmistakable. "He watched them carve you up and torture you for information about Nesta and Elain." The stabilizing breath he takes shakes his shoulders, the strong line of muscle barely concealed by the tight stretch of his leathers--leathers still stained in the blood of those who'd spilled yours, no doubt. "Rhys said that you didn't say a word. You didn't give them a thing."

"That's good, right?" A pillow is fluffed behind you, shadows doting on every need. "Then, why do you sound so upset?"

"Why do I sound so upset?" Azriel cruelly mocks, his aurate gaze positively smoldering with rage when they land on you. "Because, you almost died! You almost died in my fucking arms before I ever got the chance to—. What the hell were you thinking?"

The beating you'd endured does nothing to quell your fiery spirit, eyes lighting with life and lips running a mile a minute—too fast for your logical brain to keep up with. "I was thinking that they wanted information on your precious, little girlfriend." You all but spit out, childishly pushing away the comfort the duvet from your legs as you attempt to shuffle from Azriel's bed without disturbing the tight wrap of your bandages. Why the hell were you in here anyway? "I was thinking that maybe, it'd be easier for them to fucking butcher me rather than watch what would happen to you if it were Elain there in my place."

Silence stretches along the hardwood floor, cloaking up the length of the walls and muting out the low crackle of the fireplace; its flame gentle and calm in the midst of an emotional storm. "I almost wish you would've let it be her." Azriel fills the void, finally mustering up the courage to face you. "I could've survived that and whatever consequences came along with it because my mate takes precedence above all."

Just like that, all the spitfire you’d prepared in retaliation absolutely dissipates after hearing those two words. “Your mate.”

Azriel doesn’t confirm with words. Instead, he searches inside for the humming gold thread wrapped taut around his ribs, just above his heart and pulls. Fucking yanking at it with all his might and something sparkles in his eye when your body jerks in retaliation.

“You know?”

“How long have you known?”

Your heartbeat hammers against your ribcage, threatening to carve out a hole if that’s what it took to get to its other half. “A while.”

“And you’ve said nothing.” He says, tone sounding almost defeated. “Why wouldn’t you have said anything?”

“Because, Az,” The shadows have seized their tireless caretaking, sliding back into place beside their master as you lose the ability to accept the tender affection. “You wouldn’t have chosen me. Not before Mor and certainly not before Elain.” You’re quick to bristle over that part, not leaving any room for the spymaster to interrupt no matter how expressive his face became. “Besides, the bond is a choice not a burden and that’s what it would’ve been for you if I spoke up about it.” Pure determination is what allows you to bear the brunt of your weight , willing yourself to appear strong in the face of the male who could render you to cinders if he so pleased. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d really like to shower the dungeon smell off of me.”

A childish whine of a noise is ripped from your throat when Azriel huffs out a breath, murmuring something about you being stubborn as hell before carefully picking you up and carrying you to the bathroom. It's embarrassing, a furious blush burning at the apples of your cheeks as he starts the shower, adjusts the temperature and slowly sets you down. "Thank you for that but you don't have to do this. I can handle cleaning myself."

"You can barely stand on solid ground on your own."

"I'll manage."

"I know. What I'm saying is that you don't have to." You nearly faint on the spot when Azriel crouches down in front of you, his hands shaky but sure when unlatching the difficult ties of your fighting leathers. His teeth grit together when the fabric is loosened and carefully worked down your thighs, over your knees and tugged away from your ankles. "Just let me help."

Azriel is nothing short of respectful, you notice. He doesn't sneak salacious peeks at the endless expanse of bare skin that he exposes. Doesn't once mention the tremble of your breath or the way your fingers seem to bite into the flesh of his arms whenever a new article of clothing is removed and dropped to the floor. Even after he's eased you into the shower stream; standing before him, perfectly presented on a soaking wet platter—he keeps his eyes trained on your face.

Shadows thicken over sensual bits, providing a shield between you and the male diligently applying soap to rag. Each drag of the slightly rough material against your skin releases a tension you hadn’t noticed you’d been carrying and all you can do is watch as he rids your skin of the thick film left behind when magic was used to clear away muck.

Eons must past before words are spoken, a this time Azriel is more intentional when he chooses them--more intimate when he relays them. "I'd always hoped for a mate. Ever since I was a boy and my mother told me stories about two halves scouring the world to finally become whole again." You're malleable under his care, pliant when he lifts your arms to scrub underneath and damn-near boneless when he turns you with slippery hands to slowly work the knots from your back. "I had always hoped that one day, I too, would find my equal." Azriel clears his throat, returning back from whatever memory he'd been sucked into but the massage doesn't stop; it only drags lower. "Then so much time had passed and I started to wonder if I couldn't find them because I wasn't being forward enough but that only lead to misplaced affections and unfulfillment."

"Azriel, I'm not sure if I really understand--"

"I felt something for you—something stronger than friendship but I pushed it away. I ignored it and looked elsewhere because I can bare not being as close with Mor and it’s as easy as breathing to never see Elain again but losing you—ruining the peace I feel when I’m with you would’ve broken me.”

Tears well in your eyes, a thickness welling in the back of your throat and your skin burns where his fingers touch, lingering near the dip of your back and just barely curling around the curve of your hips. “Az, you don’t have to say any of this to make me feel better. I just wanted you to be happy. I want you to be happy.”

“Then, please don’t reject it.” His warmth ripples over every inch of you, your neck craning to make room for the forehead he helplessly drops in the crux of your shoulder. The perfect line of his nose drags along the curve of it, inhaling the soothing notes of your scent mixed with his body wash. “Don’t reject me—this is all I’ve ever wanted.” Finally his fingers curl around your hips, the grip gentle but oh, so claiming. “Can’t you feel it? This rightness.”

Raw emotion swims in the amber tones of Azriel’s eyes when you turn in his arms; searching within those rich shades to find any detection of a lie.

Not one reaches your radar.

The line of your vision drops, creeping down his nose until it fixates on the plush pink of his lips. Instinct takes over, offering a gentle nudge until the space between two is eaten up and breath becomes shared as a line was about to be crossed—a prophecy fulfilled.

When Azriel’s lips finally brush against yours, it’s like a coil snaps, unleashing an animal he hadn’t known existed. Sure, he had plenty of experience with childish crushes and boyish infatuation. But this, Cauldron, it nearly takes his breath away with its intensity—the burning desire that rips through his veins like a forrest fire.

One kiss bleeds into two hands desperate to acquaint themselves with your body until all that mattered was you, your spymaster and the sentient shadows protectively surrounding you both. “Azriel,” You all but keen in his ear, chest heaving and hips rolling into the hardness of him pressed against you.

“Mate.”

A whimper cuts through your throat, neck craning to make space for the perfect bruises he was sucking into the skin there. “I want you.”

“You have me,” He promises over the frantic beat of your heart, tongue laving over the soft fat of your breasts. “Even when my bones are rotting in the dirt, I’ll belong to you. My mate. Mine.”

[freedomfireflies]

Insufferable You*

Summary: The third part to Infinite You*

The one where Harry is still in an open relationship with your best friend, so maybe it's time to remind him what he's missing.

Word Count: 7.3k

Content Warning: 18+, smut, edging, spanking, brief exhibitionism, sir kink, masturbation, brief choking

“Kitten…what are you doing?”

Your whimpers are airy. Light. A string of breathless pleas woven between the soft sounds of your fingers fucking into your cunt. And you can’t answer his question. Can’t find the strength to pull yourself away from the pleasure between your thighs.

“Kitten,” he asks again and it’s firm. “Talk to me.”

He’s panting through his request and the sound—the image in your head of the way he must look, fucking his fist to the melody of your voice almost hurts you.

“I’m…I’m playing with my clit,” you answer. He groans. “Just like you do.”

“Just like me, hm?” He curses on his end of the phone and your legs shake. “How?”

“M’pinching it,” you tell him. “And pulling it. The way you like.”

His noises are louder. Needier. He must like the image in his head, too. “God, I’d give anything to see it, baby. Give fucking anything to watch you touch yourself for me.”

Anything. Anything. You shiver. “Yeah? You’d watch me?”

“Mhm.” He’s getting closer and you don’t want this to end. “Sit there on my knees and take every drop in my mouth when you’re done.”

Your hips buck up and your fingers sink deeper. He ruins you even when he’s not here. “I know,” you whisper. Your eyes squeeze shut. “And I’d let you.”

He makes a sound that might be a laugh but could be a strained moan. You aren’t sure. But you don’t really care because it’s beautiful, no matter what it is. “Kitten,” he exhales and your insides twist. “I need you to cum for me, okay? I need to hear you. God, I need to fucking hear you, baby, let me. Come on—”

There’s something in the way he speaks. Like he’s just woken up. Rough and low and thick. He sounds like sex and you miss hearing it in person. But you were desperate—you had to call him. You had to hear him talk you through this moment and you’re so glad you did.

When you cum, it’s everything. Perhaps not as satisfying as when it’s with him, but still euphoric. And your whimpers of pleasure are what send him over the edge.

The phone fills with the sounds of your ecstasy and you wish you could record the way he moans your name. You wish you could bottle this feeling and get drunk on the way he adores you. 

Instead, you indulge in the few moments you have with him. Because you know they won’t last much longer.

“That was good,” you tell him breathlessly and he chuckles. “How are you so good at that? Even over the phone?”

“Could ask you the same thing. Now I’ve got a sticky hand and nobody to clean it up.”

You pout. “Stop, don’t tell me that. It’s not fair.”

He laughs again. “Sorry, Kitten. Couldn’t help it. You all right? You feel better?”

“I do. Thank you for letting me call you.”

“Always.”

Your heart skips. “So…what are you up to today?”

There’s a pause. A long pause and you know what he’s going to say even before he says it. “Rebecca and I are running some errands.”

“Oh.” Oh. Your throat goes dry. “Right…sorry, I’m…you probably need to go, don’t you?”

Another pause. “In a bit,” he says. “After I make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” you say far too quickly. And far too obviously forced. “Yeah, no, I’m…duh. Obviously I’m okay now. After…yeah. Okay, sorry. You can…I’ll talk to you later—"

“Kitten.”

You stop. “What? I’m…I’m letting you go—”

“Don’t. I want to talk to you a little longer.”

“But you’re busy—”

“It can wait.”

Swallowing, you whisper, “Harry, I’m…I’m just saying—”

“So am I.” He’s firm again. “Don’t do that. Don’t send me away because of her. We can talk. I promise.”

Your eyes squeeze shut. You force the tears back. Why does orgasming make you so emotional? “I know, I just…she’s there, isn’t she?”

Another beat. “Not in the room.”

“But she’s there. In the apartment. Near you.”

“Yes.”

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry. “See, that’s…that’s why I’m letting you go. So you can be with her. Okay? I’ll talk to you later—”

“Kitten.”

“Harry.” You huff if only to make yourself sound stronger than you feel. “I’m okay. You can go.”

“You’re not okay. You’re sad.”

“I’m…no, I’m not sad, I’m just…I’m tired. I came really hard.”

“I know you.”

“Well…you don’t know me that well. Cause I’m fine.”

“Baby—”

“Just go,” you insist. “I promise I’m okay as long as you are. I shouldn’t have called so early anyway, that was…I’m sorry. That was my mistake—”

“You can call when she’s here, you know that—”

“But I don’t want to.”

Another long pause that feels like an eternity. “Okay,” he finally murmurs and you pull the phone away to take in a shaky breath. “But I want your honesty. Okay?”

“Sure.”

“Are you really okay?”

Truthfully, you don’t know. “Yeah, I’m fine. Swear. Thanks for helping me. I’ll talk to you later?”

“You will,” he agrees. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Rebecca’s dinner.”

Fuck. You forgot. “Oh…right—”

“You’ll be there. Right?”

It doesn’t really feel like you have a choice. “I…I don’t know yet, I might be busy—”

“You’re not.”

“You don’t know that. I could have plans.”

“You do. With us.”

Us. Your nose scrunches. “I mean other plans—”

“You don’t.”

“I might—”

“You don’t. If you did, I’d know.”

“Well, that’s presumptuous.”

“Maybe, but it’s true. Because you talk to me. When I ask you a question, you answer honestly. You’re a good girl. I know you.”

Your chest feels tight again. “Well, I don’t tell you everything.”

“You should.”

“You don’t tell me.”

“Because you don’t ask.”

He’s right. You never ask him anything personal because honestly, you’re afraid of what he’ll say.

“Fine,” you agree. “I’ll be there. Are we done?”

He waits a moment before saying, “We’re not done. We’ll discuss this later. But for right now, yes.”

And even if he sounds a bit strict, you can’t help smiling. “Yes, Sir.”

“Mm. That’s my girl. Take it easy today, all right?”

“I will.”

“Good. See you tomorrow, Kitten.”

“Goodbye, Sir.”

He chuckles and you hang up and even despite everything else…you can’t help but grin.

“Oh, my god. He does. Every time. He’s got such a weird thing with feet.”

You laugh. “It wasn’t so bad at first. But then he got a little too comfortable—”

“No, he does that. He really does.” Rebecca smirks as she throws the freshly chopped carrots into her pot. “And it started out cute, but now…”

You both glance into the living room where Harry is relaxing on the sofa. He’s smiling as he watches the two of you work on the food and even if he can’t hear you, he must know you’re talking about him.

“It’s still cute,” you argue in his defense. “Gross…but cute.”

She laughs. “Yeah, I guess he can be cute when he wants to be.”

You grin together and this feels good. You’ve missed your friend. You’ve missed having someone to laugh with, gossip with. And maybe it was strange at first, to come into their apartment and talk to your best friend about sleeping with her boyfriend.

But after a minute or two, you settled right back into the familiar rhythm of your friendship. And it almost felt…normal. 

“Has he done the thing where his left leg starts to shake when he gets overstimulated?” she asks and you nearly snort. 

“Oh, my god. Yes. The other day. I thought he was having a heart attack.”

“It’s the funniest thing. It just started, too. Couple years ago. He swears it doesn’t but like…I can see it.”

“It’s quite the tell,” you agree and you can’t help the way your eyes drift back to where he’s lounging on the sofa.

He notices and smirks at you.

“What?” you call.

He shrugs. “Nothing. You girls are cute, that’s all.”

“Bite me,” Rebecca says and he chuckles. “We’re not cute. We’re hot.”

“Absolutely,” he agrees. He leans forward. “Let me guess. You’re telling her about the leg thing?”

“Yup. And I was right,” she says smugly. “She sees it, too.”

His eyes roll but he smiles at you. “It’s not that bad—”

“No, it is,” she argues. “You look like a dog. A very cute dog, but still.”

He laughs a little louder and you’re almost jealous of their dynamic. A dynamic you’ve been witness to for almost five years. And it’s never made you jealous before.

But now…

She puts the soup on simmer and grabs your hand to lead you to the living room. “I told you we were gonna gossip about you,” she reminds him. “All good things, don’t worry.”

“I’m sure.” He smiles at you both as you take a seat on the sofa. She flops down right beside him while you cautiously sit on the other end. Exactly where you’d been that first day you agreed to this arrangement. “This is nice,” he says.

She hums. “Yeah, it feels like old times.” She glances toward you. “And it’s not weird…is it? I mean, you feel okay?”

Feeling a little hot under the spotlight, you swallow and force a quick shake of your head. “No, this is…it’s good. This is fun.”

However, she knows you better than anyone and her brows pull together as she studies you. “Do you have any questions? Or anything we can clear up?”

“Uh…I don’t know.” Truthfully, you don’t want to ask. “Is it…is it weird for you guys?”

They both shake their heads, almost as if in sync, and you resist the urge to scrunch your nose.

“Do you…have any regrets?”

“No,” she says and Harry agrees. “None. Do you?”

“No,” you echo. “No, I just���I don’t know. This still kind of feels like cheating.”

They exchange a glance and your heart skips. You’re even jealous of the way they look at each other.

“Rebecca and I have always agreed that whatever the other decides to do is their business,” Harry says. “As long as we communicate, there's freedom there. No judgment, no expectations, no regret.”

“And no jealousy,” she adds, offering you a soft smile. “Or shame. Or anything like that.”

You nod and pick at a loose string on your jeans. “And are you two…I mean do you still…”

“No,” she assures you and you’re thankful she figured out what you meant. “No, we haven’t in a few weeks.”

“Oh…because of me?”

She shakes her head while Harry says, “Not entirely. Most of it is for safety reasons. Keeping things clean and respectful. But it’s also one of our rules.”

“Rules?”

“We have a few rules we like to follow,” she explains. “It just makes it easier. Sometimes it can be tricky and this helps keep us on the same page.”

“And no sex is one of them?”

“Kind of. We don’t sleep together if one of us is seeing someone else. Well, no penetration, anyway.”

You hate the way your stomach sinks. “Oh. And…do you date other people…a lot?”

He looks over at her and she thinks. “Not…really?” she says. “I don’t think, anyway.”

“Jack was the last guy you were with, right?” Harry asks and she snaps her fingers.

“Jack. Right. Yeah. He was cute. And then yours was…Angie? I think?”

He nods. “Last year.”

“She was nice.”

“She was…sure. Yeah. She was nice.”

Rebecca laughs and he grins proudly, happy to have made her laugh. Your nose scrunches.

“She wasn’t that bad,” Rebecca argues. “She was just put in a weird position.”

“Literally and figuratively.”

She smacks his arm playfully and he pinches her thigh. You want to look away. 

“Either way,” she finally says, “we don’t very often. And I don’t think of it as cheating. Especially not with you. Because I know he’s a good partner and I know that you deserve someone as kind as he is.” 

He gives her a grateful grin before returning his attention to you. “We can stop if you want. Because I agree with Bex. I wouldn’t want to lose you as my friend and if you feel pressured or unsure—”

“I don’t,” you nearly rush to argue. “No, I don’t, I…I’m just really struggling with the dynamics of it. I guess.”

“Trust me, I get it,” she says gently. “It was a bit of a learning curve for us, too. Harry can get incredibly jealous.”

You’re tempted to tell her that you already know but you watch his reaction instead.

His eyes roll but then his stare returns to you and he winks, as though he’s recalling the same memory you are. 

It makes your skin feel warm.

“Oop, hold on. I gotta check the soup,” Rebecca suddenly exclaims before jumping off the sofa to rush back to the kitchen.

And now left alone together, your attention is drawn back to the tall, handsome man you can already feel staring at you.

“Any more questions?” he asks softly. He leans forward and places his elbows on his knees and somehow, even that makes you feel safer. 

“Just one,” you murmur and he nods. “Does this mean you and I are…dating? Or are we just fucking until I can find somebody else?”

There’s a slight edge in your voice that you hadn’t meant to be there, but he picks up on it instantly.

“Are you looking for somebody else?” he asks.

“Not really. But this whole thing started because you both felt bad for me,” you remind him. “And it’s been a lot of fun. Honestly. But you are kind of on loan. I just…I’m not sure what this makes our situation. If we’re just fucking…or more.”

He takes a moment to think about his answer, eyes flicking between yours almost as though studying you. “Would you like there to be more?”

You bite back huff. He’s very good at redirecting. “I don’t know. Would you?”

“I think more can get complicated.”

Your feel your expression fall. “Right.”

“And I don’t want to lose you from my life for good,” he continues. “You know that. Neither of us want to lose you—”

“Right, yeah. It’s fine. Forget I asked.”

He’s frowning now. “Kitten, don’t do that—”

“No, really,” you argue. “It’s fine. You’re right. Let’s just keep it like this until I can find somebody else.”

The frown turns into a glare. “Kitten—”

“Okay, soup is almost done,” Rebecca announces as she returns. This time she sits next to you and throws an arm around your shoulder. “What did I miss?”

The tension is palpable. You speak first. “I was just telling Harry that I might not need his services much longer.”

Rebecca’s eyebrows raise while Harry’s scowl deepens.

“Oh?” she asks.

You nod. “Well, seeing as we don’t want to do anything to ruin the friendship…I thought I’d give Ethan a call.”

It’s mean and perhaps a bit cruel, but you can’t help yourself. You aren’t trying to hurt him. Because he is right. And don’t want to lose him for good, either, and all this evening has truly done is prove how close he and Rebecca actually are.

You’ll never be able to compete with five years of love and affection. And maybe you don’t want to.

Maybe it’s time to move on.

“Ethan?” Harry repeats while Rebecca perks up.

“Yes,” she squeals excitedly. “Oh, I was hoping you would. He’s so nice, I think you guys would be perfect together.”

“Yeah,” you agree with a pointed look at Harry. “I think so, too.”

He knows what you’re doing. You can tell. And he’s oddly calm as he leans against the cushions and tosses his arms over the back of the couch. “And who the fuck is this Ethan?”

“Guy from my work,” you answer, equally as calm. “Nice. He’s been asking me out for a while.”

“A while.”

“Yeah, a while.”

His brows furrow. “So why do you want to go out with him now?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug. “He was never really my type before but we’ve gotten closer recently. I think it’s only fair I give him a real chance.”

“Really?” He’s curious. Maybe skeptical. “Now?”

You nod. “That way the three of us can preserve our friendship. Since that is the most important thing.”

“Well, I think it’s a great idea,” Rebecca tells you and hugs you to her side. “You’ll have to let us know how it goes.”

You grin and it’s all teeth. “I will.”

Dinner is nice. Tense but nice. You and Harry spend a majority of the meal exchanging icy glances and keeping to yourselves, leaving Rebecca to do most of the conversing.

And she doesn’t seem to notice. That or she merely pretends not to. She catches you up on some drama at work. Teases Harry about his sleep talking. Says she’s planning to visit her parents in a few weeks and then gives you the recipe for the soup.

And you and Harry nod politely, despite the unspoken rage from your ends of the table.

When dinner is finished, Harry offers to clean up and do the dishes. She kisses him on the cheek gratefully and says she’s gonna go take a quick shower since she’s got an early day tomorrow. She tells you that you’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like and then she hugs you tightly and whispers, “I’m so glad we’re still friends.”

You hug her back and agree.

The moment she’s gone, Harry sets down his sponge and turns to you. “Come here.”

You hesitate by the front door, itching to escape. But he’s firm as he watches you from the sink, eyebrow raised and jaw clenched, leaving you no choice but to listen.

“Kitten,” he repeats. Lower. Sterner. “Come. Here.”

You take a tentative step toward him. “What?”

“We need to talk.”

“Do we?”

“Kitten.”

You huff and throw your purse back down. “I really don’t think we need to—”

“I don’t care what you think. I’m telling you that we’re gonna have a chat and you’re gonna come in here like a good fucking girl and talk to me.”

This is how he gets you. This is how he pulls your strings and turns you around until you obediently join him in the kitchen. Like a good fucking girl.

Satisfied, he leans back against the counter. “Now. What’s this Ethan shit you pulled?”

“It’s not shit, it’s real,” you huff. “He really did ask me out and I really am going to say yes.”

“But you haven’t yet.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“I told you. He wasn’t my type—”

“No, I want the real answer.”

You frown. “That is the real answer—”

“No,” he repeats. “It’s not. And you know it.”

You cross your arms and look down at your shoes. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you. He wasn’t my type but now he is.”

The argument lulls and the small kitchen falls silent. You hear him sigh and it almost hurts to hear how heavy his disappointment hangs.

But a moment later, he’s slipping his fingers beneath your chin and raising your eyes to his. They’re soft. Serene. Filled with everything he can’t seem to find the words to say and you hate how quickly your body begins to crave him.

“You aren’t being honest with me, baby,” he murmurs. Your lashes flutter. “You aren’t communicating with me. And I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” you say and he sighs like he knows this is a lie. “Really, I just…I know myself. If I don’t put a bit of distance between us…I don’t think I’ll ever be able to breathe on my own.”

This makes him sad and it hurts you to know you’ve made him sad. “Kitten,” he whispers. He steps closer until his chest is brushing against yours. “If I’m doing something wrong—”

“You’re not. That’s the problem.” You swallow and he brushes his thumb along your jaw. “You’re doing everything right and I’m worried I’m gonna want you in ways that I shouldn’t.”

“Do you not want to want me?”

“Not…like that,” you admit. “Not when you’re still hers.”

He frowns. “I told you, you don’t have to worry about anyone else—”

“But I do. Because at the end of the day, you’re still her Harry. You’re on loan to me until one of you decides you shouldn’t be anymore—”

“Kitten—”

“And I can’t be with you in any way but physically. You said so yourself. More would get complicated and even if you wanted to be with me…I don’t think I could share you.”

 He considers this. A long moment passes. “So you’re punishing me,” he says. “You’re going out with this Ethan guy to prove that you don’t need me.”

“What? No.” You lean back but he doesn’t let go of your chin. “I mean…okay, maybe I wanted to piss you off a little but I really do think I need to be with someone else in order to truly move on. I’m not punishing you. I’m…obeying you. If anything.”

He scoffs. “If you really wanted to obey me, you would have talked to me about what you were feeling.”

“I tried. You said more would get complicated.”

“It could. There’s always that risk. But I never said it wouldn’t be worth it.”

“So…what? You’d date me?”

“Of course.”

The answer is quick and it surprises you but it doesn’t seem to surprise him.

You blink. “You��really? You would date me? Like…officially?”

“I would.”

“And…what about Rebecca?”

“What about her?”

“You’d…you’d still be with her? Right? Even if we were together?”

He seems to know what you’re implying and sighs quietly. “Yes. I would.”

“And even if you weren’t…I’m assuming you would still want to be in an open relationship with me?”

Another pause. “Probably,” he admits, and even if you knew it was coming, you can’t help the tears that spring to your eyes. “That’s just the agreement I’ve always felt most comfortable with—”

“And that’s fine. I get it,” you assure him. You sniffle and he seems to wilt. “Really. I just…like I said, I don’t do well with sharing and if…if all we’re doing is fucking, I might as well just find somebody else, right? So that way the three of us can stay friends. And it doesn’t have to get weird.”

“I understand,” he says and you know he does. “I do, Kitten. And I would never keep you in a relationship you’re not comfortable in.” A beat. “But I can’t say that I like the idea of you going out with this guy.”

You smile. Gently. “Oh yeah? And why’s that?”

He looks down at you and takes your cheek in his hand. “You’re my girl,” he says. “No matter what. If you’re with me or not with me. You’re my fucking girl. And he doesn’t deserve even a second of your time.”

You fight a large grin and cling to his shirt. “You can’t say stuff like that.”

“Why not? It’s true.”

“Because.” You play with his buttons. “You don’t get to be jealous when you’re still with her.”

“Doesn’t mean I’m gonna like seeing you with someone else.”

You pout. “That’s not fair, Harry.”

“I know.” He brings his lips to yours. They hover—close—but never make contact. “I can’t help it. Can’t ever seem to help it when it comes to you.”

You want to push up and take his kiss, but he teases you just a little longer. “Harry—”

“Do you know that, Kitten?” His hands drop to your waist and he squeezes. Even though Rebecca is only two rooms away. Even though you can hear her humming in the bath. Even though he can never be yours. “Do you know how much I think about you?”

You swallow. Thick.

“How I think about the way you asked me to take care of you…” He ghosts his mouth down your neck. “The way you begged me to be rough….to spank you. Choke you. Degrade you.”

His voice is a sin and your eyes fall shut.

“Do you want me to degrade you, baby?” His fingers slip beneath your shirt. “Do you want me to pull you on my lap and spank you until you’re crying?”

The image in your head is somehow even better than his taunting. Your knees about buckle. “Harry…”

“You can find somebody else if you want to,” he whispers. “But do you really think they’ll be able to care of you the way I do? The way you want? The way you deserve?” 

His kisses find your chest while his knee slots between your thighs.

“I know how naughty you really are, baby girl,” he says and it’s over. “He will never know.” 

You grab his hair and he grabs your hips and you’re on the counter before you can even whisper his name. He pushes the hem of your dress up and guides your legs apart. He makes a home there, finger curling around the crotch of your panties in order to get a taste and it’s magic. Always.

And he does this to you only a few hundred feet away from where his girlfriend is innocently taking a shower. He does this, knowing she could walk out and see. He does this and you let him do this because there is no world in which you stop him.

“Harry,” you say—whimper—and he hums. His tongue licks up your cunt and your head drops back. “Har—wait—”

He doesn’t. He holds your thighs beside his cheeks and he sucks on your clit until you begin to squirm. “You promised to stay for dessert,” he says. “This is my dessert.”

The sounds are loud and beautiful and his curls feel good in your hands. You feel good in his.

Things fall to the ground. Bowls, pots, containers. He grins. He likes this, the danger. And he knows you like it, too. Because if you really wanted him to stop, he would. 

But you don’t. And you yank him closer to your pussy as though this will be the last time he ever gets a taste.

And deep down, you wonder if it is.

Either way, you enjoy his tongue and his lips and the tip of his nose that nudges your clit so expertly. You wonder how it’s possible to be so addicted to a man you’re not even with. A man that only recently started fucking you and a man that you’ve only ever considered a friend.

Part of you wants to get caught. Part of you wants things to implode. To believe that he’s doing this because he wants her to find out. Because what would happen if she saw? What would happen if he realized he wanted to end things? Would he be yours? Would he decide that your time and your heart and your pussy were infinitely more important than his sexual prowess?

You scrunch your nose. These are all the wrong questions. Harry doesn’t work like that. He never has and you can’t expect something from him that he won’t ever give you.

You return your focus to him. To the way his large hands are curling around your thighs and hoisting them up on the counter. You love his hands. You think they might be your favorite hands in the world.

They’re so gentle but strong. Practiced. You know they’d look good anywhere on your body. Your thighs, your chest, your throat…

You whimper at the thought and he glances up. He’s proud again. Drenched in your arousal and the evidence of your lust for him.

He moves his mouth to the inside of your leg and nips. He leaves marks and memories along the soft skin and you can’t wait to stare at them whenever he’s not around. The way he makes you his in the only way he can.

And you’re so close. You aren’t even sure how he got you here so quickly but he always seems to. And you don’t mind. Instead, you fist his hair and you buck against his tongue and he’s going to make you cum all over his girlfriend’s kitchen counter.

And then he stops.

He stops, he lets you go, and he pulls away.

Your heart drops to your toes as the orgasm fizzles down to nothing. “What…what are you—"

“Get down,” he says curtly. He slaps your outer thigh. “We’re leaving.”

He doesn’t tell you where you’re going. And you don’t ask. Instead, you watch as he wipes his mouth and disappears from the kitchen to wait by the front door.

After straightening your dress and readjusting your underwear, you scurry to his side with a fretful glance toward the bathroom. “Shouldn’t you tell her you’re going?”

He smiles. “She’ll figure it out.”

With that, you leave their apartment so he can take you back to your place and he keeps his hand on your thigh the whole drive. You wonder if he merely wants to keep some sort of claim on you or if it’s habit. 

Either way, his thumb rubs circles into your skin, right over the dark spots made by his lips and you smile. You want to lace your fingers with his. Want to hold his hand and pretend like the two of you are on your way home from a date. To pretend like this is normal—an everyday occurrence.

But you lose your nerve and soon, he’s pulling into the parking lot.  

“I want you upstairs,” he says and gives you a pointed look. “On the bed. Naked. And waiting for me by the time I come up.”

You nod quickly. “Okay. Are…am I in trouble—”

“That depends on if you obey.” He unlocks the door. “So let’s hope you do.”

Swallowing a giddy grin, you scurry from the vehicle and into your building. You don’t bother with tidying up or adjusting your appearance. You run straight into your bedroom, rip off your clothes, and spread out into a starfish position on the bed.

You hear him follow not much later. Slow, deliberate steps. Meant to taunt you, tease you. Make your stomach flip. And it works.

When you see his tall, muscular figure in the doorway, your pulse skips.

Smiling, you call, “Hi, Sir—”

“No speaking,” he says shortly. “Unless I say otherwise. Is that understood?”

“Yes—no—sorry, I’m…” You stop. Nod. 

He frowns but you know it’s only to hide a smirk. “Don’t test me, Kitten. You’ve already done that enough this evening, have you not?”

Another nod.

“And you knew better, didn’t you?” He walks into the room and begins to unzip his jeans. “Knew better than to dangle fucking Ethan in my face.”

You nod again but your eyes are trained on his hands. On the fingers that pull the hem of his shirt up and over his head.

“And you fucking knew…that if I got a taste of such a sweet pussy…I’d never stop,” he murmurs. He crawls onto the bed, wearing nothing more than his briefs. “That I’d forgive you. And let you off the hook.”

You don’t nod this time. You can’t. You’re too far gone in the lust in his eyes. The gentle green that’s now dangerous and luring you in.

“Well,” he whispers and then he smiles. “You thought wrong.”

He grabs your thighs and flips you over. Before you know it, you’re on your stomach, head spinning, while a large palm comes down in a sharp smack to your ass.

You jolt. Shriek. 

“Easy,” he says and he’s kinder now. “You’re gonna take your punishment like a good little whore, aren’t you?”

Now you understand. You see. And you settle onto the bed as he smooths the stinging print with the soft of his hand. 

You nod.

“Good.” He spanks you again. “I think we should do one for every time you lied to me. For every time I asked for the truth…and you refused to give it to me.”

Your lashes flutter. You suppose that’s only fair, although in your defense, the truth would have only hurt him.

“Let’s see…we’ll start with five,” he says and you exhale a sigh of relief. “Because I know you don’t mean to be a bad girl, do you?”

You whimper.

“You want to be good. Want to behave for me.” He spanks you. Number three. “You want a lot of things from me, don’t you? And maybe I’m bad, too. For not being able to give them to you.”

The air in the room shifts and you attempt to glance back.

However, he lays another firm smack to your ass before you can and then squeezes your hip. “Come on, you’re almost done,” he coos. A beat passes. “Do you remember me mentioning the traffic light system?”

You nod.

“Red for stop, yellow for pause, green for good, keep going?”

Nod.

“Good. Then I want you to use your words and tell me what color you are right now. Honestly.”

“Green,” you whisper, then clear your throat and speak louder. “I’m green. Honestly.”

He hums. “And you’re gonna take your last strike, yes?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“And you’re gonna thank me for being so generous to such a selfish fucking whore?”

Your cheeks flush. Oh, he’s very good. “Yes, Sir.”

You still can’t see him but you can imagine his grin.

The last spank of his hand lands against your tender skin and somehow…it feels good. There’s something delicious about his pain. About the way he inflicts it. The way your body responds to it.

You groan—moan—and finally manage, “Thank you, Sir.”

He purrs something devious as he strokes the spot and begins to kiss his way up your spine. “Good fucking girl,” he breathes. The exhale of his praise dances across your back and you shiver. “Took your punishment so well. Wasn’t so bad, was it? Bet you even fucking liked, dirty thing. Didn’t you?”

You nod again and feel his knee begin to nudge its way back between your thighs. 

“Let’s check, shall we?” His fingers move now for the mess you already know is there. And when he feels it, he curses. “Fucking shit, Kitten, you’re soaked.”

You are. You are soaked and you’re making a mess of your duvet and his knee and he still hasn’t let you cum yet and you think you might die if he waits any longer. 

“Harry,” you nearly cry. “Please…please…”

He brings his kisses to the back of your neck. To the place below your ear that makes your stomach flip. He kisses. Sucks. Nips and violates the skin with his teeth.

“Okay,” he agrees. “Okay, but only because I know you need it.”

You nod again and begin to turn over. He goes to stop you—he wants to try from behind—but you insist.

“I want to see your face,” you say. “Please, I just…I need that tonight.”

The softness in his eyes and the fall of his expression almost hurts you. You don’t want to cause him pain or confusion. Ever.

But he’s not confused. He understands. And he agrees because maybe he needs it, too.

You pull him out of his briefs and he hikes your leg around his hip. Until the heel of your foot is digging into his ass and pulling him forward.

When he first pushes in, you both take a moment of silence to appreciate the beauty of your bodies connecting.

Harry was once your best friend and now he’s something else entirely. A completely different entity and you never imagined you’d see his cock disappearing into your cunt but now you don’t want to imagine his cock anywhere else.

When he’s about halfway in, he pulls back out and begins a steady pace. He’s large and he knows you need a moment or two to find the pleasure before he picks up a faster rhythm. So, he puts the focus on you. On your clit, on your thighs, on the way his lips feel against yours.

He kisses you—soft, sweet. Gentle. And then he kisses your neck. Your chest. Plays with your tits and whispers about how good they feel in his hand.

Then, he buries himself to the hilt as his hips find yours.

You arch and he catches you. There are more kisses, more soft murmurings. And there’s an intimacy here that doesn’t feel like sex. It feels like making love, a term you once scoffed at but now indulge in. Because maybe he does love you, in the only way he knows how. Maybe he does choose your body over hers. Maybe this was the best thing that ever could have happened to you. 

You grab his hand and bring it to your throat. Pointed enough that he knows what you want and after a quick glance for consent…he squeezes.

Your lashes flutter and you press on his knuckles. Harder. He obeys.

And you were right. His hand does look good on your body. A necklace to wear proudly and he whispers your name before tightening his grip and allowing the sides of your sanity to go fuzzy before loosening his fingers. 

You breathe. Deep. The air tastes like him and you love it.

He smiles. “You okay?”

“More than okay. That was…shit, I really like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Probably cause you’re doing it.”

He uses this hold to kiss you and it’s a mess of tongues and spit and loud sucking. It makes you giggle.

“You’re making this very hard for me,” he suddenly whispers.

“Well, I prefer you hard.”

He smirks, but this is not what he means. “I want this to work.”

“I know. I do, too.”

He surges forward—a sharp thrust. “It can’t work if Ethan’s in the picture.”

Oh. “Why? Because you need room for Rebecca?”

He sighs and you hate how sad it sounds. “I know I’m not being fair—”

“You’re not.”

“I can’t help it—”

“Well, neither can I.”

He stops for a moment and looks at you. “You have every right to go out with him. I know that. But I think I’ll lose my fucking mind if you do.” He continues to roll his body against yours and you want to purr. “So I want to make a deal.”

“Okay…”

“If you go out with Ethan, you go out with me,” he says. “If you date him, you date me. And I’ll play nice. I’ll share. But only until you realize he’s a waste of time.”

You run your fingers along his shoulders. Along his back. Along the curve of his ass. You think about his proposition. It sounds good, it does. A way to keep him while also keeping your options open. 

Because maybe this way, it won’t hurt so much when he still goes home to her.

“Can I think about it?” you ask. 

He kisses you. “Of course. Always.”

You resume the languid but fervent pace he previously set. He squeezes your neck whenever he wants to hear you whimper and you scratch your nails down his spine whenever you want him to groan.

And it’s perfect. Truly. Because while you’re on this date with Ethan, he’ll be able to see the marks Harry left on your throat.

And when Harry goes back to Rebecca, she’ll see the scratches down his back made by your hands.

You can’t help but feel satisfied with the idea and it brings you that much closer as Harry presses your hips to the bed and begins to fuck into you harder.

He readjusts his stance above you, knees deep into the mattress and hands clutching the sheets beside your waist. And every thrust is purposeful. Hard. Beautiful. The sounds are symphonic and when you look down to see, you nearly mewl. The way his cock is absolutely fucking covered in you, slipping in and out of your cunt with ease and determination. 

He’s beautiful when he’s focused. When he’s about to cum. You just want to kiss him and hold him and love him and be his.

And you fucking hate it.

“Need you to cum, baby,” he whispers and you nod in agreement. “Can you do that?”

“Yes….yes, Sir,” you stammer, already feeling the overwhelming power creep up your thighs. “I’m…I—”

“I know. I know, come on—”

You do. Just like that. Unravel like a spool of thread and dissolve into nothing but pleasure beneath him.

But you don’t feel him follow. In fact, he continues fucking you through your high until he suddenly pulls out and comes all over your swollen pussy.

It’s the most mesmerizing thing you think you’ve ever seen. The sticky substance paints your cunt in masterful strokes. Glistening from your body, your clit, your thighs like stars.

And you want to be disappointed that he didn’t finish inside but soon you understand why.

He takes your hand. Moves it closer and presses your fingers into the mess. 

“Touch it,” he whispers. “Fuck it back in.”

Your eyes widen. He smiles but the look in his eye is mischievous and deranged.

“Go on, Kitten,” he says. “I wanna watch.”

Your arms are shaking. In fact, every part of you is still shaking from your orgasm but you obey. You slowly—very slowly—begin to circle your touch around your clit. Feeling the way it nearly throbs as you stimulate it. As you force it into more pleasure.

Harry’s attention is glued to the show before him as he swallows thickly and you swear you can almost see his heart beating against his chest like a cartoon.

You move down. Collect as many drops of him as you can and slowly begin to ease two fingers into your fluttering hole.

When you reach the knuckle, you gasp and he exhales. 

It’s perfect.

He scoots back until he can lay on his stomach and place his cheek against your thigh. Close. Close enough that you can feel his breath fan across your hand.

And he watches. Happy. A lazy smile on those beautiful, pink lips. Lashes fluttering every time you whimper or whine.

“I…I can’t,” you whisper. The sensations are too strong. You’ve already cum once, you can’t possibly cum again so soon.

He hums. “Yes, you can. Let me see, baby. Let me watch.”

And you almost want to be embarrassed but something else seems to take over your mind entirely and you can’t help but go faster.

You pinch and curl and flex. You push his offering as far into you as you can reach and then you push in a little more. And it’s easier this time, even if it almost hurts. But you cum. You do, right in front of his very eyes until he’s quickly grabbing hold of you as though he’s desperate to be closer.

You’re more than a puddle this time. You’re practically limp but you’re also so incredibly happy. And he smiles brightly as he pulls your fingers away and puts them in his mouth.

You don’t even have the energy to make a noise this time. You merely watch him—content—until he starts kissing down your palm, along your arm, and to your chest.

Then, he pulls you into his embrace and you both indulge in a moment of peace. 

You’re both quiet for a while. Even after your heartbeat has steadied. Even after the sweat on your skin has dried and the room no longer feels so warm. 

You run your fingers down his torso. Along the dips and curves of his muscles that seem more defined every time you see him. 

“You’re insufferable,” you finally say and he laughs. The sound bounces between the walls of your room—joyous and unencumbered—and it makes you giddy. He doesn’t laugh like this for her. “What? You are.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah. I know.”

Another beat. Longer.

Then, you whisper, “Okay.”

He looks down. “Okay?”

“I’ll agree to your deal.”

“Really?” He’s grinning again. Big.

“Mhm. As long as I get to keep you in some way…maybe it’ll be worth it.”

He seems to sadden at the use of the word maybe, but he brushes it off before you can comment on it. Instead, he pulls you closer and kisses you hard. Forever. 

And maybe…this won’t be so bad.

Previous Part:

~ Insatiable You* (Pt. 2)

~ Full Infinite You Masterlist

~ Main Masterlist

Amazing divider by @firefly-graphics! 💞

Taglist: @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @littlenatilda @vamprry @fdl305 @tchalametishot @ssaama @indierockgirrl @likeapplejuicenpeach @vane28282 @lukesaprince @closureesny @lc-fics @0nlythrowharrybeaux @hannahdressedasabanana @iguessyourejustwhatineeded @dylanobandposts21 @butdaddyilovehim-hs @floral-recs @itjustkindahappenedreally @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @buckybarnessimpp @hannah9921

[too-much-tma-stuff]

Finally Getting Help (prt 6)

Masterpost

The Wayne family gathered in the family room once Alfred was done setting up the projector, somehow there was also a plate of cookies and a couple pots of tea on the coffee table. How he’d found the time they didn’t know, he always seemed to be doing just a little more than should be possible but they didn’t question it. 

Jazz seemed nervous as she plugged in her USB and accessed the power point on Ghosts and Liminality. The tidal page had a picture of Danny in his Phantom form standing with a group of others, a boy with gray skin and blond hair, a girl with green hair and skin, and a goth with purple eyes and a dark skinned boy who looked around Danny’s age, and Jazz with the title “Ghosts and Liminals!” 

The next slide had simple text: “What are they and How are they made?”

With each slide she read the text on the screen allowed and then added any context or anecdotes she thought of, or had prepared. 

(Next slide)

Ghosts:

Made of ectoplasmic energy and obsession

Made either:

when someone dies with strong enough desires

An idea gains enough traction to take on a life of its own

Immutable concepts and gods

Must be allowed to indulge in obsessions or they will cease to exist

All have basic abilities such as flight, intangibility, invisibility, and minor shape shifting

On top of basic abilities most will have additional powers based on their obsessions

Immortal unless killed 

Love to fight

Liminals

Made when a human is exposed to high levels of ectoplasm for prolonged periods of time

Have some ghostly traits 

Ghostly traits vary person to person

Less susceptible to human illness and injury

“The ghosts on the picture are Kitty and Johnny, we’ve had problems with them but would consider them friends now. They’re the ghosts of two humans who died, but there are others, Vortext for instance is the ghost of Storms. Those ghosts who come from ideas are called ‘neverborns’. There seem to be almost an infinite number of ghosts, however not all of them are interested in having anything to do with us so we tend to get the same faces showing up a lot in Amity.

“I don’t know how many liminals there are. I thought they might be new with my parents' research but as I look into it more I think there are more natural sources of ectoplasm then my parents thought.” Jazz explained before going to transition to the next slide.

“I have a question-” Bruce started before Jazz hushed him. 

“Wait till the end please! I might answer it without you having to ask,” She scolded, and he felt very much like a schoolboy again as his children snickered.

(Next slide including a image of the glowing green viles in the Fenton’s lab and a glowing green crystal)

Ghost biology 

Ghosts do not have any recognizable organs or bones

The only solid part of their being is their Core which is the source of their ectoplasm 

Any injury to a ghosts form not done directly to their core is considered minor and will heal

A healthy ghost is fully capable of mending any damage including removed limbs in a matter of hours or days depending on extent of the injury

All injuries not including the Core are considered minor 

Ghosts are considered young for at least the first hundred years of their existence and are often not considered adults until nearly 500

A caveat to this is ghosts are heavily driven by emotion and will often be the age they feel they are allowing ghosts to mature much more quickly, or more slowly

When this is the case ghosts are treated as the age they present and behave

Ghosts reproduce by shaping ectoplasm and Wanting a child badly enough

“Believe me it was incredibly scary the first time I saw Danny in his ghost form have something go right through his stomach. It took him a long time to convince me it wasn’t a big deal and it barely hurt. He does have to make sure he repairs the damage Before turning human again though or the damage can transfer over and I don’t need to tell you a hole in the gut is a lot more serious for humans!

“If I’m honest I only know ghosts that have stayed younger then they really are, for instance Youngblood who’s a few hundred years old and could be well on his way to adulthood if he wanted but has remained a child. I assume it can go the other way though, if a ghost is very mature for their age.”

Ectoplasm 

Ectoplasm is the energy that makes up all ghosts and the Ghost Zone itself. All ghosts can feed on the ectoplasm around them as well as produce their own by indulging in obsessions. The ghosts Cores produce the ectoplasm like a brain produces neurochemicals when exposed to the right stimulation.

Ectoplasm is a powerful source of energy but unstable. When it is stabilized into an ecto-crystal it is more stable and can be used as a power source safely by ghosts and liminals.

“Most ectoplasm is green like you see in the pictures. But it isn’t the only colour, some other ghosts produce different colours and it is highly tied to what emotion drives them. When it’s pure it usually smells like petracore but it can get pretty foul.”

(next slide)

What are Obsessions

Every ghost has one or more obsessions

They can be very literal things such as boxes, or ideas and emotions such as Love

In rarer cases they may have dual obsessions

Unlike for humans obsessions are very healthy for ghosts

Ghosts need to indulge their obsessions

Sometimes the way ghosts indulge their obsessions might seem evil, however it is almost always just amoral 

Obsessions shape every part of a ghost from their powers to thier physical appearance, to befriend a ghost you Must understand and aid their obsession

In very extreme circumstances a ghosts obsession may shift, sometimes this is healthy, more often it is a result of extreme trauma

“With my interest in psychology this was sort of hard for me to accept. From the outside the way ghosts obsess seems really unhealthy but it’s what gives them life. When not allowed to indulge in their obsessions ghosts will dysregulate and go to extreme lengths to try and get their obsession, if that doesn’t work they either go dormant if their core is still healthy enough or they will melt. 

“Ghosts change their obsessions very rarely, I’ve heard of it happening as they heal. For instance once a ghost has gotten revenge for themselves, if that was their obsession, their obsession might shift to avenging other people, or even protecting them so they don’t need to be avenged.”

(Next Slide)

Ghost Culture

The Ghosts have a monarchy

The title of the Ghost King is not hereditary but passed through trial by combat

Under the monarch is a council of being known as Observants, and powerful and old ghosts called Ancients 

Ghosts respect strength and value power and cunning in combat a lot

Ghosts bond with each other through combat and play fight with family and friends often

“I have down that the ghosts are a monarchy, and technically that is true but the current Ghost King was a tyrant who was locked away thousands of years ago. I’m sure as soon as someone shows up who’s powerful enough to beat him his court will be happy to pick up where they left off with a better King, or queen, though I don’t think the title has to change based on gender.

“I really can’t stress enough how violent ghosts are! Because nothing short of having their cores shattered can kill them, play fighting for them can look Very Much like a murder attempt to a human. A lot of the issues we’ve had with ghosts have come from them just not understanding quite how fragile humans, and for most of them they feel really bad once they know they actually Hurt someone by shooting them. It’s really best for everyone when they’re kept separate and Ghosts can happily tear each other apart in peace.”

Liminals

The result of long term low level exposure to ectoplasm, sudden high doses are almost always deadly

Liminals Can have almost every trait a ghost can, usually having a combination of a few

Commonalities between liminals include

Minor cosmetic changes such as: glowing eyes, pointed ears, and/or sharp teeth 

Increased stamina, strength, and aggression

Increased obsessive behaviour

Liminals sometimes develop powers shaped by the strength and type of obsession 

“Most of the people Danny and I know are liminals. I don’t want to talk about them in case they don’t want to be outed so I’ll talk about myself and my parents. We all had prolonged exposure after all. My ears are pointed,” She said brushing her hair back so they could see them, “And Danny is a little more then liminal but even in human form he has fangs. 

“My parents didn’t realize it but they could to the point they could subsist on their obsession without needing to eat or sleep as often as a regular human would. About a year ago I started developing the ability to tap into and feel other peoples emotions, I can feed on them a little too but I try not to because the Worst ghost we met did that and I don’t want to be anything like her.”

(Next Slide)

In conclusion

Ghosts are not evil even though sometimes their actions are hard to understand

Never get between ghosts when they’re fighting each other but it’s usually safe to yell at them to remind them not to break anything

Never get between a ghost and their obsession

Don’t drink ectoplasm unless you know you’re already liminal

“I have a feeling the section about liminals will be familiar to a bunch of you. I know Damian is liminal though I don’t know how he was exposed to ectoplasm and some of you,” Her eyes skirted across Tim and Bruce. “Are toeing the line. You’ll probably notice Damian and Danny getting really close, and they might get in some really vicious looking fights. I promise Danny is playing at least.”

The family was left silent for a moment, Bruce knew he was thinking about Jason. Who had died, been exposed to.. What certainly seemed to be something like Lazarus water and come back, obsessive, aggressive, and emotional. He wished he’d had this powerpoint a long time ago. It helped understand Damian too but mostly he was thinking about Jason. He needed to reach out again, maybe meeting Danny would be good for Jason?

“So uhhh, ya, that’s the end of the powerpoint?” Jazz said, shifting from foot to foot in the awkward silence. “Any questions?”

Next

[ink-n-shadow]

after the day i’ve had, i’m thinking about owner!ghost just taking care of me)):

NO MORE TEARS

𝜗𝜚 the one where you have a bad day and owner!ghost is more than happy to take care of you

𝜗𝜚 pairing: owner!ghost x puppy!reader 𝜗𝜚 cw: no explicit smut but allusions to smut themes (so minors—DNI). obvious dom/sub dynamics, pet play, mentions of collars, subspace in play but not explicitly mentioned, sweet!owner!ghost, very self-indulgent work, unedited as usual

owner!ghost knows as soon as you fumble your way through the front door of your shared flat that you’d had a bad day. he can see it all over your face—the way your eyebrows are furrowed and pinched in the middle of your forehead, how the corners of your lips are tugged down, posture slumped and eyes blinking sleepily over at him.

his hands are on you as soon as he crosses the living room to meet you at the door, pushing loose strands of hair away from your face and letting his thumbs sweep gently across the planes of your cheeks. “there’s my pretty girl—y’ alright? did’ya ‘ave a bad day, baby?”

and ghost lets you get it all out of your system, listening to you rant and rave all the while running his hands up and down your arms in a soothing attempt to quell the rising tide of emotions inside of you. as the tears begin welling in your lash line, his thumb reaches up to brush gently against the necklace you always wear around your neck.

to the outside world, it looks like a simple piece of jewelry, small gold rectangular links (or silver links, depending on your metal preference) looped infinitely around your neck with no clasp. forever locked around your throat—well, at least until ghost decides it's time for you to get a new one, then he's got you kneeling between his thighs and gently snipping the necklace from your throat just to weld another one on the very next day.

the slight brush against the necklace is enough to have a hiccuping sob rip from your chest, lurching forward instinctively and burying your face into the soft wool covering ghost's chest.

"shhh, shhh—s' alright, baby. no more tears, hmm? you're 'ome now," and owner!ghost is immediately sweeping you up in his arms, one hand secured beneath your bum and the other buried in your trestles of hair. “lemme take care of ya, yeah? make it all go away?”

words seem to escape you now, the stress and panic and dread from the day melting away from you as soon as you’re wrapped up in ghost’s arms. an almost pitiful whimper leaves your mouth in response, sounding almost unhuman as it exits your lips and melts into the air around you.

but it doesn’t deter owner!ghost or make him worried—no, he’s become quite acquainted with that kind of noise.

“s’fine, pup. y’ know ‘ow to ask me,” ghost murmurs softly into your ear as he slowly begins moving the two of you down the hallway towards your bedroom. there’s a soft curl of his lips when he feels the way you nose at his jaw twice, a signal he was all but extremely aware of. and once owner!ghost enters the bedroom, he’s setting you down onto the floor, careful not to bruise your knees as he helps you into a kneeling position before him.

ghost cradles your face in the palm of one of his large hands, thumb catching the stray tears dripping down your cheeks as a gentle smile stretches his lips at the way your teary eyes stare up at him adoringly. he can see the imaginary tail between your legs wagging slightly, hesitant to get too excited before being given permission.

“you’re absolutely sure, baby? more than ‘appy to just talk everythin' out while we have a cuddle,” ghost asks one last time, eyebrow quirked and expression as serious as his tone of voice. he always did one last check, one last verification that this is what you needed in that moment. and the second your chin dips down in a firm nod and the word ‘yes’ slips from your tongue, owner!ghost is slotting his lips against yours in a possessive and slightly messy kiss, keeping a firm grip on your cheeks to push your lips into a pout. once he pulls away and leaves you feeling dizzy, he pats your cheek firmly, gesturing to the end of the bed.

“be a good dog ‘nd find yer collar for me, then.”

©️ ink-n-shadow 2024

do not copy, plagiarize, steal, borrow, or repost any of my work without my expressed permission

[suntoru]

(PARENT)HESIS ON LOVE!

— SYNOPSIS: gojo has always been the one babied; although now that you're pregnant, the roles have been reversed.

— WARNINGS: pregnant reader, fluff, hormones, insecurities about getting bigger, referred as mama once or twice, not proofread, a bit of crying, 1k words

— AUTHOR’S NOTE: guys i'm cooking i swearrrrrrrrrr i'm too sad to write

gojo satoru is completely infatuated with you, especially now that you're carrying his child. every little thing about you seems to sparkle with an extra layer of beauty in his eyes; the way your skin seems to glow with an ethereal radiance, and how you've become increasingly dependent on him lately, fills him with a sense of pride.

and oh, his favouritest thing in the world is the way you waddle around the house, so cutely, letting out tiny grunts of effort to get around. normally, you're the one taking care of him, but lately, he's been the one doting on you, attending to your every need with unwavering devotion. he's so mindful, always making sure to take extra care, especially now that your mood swings are coming in at full force.

"you're so beautiful," he whispers to you, his eyes brimming with admiration as he gazes at you. his hand gently rests against your swollen stomach, his touch tender and soft. feeling a tiny kick from the baby, he can't contain his joy. "our baby's getting so big," he murmurs, his voice filled with wonder and adoration.

however, despite his pure intentions, hormones wreak havoc on your emotions, causing your mood to plummet suddenly. his innocent remark triggers a surge of insecurity and sensitivity within you.

"are you calling me big?" you mumble, your doe eyes welling up with tears as you struggle to hold back your emotions. crossing your arms defensively, you glare up at him, the hurt evident in your expression.

yet, gojo remains remarkably patient, his demeanor unwaveringly gentle as he responds to your emotional outburst. he never raises his voice or shows even a hint of frustration, instead choosing to shower you with affection and understanding. with a soft smile, he leans down to press a tender kiss to your swollen belly, his lips conveying all the love and reassurance he feels for both you and the precious life growing inside you.

"you know that's not what i meant," he reassures, his voice a soothing balm to your frazzled nerves. as your grumpiness begins to surface, he remains by your side, tenderly massaging your sore legs, smiling up at you gently. with a sniffle, you push him away, your lips forming a stubborn pout as tears stream down your cheeks.

"go away," you sob, your voice tinged with a mix of sadness and frustration. "i don't wanna see your face right now." he sighs softly, his thumb gently wiping away your tears as he cups your face with infinite tenderness.

"do you really want me to go?" he asks, his voice filled with genuine concern, his willingness to leave evident in his earnest gaze if it would even bring you an ounce of peace. the thought of him leaving, even temporarily, fills you with a sense of emptiness and longing.

"no," you sniffle, longing to be held in his arms but hindered by the growing bump of your stomach. you sulk over the fact that you can no longer fit perfectly into his embrace like before, and how your increased appetite and mood swings must be testing his patience. insecurity grips you tightly as you think about how tired he must be of your constant ups and downs, from holding your hair back as you suffer from morning sickness to enduring your emotional outbursts. the fear of burdening him weighs heavily on your heart, and before you know it, fresh tears cascade down your cheeks.

"i'm sorry..." you sob, feeling utterly overwhelmed by your emotions, unable to contain the torrent of tears streaming down your cheeks. "i'm fat, and... and ugly now, and i've been so mean to you lately..." your voice breaks as you unload your insecurities onto his sleeve, seeking solace in his comforting presence. frowning with concern, gojo gently brushes your hair behind your ears, his touch tender as he pulls you closer into his lap.

"hey, what are you talking about? you aren't any of those." he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm against the storm of your emotions.

"b-but... i can't even tie my own shoes without help because i'm big..." you snivel, hiccupping between words. he continues to stroke your head with a gentle rhythm, allowing you to cry freely against his chest, your tears dampening the fabric of his expensive shirt.

"you're carrying a literal human being in you; of course you'd get a little bigger," gojo reasons, his words carrying a reassuring weight. despite your doubts and fears, he remains steadfast in his support, his unwavering love evident in the earnest gaze he directs towards you. "but that doesn't mean i love you less. you always are, and will be, my pretty girl," he adds, his smile radiating warmth and affection, a beacon of reassurance in the midst of your turmoil. feeling unworthy of such devotion, you struggle to comprehend how someone as incredible as gojo could love you so unconditionally. his declaration of love washes over you like a gentle wave, soothing your battered soul with its sincerity.

"i love you, yeah?" he whispers, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on your back in a tender attempt to calm your racing heart. you nod softly, finding comfort in his embrace, your arms wrapped tightly around him as he kisses away your tears, his touch soothing your soul. "you're perfect," he murmurs against your cheek, his voice filled with adoration as he peppers your face with gentle kisses.

"our baby's lucky to have you as its mama." you cling onto him as if he's your lifeline, his presence grounding you amidst the turmoil of emotions swirling inside you. with each whispered word he rambles to the life growing within you, he fills the air with promises of love and protection, his hand caressing your swollen belly tenderly.

"hey there, little one," he coos, his voice filled with anticipation. "you behave for mama, okay? we can't wait to meet you."

© SUNTORU 2024. do not copy, repost, or translate any of my works on any platform.

[girlkisser13]

birds of a feather

"i knew you in another life" "you had that same look in your eyes" "i love you, don’t act so surprised"

pairings: percy jackson x fem!reader

warnings/tags: none. tooth rotting fluff. established relationship.

summary: "i love you in every universe."

the warm afternoon sun filtered through the trees, casting a dappled pattern of light and shadow over the grassy clearing. the air was filled with the sweet scent of wildflowers, and the gentle hum of bees buzzed around the two of you as you sat cross-legged on the soft grass, your fingers deftly weaving a colorful flower crown. percy lay with his head in your lap, his eyes closed, a peaceful smile playing on his lips. his dark hair felt soft under your touch as you carefully arranged the flowers, making sure each one was placed just right.

the two of you had stolen away to this hidden spot, far from the hustle and bustle of camp half-blood. it was your secret sanctuary, a place where the both of you could escape from the chaos of your lives as demigods and simply be yourselves. as you worked on his flower crown, you found myself lost in the simple, soothing rhythm of the task.

percy’s voice broke the comfortable silence, soft and contemplative. "do you think parallel universes are real?"

you paused, your fingers stilling for a moment as you considered his question. "i don’t know," you admitted, your focus still on the flowers in your hands. "maybe. there’s a lot we don’t understand about the universe."

percy opened his eyes and looked up at you, his sea-green eyes thoughtful. "i’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. about how there could be other versions of us out there, living different lives."

you nodded absently, selecting a bright yellow daisy and adding it to the crown. "it’s a nice idea. infinite possibilities and all that."

he reached up and took your hand, his touch warm and grounding. "do you think we’d still find each other? in those other universes?"

his question caught you off guard, and you looked down at him, your heart skipping a beat. there was something earnest and vulnerable in his expression that made your chest tighten with emotion.

"i don’t know," you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "i’d like to think so."

percy’s smile widened, and he gave your hand a gentle squeeze. "i think we would. no matter what."

you tilted your head, curiosity piqued. "how do you know?"

he shifted slightly, turning so that he could look up at you more easily. "because i love you," he said simply. "and my love for you is so strong, so pure, that i can’t imagine any version of me not feeling the same way. it’s like... like a universal constant."

you felt heat rise to your cheeks, and you looked away, focusing on the flower crown to hide your embarrassment. "that’s... really sweet, percy."

"i’m serious," he insisted. "i believe that in every universe, i would find you. and i would love you just as much as i do now."

you could hear the sincerity in his voice, and it made your heart swell with affection. you finished the last few touches on the flower crown and gently placed it on his head, the colorful blossoms a stark contrast to his dark hair.

"there," you said, smiling down at him. "perfect."

percy reached up to touch the crown, his fingers brushing against the petals. "thank you," he said softly. "for everything."

you leaned down and pressed a kiss to his forehead, feeling the warmth of his skin against your lips. "i don't think i could love you any more than i already do," you said quietly. "i think i’d love you till the day i die."

he closed his eyes again, his expression one of utter contentment. "that’s all i need to hear."

you stayed like that for a while, the world around you fading into the background. in that moment, it didn’t matter what dangers awaited you outside your little sanctuary, or what challenges you would have to face as demigods. all that mattered was the here and now, and the love the two of you shared.

and maybe, just maybe, percy was right. maybe your love was a universal constant, something that would endure no matter what. it was a comforting thought, one that made you believe in the possibility of parallel universes and the idea that you would always find each other, no matter what.

as the sun began to set, painting the sky with hues of pink and orange, you knew that this moment would be etched in your memory forever. because in every universe, in every possible reality, you knew one thing for certain: you would always love percy jackson.

[with-my-calamitous-love]

PUT ON YOUR RECORDS AND REGRET ME

katsuki bakugou x reader

should you open the door after all he’s done?

part 2/3

a/n: ty for all the love on part 1 🤍

not saying this is a major vent based off of personal experience but im not not saying that

inspired by high infidelity

to say you didn’t always have suspicions would be a lie. you didn’t want to believe them. broken locks, shifty text messages, numbers you didn’t always recognize, and the slight feeling of him pulling away. you didn’t think he’d actually do it. and honestly, neither did he.

alcohol does crazy things to a person. and so when you, your boyfriend, and all his friends decided to go out to a bar to celebrate his birthday, you knew it wasn’t going to be a tame night. but you didn’t think you’d go home, alone and crying, the scent of whiskey lingering on your clothes.

he bent the truth too far that night. he came to you in the morning, his hangover evident by his eye bags and poor choice of clothing. he still smelled like alcohol from the night before.

and despite all that, you still listened. listened to his story about how he was whisked away in a drinking game with kaminari and kirishima, and bakugou was supposedly the only one sober enough to take the two guys home. that made a convenient explanation as to why he left you all alone with no ride home.

and pathetically so, you wanted to believe him. despite the radio silence from everyone the everyone the previous night, the smell of perfume on his shirt that smelled too strong to be yours, and the taste of someone else when he kissed your lips.

and for each day after that, you learned more and more the many different ways you can kill the one you love. the worst way is never loving them enough.

it started by your calls going straight to voicemail- each time he’d say that his phone died while he was patrolling. then constantly needing to call kirishima, the only other person who knows him like you do, desperately needing help to manage his emotions. the redhead had infinite patience for your boyfriend, and you were thankful for that- but you also wondered what haunted bakugou so much that he couldn’t go to you for.

he wanted to play the role of the good guy, even if it was just that- a role. he wanted to be who you deserved, even after he earned a big black stain on his morality after the crime he committed. he wanted things to just be normal, but it couldn’t. he was lying through his teeth and you both knew it, and yet couldn’t say anything about it.

until april 29th. exactly 9 days after his birthday. 9 days after what he did.

he breaks it off quick. he tells you that he’s not treating you right, that he’s a shitty boyfriend and a shitty person. that he needs to be a better person and that he can’t make you wait for him. and so, katsuki bakugou leave safe and stranded.

and in a way, he was right. being a shitty boyfriend, being everything you don’t deserve was only a part of it- he knew that if he stayed with you any longer, the guilt from the truth would eat him alive. so selfishly, he chose to preserve himself and to let you hurt. that might have killed him more.

you didn’t even bother to get your things from his apartment. in fact, you couldn’t get out of bed. because you kneel you were lied too yet you didn’t want to revel in the truth. the truth that katsuki bakugou wasn’t just a shitty boyfriend, he was a shitty cheating boyfriend.

you denied everything for the days to come. you hoped it was all just some twisted dream, and that what happened wasn’t really happening. that was all so until the day you got a visit from a certain redhead.

it was a normal day. you were lounging in your apartment, needing time away from all the heartache in the world. you treated your suspicions like a secret. maybe if you didn’t think about it, it wouldn’t have actually happened. as if simple denial could erase reality.

the sun is setting when your doorbell rings. when you answer, its kirishima. your heart sinks, wondering why he’d be visiting you directly. you wanted to hope for the best, but you didn’t exactly know what to expect.

the redhead grimaces when he sees the way he breaks your heart. he knows he’s doing the right thing, but he hates how the right thing is causing you so much pain. he explains to you the truth of that night, behind katsuki’s sudden break up. how it wasn’t just because he felt like he wasn’t good enough- what he did actually proved that fear. kirishima explains how bakugou got absolutely shit-faced drunk, and how he went home with who was not, in fact, you. he tries to salvage it, by saying that katsuki didn’t hesitate to cut her off, to tell her it was a mistake and that he shouldn’t have done it. he was also quick to tell his best friend how god damn unmanly it was for him to cheat on you. he says that he couldn’t take it anymore watching you being lied even during the split.

“i’m so fucking sorry, [y/n].” he concludes his confession, his red eyes looking into yours. he hates that this is happening. he loves bakugou, and by extension he loves you, and he can’t stand the idea of this happening to his two favourite people in the world.

you don’t say much as he leaves. what could you say, anyway?

katsuki bakugou had cheated on you.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚

after your suspicions were confirmed, you finally mustered up enough courage to get out of bed. you went over to his apartment and quietly collected your things, your heart racing out of your chest just being in his presence. and of course, he tries to stop you. he knows you’ve learned the truth and it makes his stomach churn.

“fucking some other girl is one thing, but lying to me too.” you hiss, both of you wincing at the sound of your voice cracking under all the heart. his usual smart ass mouth is silent, knowing damn well he deserves the accusations. what hurts more is seeing the tears run down your face, dragging the mascara down your cheeks. “you told me it was for my own good. t-that you needed to work on yourself. not that you cheated!”

“…i didn’t wanna hurt you even more.” he finally admits, as if pleading guilty in front a judge. and you actually scoff.

“you coward.” you hiss.

“yeah, i’m a FUCKING coward, [y/n]! i know!” he raises his voice, but you’re too numb from the hurt to care. “i couldn’t live with myself! waking up next to you knowing i fucking betrayed you. i had to let you go. you deserved more than me!”

and honestly, you don’t know what to think. you’re so angry and hurt over the fact that he cheated on you, lied, and broke up with you all in the same month.

you could see the guilt eating him up from the inside. you could see how your tear stained face right now was killing him. his anger was like an anchor dug straight through his heart. you could see in his eyes he’s been wanting to tear his own skin off after what he did to you.

you hastily wipe your eyes dry, turning away from him and moving towards the front door. his legs that were glued to the ground finally move, catching your wrist just as your about to turn the door knob.

and you actually wait. you wait to see what he’ll say. you wait to hear all his shitty excuses, or even to taste his lips and taste something that isn’t you. deep down in your heart, you hope he fights for you. that he’ll fight to keep you around, to love you again.

what hurts the most is that he doesn’t.

“…get home safe, babe.”

you nod, eyes welling up again before exiting his apartment. the walk back down is silent, even as your good friend, shouto, opens the door for you. he drives you home, playing all the breakup songs he knows you love. he’s silent, but he knows its what you need right now.

once he pulls up to your driveway, he finally musters up the courage to speak.

“…i’m sorry, [y/n].”

his voice is so velvet, a stark contrast to your ex boyfriend’s. but honestly, everyones attempts to talk to you all seem futile. you sigh, looking over at your friend with tear stained eyes.

“you know the worst part?”

“whats the worst part?”

“…i think i still love him.”

and thats the worst part.

reminder that cheating is a horrible thing to do and love does not equal forgiveness. this is simply just fiction! 🪞

part 3 soon! 🪽

tags: 💿

@katsukified @theclassiccherry @the-dumpster-fire-of-life @kitkatlover015 @mia-luvs @mikestuffffs @sleepyk0dyz @blue-chup @sleepieenaps @devils-adversary @darling-eos @dilance-rock @jxstmxlly15 @suki0 @morganalatina21 @khadeejanaur @fictional-men-dum @pretty-sparkle-bomb @naladrawssss @whenanafallsinlove

[livelaughlovesubs]

~ 08.10 - Fyodor ~

Dom!abilityUser!reader x sub!Fyodor - reader is gender neutral

Warning: wrong use of ability, aphrodisiac, handjob, teasing, marking, biting, little manhandling, mind break, sub space (?), cum eating, finger sucking, dacryphilia, use of pet names like baby - darling, kinda manipulation (on both sides), hints of hierophilia

~ Word count: 5k ~

Nini!rant: did I repeat myself a lot during this fic? I hope not…

Kinktober list 2024

Your vision blurred. The smoke burned your eyes and lungs, and a rough and painful ache spread from your chest to your throat. It didn’t help that your consciousness was fading in and out, or that you felt like blanking out every time you closed your eyes. You coughed, repeatedly, enough for blood to drip down the corners of your lips. Its metallic taste was one of the very things still keeping you sane. Then you dropped to your knees, fingers clawing at the filthy floor, nails filled with dirt as everything around you got rendered to ashes.

The heat made you sweat, and even though you could feel a chilly sensation run down your spine, flickering lights and the crunch of wood burning filled your awareness. With the last bit of strength you had, you looked up, arms reaching out to your mentor. They were the one who raised you, and the one who were shrieking and burning on the ground.

“Ughh- guhh…!!” You tried to talk, to call out to them, yet your voice was hoarse. Only groans of pain alongside incoherent grumbles left your lips as a dark figure approached you. The person kneeled on one knee, using their hand to cover your dry eyes as they whispered, “This is the punishment for their crimes, their sins.” Before long, your vision turned black.

An infinite amount of time passed as you slumbered comfortably. It felt way more comforting than the harsh reality you've been exposed to. When you eventually woke up, you were still alive and breathing, there was also no pain anymore. The smoke subsided, the fire ceased and all the burning buildings disappeared, or were you simply somewhere else? How long has it been since you were knocked out? You sat up from where you were and tried to look around, that’s when you noticed the soft cushion beneath you. Someone brought you here, someone saved you-

“You are awake.” A pretty voice emerged from somewhere. You had a surprised expression on your face, though it almost immediately turned into an alert one the moment you saw whom the voice belonged to. “You- you are..! Urghh!” As soon as you raised your voice a little, you began coughing again, the pain also returned as if it was only playing a prank on you. “I’d advise you to not overuse your voice.” The male said, closing the distance between you two, and taking a seat opposite of you.

There was a large window behind him, where warm rays of sunlight gently illuminated the room. Some of the orange light shone upon his silky black hair, causing it to have a colorful glow. The sky was a mix of red and pink decorated with some elements of orange and yellow, all these shades faded and intertwined, creating a scenery worthy of the title 'perfect'. Based on that alone, it must be dawn right now. In your memory, it was in the middle of the night when that horrific accident happened. It means you’ve been knocked out for at least a day.

Now wasn’t the time to admire nature's beauty, you had more important things at hand, for example, the person in front of you. He has been reticent since he sat down, piercing through your skull with his violet eyes. It felt like he was trying to read your mind, this pressure was suffocating. “Fyodor Dostoyevsky.” You mumbled weakly, each word you uttered itched and hurt. This man was the one who burned your home, he’s the one who put your mentor to sleep. But why?

Many strong emotions filled you from the inside, about to make you explode. Though you couldn’t, now wasn’t the time. “Why… did you let me live?” You asked him, hoping to get to know what your value is in his eyes and the reason behind his actions. Was he planning on using you as a war trophy? “What did master do to you?!” Due to your lack of voice, you were whispering, yet the way you stressed your words showed your intentions, you were in despair, and pure confusion.

Instead of answering anything, he poured you and himself some tea, then gestured for you to drink. “It's a simple black tea with lemon and sugar, to soothe your throat," he explained as he reached for his cup, but you bested him to it. Out of concern and wariness, you took his cup instead of yours, not caring about politeness in the face of death. Fyodor didn't stop you, he pulled his hand back to let you have full access to his cup, then grabbed yours and took a sip.

Despite the absurdity of the situation, you were thankful for the beverage, its effects showed in less than a minute. Afterward, he got up to go over to you, he leaned forward to cup your cheeks, and his gesture was painfully gentle. It tugged at your heart, it stung and you felt tears prickling in the corners of your eyes, the loss of someone dear was still a fresh wound.

For some unknown reason, you couldn’t move, too overwhelmed to act, too speechless to push him away. The burning sensation returned, a small part of you wished you could go down with your instructor. “As for your question, it's because I only punish the sinners.” He showed you a look of pity, full of what seemed to be genuine empathy, brows furrowed as he cooed, “Your mentor, he… he has been torturing the innocent souls of this world, there was no other way.” The way he talked was peculiar, strangely foreign yet elegant.

When the news of your teacher being a cold-hearted murderer echoed through your mind, you felt your world crumbling for a moment. They would never do that- right? After all, if they were that ruthless, they wouldn’t have taken you in. You didn’t know where to look at. What if he was lying? Was your faith in your guardian so poorly that you’d believe false information this quickly? Yet you weren’t able to shake off that ominous feeling, that familiar sense of betrayal and doubt.

"I'm sure it came across as quite the shock, but I ask you to believe me." The male said, pulling out a stack of paper from under the desk, and slamming it onto the tea table. "Feel free to look through it, take as much time as you need. And, my condolences." A hint of bitterness laced his tone. Your heart was wavering now, torn between whether or not you should believe him. The way he acted seemed to be real, though it could also be that he was a fantastic actor. In the end, you decided to reach out to the proof he provided you, holding one of the papers as you scanned over it.

It was a detailed report doting down the various crimes your mentor apparently committed, you even realized some of the events, but in a different setting. "Is... is this for real..? Haha- I can't believe it, and, if that's so, I didn't find out all this time?" Your thoughts hung from your lips and showed on your expression, a part of your world was crumbling down on you.

A sense of guilt and dizzy disgust engulfed you, shaking you from the core, and making you question all the memories made with him and your very existence. Could you still call yourself innocent after aiding such a horrible person with such a nativity? Even though you were still lost in your own little space, he raised your chin up, to stare down at you. Your noses were almost touching with how close he was. And with how the light drew across his features, paired with the romantic nature of the atmosphere, you couldn’t stop an impulsive thought from occurring.

The short-lived idea of him being a saint, a divine sent to expose the truth and bring salvation— he has saved you, twice now. You blinked a few times, wondering how you could think of something like that, it was crazy. Your brain must be struggling to process all this information, which led to you having some insane ideas, that must be the case, surely.

The closeness was making you feel dizzy again, eyes staring right into his dark pupils. He was smiling at you, kindly so, though his eyes had nothing but emptiness behind them. Even someone great like him isn't perfect in the art of acting, the eyes are said to be windows to the soul after all. “Y/n.” Fyodor mumbled his voice tender as it wrapped around your heart like a seductive spell, making you feel grossed out by your body's perception of him.

“Focus on me.” The male reminded you, the corners of his lips going up a little. You resumed staring at him, feeling the mood change involuntarily. It’d be a lie to say he wasn’t pretty, and he appeared even more beautiful when he calmly suggested, “Y/n, why don’t you join the decay of angels. By doing so, you can pay for the sins of the deceased, and he'll eventually be able to rest in peace.” He wasn’t asking you, he was making a deal.

You didn't know why but something about him made you feel drawn to him, it made you want to peruse him. Whatever it was that caused you to feel this way, you didn’t want it, it was annoying how it kept clouding your judgment. The thought of joining the enemy group so soon without mourning for the departed didn’t seem correct.

But you couldn’t decline either.

All you could do was stay in your seat, a drop of sweat dripping down the sides of your face as you subconsciously admired him. This bubbling sensation spread to every fever of your being, and in the end, you nodded meekly. The smile on his face widened, and then he asked you, “Y/n, please tell me how your ability works.” Once again, he didn’t seek your opinion, only stating what you had to do. But he was also aware you were an ability user, which might tied into the reasons why he saved you.

With a little hesitation, you reached your hand out to stroke his hair, his didn’t pull back or flinch, as if he was used to it, and nudged into your warm palm. Without missing a beat, you whispered in the still rough voice, “It’s poisonous gas.” As soon as he heard that, he noticed a sweet smell coming from the direction of your hand and he shuddered. Eyes widened while the sickening grin didn’t leave his face, as if he was proud of your small victory against him.

Before he could open his mouth, you added, “It’s not a life-threatening one, don’t worry.” He didn’t look angry, only amused as he let go of you, lingering for a moment longer than necessary before pulling back, sneering almost confidently, “A sly one, aren’t you?” You gave him a bright smile in return, "and you're confident much."

After his touch departed from you, he could feel his body heating up, a strange rush of need engulfing him, eating away at him from the inside. He blamed it on the poison, and he wasn’t wrong. His mind searched for the kind of poison this might be, trying to match the symptoms before he got interrupted by you, or more specifically your hand which had been placed on his head, without him noticing, he must have been careless. You scratched his scalp as gently as he has been treating you. It didn’t look like you were caressing a person but rather a cat, crawling at his skin.

For some reason, his heartbeat went higher and his blood rushed to his head, a meek whine slipping past his rosy lips, “Hmm...” He was in disbelief at his own voice, baffled by how foreign it was. Hell, he didn't recognize himself, this was like a completely different person. “What did you do-” Fyodor's gaze shot up to you, he sensed something ominous.

Consequentially the hand on his head moved down and clasped over his mouth while your other one wrapped around his waist. Then you pulled him closer, getting up in the process and pressing him into the soft cushions. The warmth of your body heat still lingered on his skin, it felt strangely comforting. A heavy blush crept onto his features as he furrowed his brows, both of his hands now crawling at your wrist, trying to peel you off him.

Though he didn’t need to do that, since you were willing to let go by yourself. Alternatively, you were holding his slim waist with both hands now, fingers sinking into his flesh loving yet roughly. “Uh-hmm..!” This time, he placed his hands over yours, trying to signal you to stop. Whenever you pressed down on his hips, a tingly feeling would course through him and he’d shudder helplessly. Poor boy didn’t take it that well, head hanging forward while he gritted his teeth. His pitch-black hair framed his face, sliding past his shoulders and tickling you by brushing over your skin.

“Let go, y/n..” he voiced out those shaky words, letting his facade crumble. You got even closer, nose now in the crook of his neck as you took a deep breath. Then you whispered into his ears, “Thank you for saving me and telling me the— truth…” The last word became so quiet he was barely able to register it. After that, you stuck the tip of your tongue out to lick his earlobe, at the same time you drew circles on his hips with your thumbs.

“Hnngh.. w-what are you..?!” Fyodor winced again. Because you were basically pressing your upper body against his, he couldn’t help but lock his hands around your neck, holding onto you tightly as he pressed his chin against your shoulder. His eyes were half-lidded as more lewd sounds escaped him. At the same time, this weird emotion coursing through him kept making him feel all buzzy inside. Confusion was a word much too vague to explain the state he was in.

On the other hand, you thought the way he held onto you was cute, it was like a little kitten that didn’t want you to leave. “...So please let me repay you.” You uttered, finishing your sentence from before after a long break, then answered his questions, “You are currently under the effects of an aphrodisiac, I thought it might help me service you better.” That’s why he’s feeling this way, so hot and bothered. It was because of your ability.

“M-make it go away then…!” He groaned, glaring at you. You weren’t expecting him to engage in such unsightly acts now, were you? “I am doing that right now. Don’t worry, you’ll feel so good.” A somewhat sinister smile spread on your lips, and then you bit his ear. “UhmM..! No- what?" Fyodor shuddered, head spinning a little from all these foreign sensations. "Are there other ways?” This is bad, it was so pleasurable that it was maddening. His body has become so sensitive all due to the poison, that he was reacting to your every touch, every light brush of your skin against his.

“Begrudgingly, no. Since there’s no other way, try to enjoy it.” You explained, one hand moving to his collar and unbuttoning his shirt while your eager tongue trailed down from his ear to his neck, leaving behind a wet path. “Haaah… you- ughh!” He eventually gave in, squeezing his eyes shut as his body quivered. Now both hands were working on his clothes, but you did it slowly, teasingly slow. At the same time, you licked over his skin, occasionally sucking on a specific area. It didn’t take long until you found a spot he especially liked.

You knew by how he squirmed around, arms losing strength as they limped and fell back next to his body, a dark reddened spot forming where your lips last touched him. It was too much, this drug was making him go insane, he couldn’t think of anything but giving himself to you. “Please..” he begged unbeknownst to himself, feeling you prying his shirt open. Then your knee pressed against his tightly shut legs, trying to separate them and force your way between.

After you did, you grabbed his waist and adjusted his position a little. He didn’t show any resistance, only whimpering in silence as he let you manhandle him. Tears prickled in the corners of his eyes from raw lust, the need for your touch made him so frustrated that he became impatient. “Hurry up.. take responsibility for the mess you made,” Fyodor demanded while wearing a needy expression, you didn't know he was such a touch-starved man. “If that’s what you want.” You smirked devilishly as you took a bite out of him, or rather, you left your teeth marks on his pale skin.

The marks were deep, sinking down on him, like a form of testimony for this shared intimacy. Many hickeys were placed around the bite marks, decorating his sickly-looking body with colors. “Cute,” you commented on his appearance, then moved your lips past his chest down to his belly button. Fyodor didn’t react to that silly compliment, thinking it must have been a slip of the tongue. He let out a shaky breath when he felt you rubbing your cheek against his smooth and soft skin. That single gasp soon turned into a series of huffed moans due to you teasing his nipples.

You used both hands to skilfully circle around the nuds, sometimes flicking them with the tip of your fingers, or nudging them lovingly. Small gestures like this were enough to make him turn his head to the side, cursing out this annoying poison. The more you played with him, the stronger his reactions became. When you got to rubbing his cute and hardened nipples, his thighs squeezed around your waist, subconsciously trying to hide something very inappropriate. But you noticed anyway. He got hard by having his chest played with, enough for him to leak through his pants.

“Fyodor, I didn’t know your nipples were this sensitive.” You gasped excitedly, acting more dramatic than needed. A small yet noticeable wet patch was on his pants, the sticky fluid seeping through the fabric. “It’s because, hah.. of the aphrodisiac.” The male argued, gazing up at you all hostile. “Mhm, sure sure.” Instead of letting it get to you, you continued what you were doing. Humming to yourself before questioning him, “Well, do you want me to touch you?” His eyes basically lit up at that question, drool on the verge of dripping down the corners of his mouth.

“Mhm…” his tone was meek as if he was deliberately hiding his excitement. Putting his pride aside for now, he nodded almost too eager for his liking, and proceeded to avoid your gaze again. Since you got his approval, you decided to take it a step slower, leaning back to take your time to admire him. To worship him. That’s when you noticed how slim he was. Maybe it was due to his hands that were buried in his sleeves, or his shirt that was slipping down his arms, no matter the reason, he looked so petite right now. He was not intimidating or scary at all, not like the demon he was rumored to be.

You’ve already noticed his rather weakly looking physique, but to think it was this apparent. He didn’t really have any toned muscles, nor did he have any colors on his face. To be honest he seemed fragile, like a porcelain doll. When you put your hands on his hips again, gently holding him up and making him arch his back, the only thought running through your head was how easily you could snap him in two, causing you to be even more gentle with him, way more than before. All to take care of this man who was like a saint sent from above.

“D-don’t tease.” Fyodor groaned, tears threatening to fall from his eyes. His arms were still holding your back, clinging to you. Seeing him so needy and defiled made you impatient as well, and you rubbed his bulge through his clothes. The dark patch grew in size, and some of the liquid stuck to your hand. “I-I said don’t tease.” He repeated his words, this time putting more emphasis on his tone, toes curling while he tried to close his legs, of course to no avail. “I doubt this is only the work of the aphrodisiac.” You commented, then pulled his pants down alongside his underwear, revealing his throbbing cock.

It was twitching around in an angry shade of red, leaking pre with no end in sight. “You look like you enjoy it so much, it's so lewd.” You commented, smiling satisfied. The boy glared at you, he didn’t seem to appreciate your commentary, sneering, "Don't let that imagination of yours run wild. It's all the work of your ability." Then he locked his legs around your waist before scoffing, “Just get on with it.” He held you close to him, so close you could hear his weak but fast heartbeats. It had a weird sense of calmness to it.

Ignoring the fact his voice trembled with every word, he was simply too adorable to take him seriously. “Of course, if you allow me the honor of corrupting you?” You asked sarcastically, and your snarky question was met with a fierce glare from him. “I’m not getting corrupted, I’m thriving out the pest inside my body. And may I remind you just whose fault it is?”

Following closely were the muffled laughs from you, hoping to not embarrass him. “Yes yes~ it’s all my fault, so I’m taking responsibility.” Then you wrapped your hand around his shaft, pumping his dick up and down. “HnggGhh! Ah- ahh.. wait, that’s so s-sudden..?!” He moaned loudly, unable to restrain his voice. Your other hand caressed his body, still placed on his waist and holding him up.

“Was I wrong when I speculated you wanted this to be over quickly?” You pressed your forehead against him, slowing down to rub his sensitive gland. More and more precum collected at the tip, dripping down his member, making lewd squelch sounds whenever you moved your fingers. “Haaah…” he squeezed his eyes shut, clawing at your back to balance out the growingly overwhelming sensations. Moaning into your ear, encouraging you with the sweetest melody known to mankind. “Huh? Yes.. you, you weren’t wrong. So hurry… please.”

Right now, you must be grinning so stupidly, totally captivated by him. You quickened your pace, hands gliding across his skin. It was very easy since he had been dripping so much, and you couldn’t stop yourself from making a comment about it, “You are so wet down there, Fyodor. Are you that excited?” He pinched your back, embarrassed by your words, “Don’t- nggGhh… make my body sound so perverted ♡.” Afterward, he continued to try and bite back his moans, but he failed miserably.

“Ah- hmmm..!! It’s too intense, y/n.” Pretty tears rolled down his cheeks as he mumbled as quietly as possible, his voice all breathy and broken. When you noticed these fresh tears climbing down his face, you leaned close to him and licked them away. His tears were salty, like any other human, and they were still warm when they reached your tongue. He sobbed meekly in response to your questionable course of action, his cries stiffening a little.

Why was he crying? Was it due to the embarrassment he felt, or the troubling feelings bubbling inside him? Or because he was too overwhelmed by his own emotions, by this growing heat that was on the verge of exploding? Nonetheless, he blamed it on the aphrodisiac, to shelter himself from the truth, to deny reality once more.

“It’s alright, it’s normal to feel this way.” You whispered against his smooth skin, only moving your lips minimally. With the hand that used to be on his waist, you wiped the tears from the other cheek, watching the water dry after a while, commenting with an adoring voice, “So beautiful.” He was stunned by how tender you were with him, it made his skin crawl and his heart tighten. It was noticeable by the way his blush seemed to intensify. His dick twitched against your hand, uncontrollably so, desperate for more friction and attention. “A-a bit more— I, hic, a little bit…” Fyodor said, unsure what he meant with little, but he knew he was close.

Your hand was all slippery with his juices, and you made sure that he knew every single detail. “Look at that, my hand’s all sticky and dirty now, thanks to you.” To demonstrate what you meant, you raised your hand and held it in front of him, waiting until he opened his eyes to have a look. “Ah..” he winced a little at the loss of pleasure, then buried himself into the nook of your neck, choking out a muffled sentence, “I-I don’t want to see that.. just- make this heat stop… it h-hurts ♡.”

When he did that, you felt your own heart skip a beat, and you cooed at him, “Aah.. right, yes, my bad. You are just too cute.” He held his breath, and only exhaled when he felt your finger wrap around his weeping cock. You kissed his hair, wrapping one arm around his head and playing with the hair on the other side, stroking and caressing it. “So very cute.”

Fyodor seemed to have a rather hard time registering the fact these compliments were meant for him, and not just for the heat of the moment. He stayed quiet, except for the occasional whine that’d escape him when you drag your hand up and down his twitching dick. Then you raised the speed of your hands again, now trying to bring him over the edge. His nails dug into your flesh when he noticed a knot forming in his stomach, toes curling while he gritted his teeth. Your touch was simply heavenly, there was no better way for him to describe it.

"Arghh, y/n..? D-don't stop, don't you dare- i- nghh!!" The male threatened though he wasn't able to finish his sentence without his moans interrupting him. "Hmm~? Why can't I stop?" You teased him, despite knowing the reason very well. Your hand pumped him fast and steadily, slowly down only to take extra care of his tip. He inhaled sharply, opening his mouth to speak but ending up biting your shoulder with a messy expression. "Mfmmhh..! HnnGh~"

A shiver ran down your spine, you could barely stop yourself from grinning as you asked again, "Is something the matter, Fyodor?" If only he wasn't so messed up right now, he'd be seething with anger. Because right now, no matter what expression he pulled, he looked like a ravished and whithering animal. Wet and dried tears continued spilling from his swollen eyes, his entire upper body was covered in marks like a cherry blossom, and his skin glistened with sweat and a heavy blush.

Now moving down to his lower body, which looked like something straight out of a sinful magazine, he was so wet and sticky that he felt ashamed. To be this aroused from nothing but a simple handjob as well, it was a huge hit to his ego. Fyodor took a few moments to collect himself, and once he did, he mumbled almost inaudibly, "It feels too good.. m' gonna cum.." That was the moment you absolutely lost it, you were so infatuated with him it was worse than hypnotise.

Quickening your pace once more, you chuckled happily, "It's alright baby, cum for me, spurt it alll over my hand ♡♥︎" the sudden rise in intensity and pleasure caught him off guard, so badly that he scratched your back, screaming in ecstasy, "aaHhHGgg! W-wait, s-stop~!! It's- it's too muucHhhh! ♡♡ cumming, cumiiinnnng, pull away, it's dirty~ ♥︎♡" The boy looked like he was going crazy from all this bliss, head thrown back while his pupils turned heart-shaped.

He was mewling, drooling, and shaking from his core, brain way too mushy to think, to see if what he was babbling even made sense. Never would you have thought you could turn such a composed and fine man into this dumb little thing, addicted to the sin of the flesh. You kept moving your hand to help him come down from his high, lips pressed against the shell of his ear, "Shhh, it's alright darling, it's okay. It doesn't hurt, right? So it's okay, defile my hand like how I defiled you."

A few minutes passed in silence. You gave him enough time to get used to the feeling and cope with the reality. In the meantime, your hand departed from him, your fingers were all slick with his body fluid, and a pool of thick semen collected on your palm. While you were wondering what to do with it, his breathing was ragged and heavy, looks like he was still not used to all of this. You reached for some tissues from the table, wanting to clear up this mess if not for him to suddenly grab your wrist, bringing your finger to his lips and sucking on them feverishly.

He lapped up all the fluids clinging to you, all while gazing at you with the same eyes as before. Heart-shaped and pleasure-ridden, addicted, and out of his mind. Despite him still having your fingers in his mouth, he cried out, "he heet if stell here, i-if dihmmd woo.." (the heat is still there, it didn't work) before taking your fingers out, gulping down the fluids, and pleading sweetly, "p-please purge me more...♡♥︎♡" This was unexpected, you didn't expect him to react in this way. But you weren't going to complain, you didn't mind taking it a step further. Just...

How were you going to explain that you never used your ability on him?

Tags: @showtime-ss @thisisnotangel @ghostgoosygoose @i-dont-fooken-know @chuuya-brainrot @allyfoxglove @thigh-o-saur @fallenthemisticalyingyang @fem-dom-roze

Nini!rant 2.0:

An aphrodisiac sounds like something really fun, right? Though sadly there is no such thing in real life. According to science, all these foods and pills that claim to raise sexual desire and lust have no real correlation with boosting arousal. Because after all, sexual desire is created due to a series of brain chemistry and sometimes hormones. And that is something so complex it can’t be mimicked with chemicals or food.

Chocolate? The sugar raises euphoria and others, but not lust. Oysters? Apparently it raises testosterone levels, though that’s not arousal neither. Cinnamon and exotic spices? Now that’s a stretch. Sometimes the things suggested by people aren’t even healthy to consume! Like the Spanish fly, which helps with getting an erection. But that’s actually just blisters in the urethra, the tube in the penis…. Cuz the fly comes from blister beetles… yea

Though I’m not saying it can’t work, because sexual desire is created by the brain, right? So if you believe eating a banana helps then you can trick your brain, and it ends up actually helping. Or the rumour with the spices, most of the time it’s about the smell, and if you smell something nice that you like, that calms you, you’re more likely to become turned on then agitated or sad.

I wish aphrodisiacs were real though 😔

[bisexualgerardway]

frank tattoos . frank tattoos as snapshots of his life that he is always able to carry with him so that his story is always with him so that he is always expressing some of the infinite feelings he makes music about even if he is not saying or doing anything . he is always sharing so much .

[ladywhistlewrites]

Hiiiiiii can I request a wife x Anthony bridgerton story where they are newly married and back from their honeymoon so Anthony works a lot where reader nearly never sees him so when she goes to talk to him he snaps at her and takes his stress out on her and reader gives him the silent treatment until she feels like it’s enough. Pls make him work for her forgiveness 😭😭😭😭😭

hii thanks for sending an ask!!🩷 hope you like it :))

Anthony Bridgerton x wife! reader

***

The morning sun casts a golden glow through the windows of your shared home, a beacon of warmth and new beginnings. You and Anthony have just returned from your honeymoon, the memories and whispered promises still fresh in your minds. Every corner of your home feels infused with the love and joy of your new life together, a life that seems to stretch out before you with infinite possibilities.

The first few days are blissful. You and Anthony spend lazy mornings entwined in each other’s arms, sharing laughter over breakfast, and planning your future with excitement. His touch, his voice, everything about him fills you with an overwhelming sense of contentment. You are his, and he is yours.

But as the days turn into weeks, you notice a change. Anthony, ever the diligent worker, begins to spend more time in his study, pouring over documents and attending meetings. At first, you understand. You admire his dedication and are proud of his accomplishments. Yet, gradually, his presence becomes a rarity. He leaves early and returns late, often slipping into bed after you’ve fallen asleep and rising before you awaken.

One evening, after another long day of waiting for him, you decide to confront him. The house is quiet, the only sound the ticking of the clock in the hallway. You find him in his study, hunched over his desk, the dim light casting shadows on his face.

“Anthony,” you call softly, stepping into the room. He doesn’t look up, his attention firmly on the papers before him. You take a deep breath, trying to keep your voice steady. “We need to talk.”

He finally glances up, his expression a mix of exhaustion and impatience. “What is it, my love? I’m very busy.”

The endearment feels hollow, and your heart aches. “I know you’re busy, but I miss you. We barely even spend time together . It feels like you’ve forgotten about me, about us.” you murmur

He sighs, rubbing his temples. “I haven’t forgotten. I’m doing this for us, for our future. Can’t you understand that?” he says with venom in his mouth.

“I understand, but what good is the future if we’re not happy now?” The words tumble out, your voice rising with emotion. “You’re consumed by your work, Anthony. You’re neglecting our marriage.”

His eyes flash with irritation, and before you can react, he snaps. “Just mind your own business, will you? I’m doing what needs to be done.” he spats.

You stand there, stunned and hurt, his harsh words cutting deeper than you’d imagined possible. Without another word, you turn and leave, the sound of your footsteps echoing in the silent house.

In the days that follow, the pain of his outburst lingers. You decide to give him the silent treatment, unable to bear the thought of speaking to him. You avoid him, your interactions reduced to strained silences and cold civility. He tries to reach out, but you turn away, your hurt and pride keeping you at a distance.

Anthony, realizing his mistake, begins to make amends. Each morning, you find fresh flowers on your bedside table, their vibrant colors a stark contrast to the dull ache in your heart. He sends you beautiful gowns, their fine fabrics a reminder of his thoughtfulness. Every day, he apologizes, his voice earnest and filled with regret.

“I’m sorry, my love,” he says repeatedly. “Please forgive me.”

A week passes, and you find yourself missing him more than you can bear. The sight of the flowers, the sound of his apologies, all begin to chip away at your resolve. One evening, as the sun sets and the house is bathed in the soft glow of twilight, you find him in his study once more.“Anthony,” you say quietly. He looks up, hope flickering in his eyes. “I forgive you. But you must promise me, promise me that you will never speak to me like that again.”

He pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly as if he might never let go. “I’ve missed you too, more than you can imagine.”

You stand there, wrapped in each other’s embrace, the world outside fading away. In that moment, you know that no matter what challenges lie ahead, you will face them together, bound by love and the promise of a future filled with happiness.

[peachesofteal]

Dead Disco / Chapter Fifteen Dead Disco masterlist

AO3 Warnings: Angst. The storm.

“You’re here.”

“I’m here.” Your heart breaks on it, on two little words. Breaks apart again at him standing in your door. The silence between the two of you is a scream, and though your tears have dried, there’s still an ache stretching infinitely before you. You peek over his shoulder, hoping Johnny is here too. Wanting to fix the mess you just made, but he’s not.

Simon is alone.

He pulls it wide. His face is twisted. His eyes are red. He’s been crying. The realization nearly brings you to your knees. “Can I come in?”

You didn’t clean the kitchen up, and neither did Johnny. He stood there for too long, kissing you over and over on your cheek, your forehead, your mouth and profusely apologizing, tugging his jeans up over his hips. Frozen afterwards, the two of you, fire and fuel once burning in your veins now ice cold, slithering under your skin like a disease.

That’s what you are. Who you are, who you were. An illness. A plague.

A slowly healing thing.

You always thought they made you better.

“I’ll stay, I should-“ 

“He’ll wonder.” You stared at the floor. “And he’ll worry, you know he will. He’ll be scared something happened to you.” 

“Darling, I dinnae want to leave ye right now-“ 

“I’m fine. Go.” 

Simon doesn’t try to touch you. He takes inventory of the mess, the caramel puddle of coffee spilled over the edge of the counter to the floor, the knocked over stagnant water and paintbrushes.

You become starkly aware, too aware of the state you’re in. The state of your apartment. The state of your brain.

You wish Johnny was with him. You want it to feel like before.

You can see his face so perfectly in your mind, the slope of his nose, the plush of his lips. Anxiety twists your stomach, worry about how he’s doing, what he’s doing weighing you down.

Still. Simon is steadfast. He’s the ship in a storm and you’re the sailor, clinging to a mast, praying to god you’ll survive.

“Are you-“

“I’m sorry I was so emotional on the phone.” You rush out, cutting him off. His brows knit together, prodigious sympathy in his eyes, golden brown refracting.

“I’m sorry for calling.”

“I’m… I’m glad you did.” He steps closer, and then away, opting to stand to the side, still taking stock of the kitchen, studying the orange pill bottles on the counter. “New meds?”

“Yeah.” The conversation is stilted, a dam preventing a flood.

“Are they working out?” You shrug.

“The one makes me really forgetful, but it’s not so bad.”

“That’s good.” You’re nodding and can’t stop. There’s a part of you wanting so badly, so desperately, to go to him, to bury your face in his chest and let it all go.

And there’s another part that doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t know how to reconcile any of this.

“Will you tell me how you’re feeling?”

“Confused. Sad.”

“That’s okay.”

“Is it?”

“Yes, darling. Whatever you’re feeling is okay.” Your stomach rumbles at the exact same time, and his lips quirk to the side. “Are you hungry?”

“A little.”

“Have you eaten today?” You can’t force your mouth to give the answer, the obvious no, so you shake your head. “Do you have groceries?”

“Some.”

“Can I make you something to eat?” You suck in a sharp breath. Can he? Will you let him? Will the two of you revert to these roles, like no time has passed? Have you not made progress, have you not grown? 

You pack the shame of it away, burying it deep. You’ll try to unpack it later, on the couch, in front of the doctor. You’ll talk through every second, pick it apart and try to put it back together again. You’ll rip yourself open, expose your soft spots, the ones that bleed more than any other.

She’ll tell you it’s okay.

She’ll ask you how you feel about the decision.

You’ll say you don’t know, as you always do, and she’ll say that’s okay too. You don’t have to know right now. She’ll tell you there is nothing wrong with the way you feel, just like Simon does.

There’s been intensive therapy, to get you to this place. To drag you across the finish line. Sessions after sessions, four days a week.

It was a bargain. She promised not to have you sent involuntarily, and you promised to be in her office every other day.

Still, she doesn’t know Johnny, doesn’t know Simon. She doesn’t see how they love, how they exist.

You take a deep breath. “Yes.”

You watch him from the couch. Curled over the armrest, your chin on your elbow. His shoulders, chest, flex under his t shirt, opening cabinets, searching for things in an unfamiliar place.

You’ve never felt more loved by him than you do in this moment.

A man willing to push everything away to take care of you, to disregard himself in favor of you, to put himself aside every time he steps through the door to focus on you.

A man who knows what's coming. Who's always been able to see inside you, and yet, still makes you dinner. Still cares for you in the way he knows how. 

All you ever wanted, was to feel loved by them. Separately and together.

Now you feel it more than ever.

You tried to force a circle into a square. 

You think about Johnny again. About how he’s at home, penitent, destroyed. You think about how he must feel, knowing Simon is here, and he’s there. You ache for him. Wish you were settled between them in bed, his body against yours, the steadfast pace of his breathing evening your own out. You want him to hold you. 

You wish he was here.

You ache without your pieces.

But you know it’s not supposed to be this way.

“Darling?” The cadence of your moniker pulls you away from yourself, and you look up.

He’s crouched in front of the couch, nearly eye level with you. “You’re crying.” You tap your face, surprised. You are, the realization abrupt, the onset of them too acute.

“’m sorry.” You choke, and he murmurs softly.

“It’s alright. You’re okay.” His thumb finds your cheek, carefully sweeping them away.

“I’m not.” The truth is agony. You’re not okay. You weren’t okay when you fucked Johnny, and you’re not okay now. You haven’t ever been okay, and it hurts so badly. It stings deep down in your heart, your belly.

Your tears rush out of you, and Simon moves, comes around the side of the couch.

He pulls you into his arms, and you bury your face in his chest.

Hiding. Relying. Letting him carry you through. 

“Simon…” You sob, and he rocks you, arms tight, resolute in their hold.

“Shhh, I know. I know, it’s okay.”

“I d-didn’t mean for this to happen.” You’re talking about Johnny, but you’re talking about everything. The struggle, the agony. Everything.

“I know you didn’t. I don’t want you to worry about that.” The feeling inside you is more than pain, it’s death, it’s excruciating. There’s a piece of you dying, crumbling, turning to ash. You’re trying so hard to hold onto it, to keep it inside, but it comes out with these wretched sobs, the ones that split your ribs open and bleed you dry.

He holds you through it. Holds you tight enough the pressure eventually calms you, and there’s nothing left except the soaked circle on his t shirt and your tired, wet eyes.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper.

“You have nothing to be sorry about.” He takes a deep breath, still clinging. “Let me feed you.”

“Okay.”

He sits next to you at the little table where you usually try to eat alone. Where you drink your coffee, alone. Where you pick at your food, where you swallow a handful of pastel-colored pills with a glass of juice every morning like clockwork. Like a robot.

You manage more than a few bites. Breakfast for dinner, one of your favorites. You know he picked it because you love it, and he wants to make you happy.

It only makes you lachrymose. “I’m sorry about Johnny.”

“It’s not your fault, darling.”

“Don’t be mad at him.”

“Let me worry about that.”

“It wasn’t… he didn’t do anything wrong. I’m the one who put him in that position. I kissed him and-“

“He knew better. I don’t want you to dwell on… that.”

“I love him.” Your voice cracks.

“I know.”

“I love you.”

“I know you do, darling. I know.” You’re going to cry again; you can feel it. The acid starts up behind your eyes, and though you’re not sure you have anything left, they pool along your lower lids. “None of that.” He soothes. “C’mon. stay here, stay with me.” You shake your head.

“I l-love you both, so much. It hurts.” He blinks furiously, and then through your own blurry vision, you see his tears. The ones that slip reluctantly through his lashes, down his cheeks.

“We never wanted to hurt you.”

“I know, and you d-didn’t. It… it hurts Simon. It hurts and I don’t know why.” He tugs you from your chair and into his lap, hauling you up onto his thighs. “P-please-“

“Just… let me- let me hold you, darling. I don’t want- I want to feel you.” He cheek rests on the top of your head, and you cling to him, a child lost, a sailor scared in a storm.

He knows.

You know he knows. You feel it in the rapid pace of his heart, the shudder of his shoulders.

He knows. He knows it better than you do.

And maybe he always has.

“You were right.” After a while, he whispers in your hair. “And so was I, even though I didn’t want to see it. It was never fair.”

“We wanted it… too much.” That much is more than true. You wanted it so desperately, and so did they, you know it. You don’t doubt their love for you, though the scales have always been imbalanced. Imperfect puzzles, trying and failing to click together.

“I’m sorry, I… we, were so selfish.”

“I wanted you to be.”

“It still wasn’t right.”

You sit there for hours, curled up on his lap, listening to him breath, memorizing his heartbeat.

You think of Johnny for the hundredth time. You want him to be here. You want him to hold you too. You close your eyes and try to remember how he feels, your love for him overflowing into a mountain of more and more agony. For both of them. 

“I should go.” Simon finally says, shattering the moment, and you nod.

It’s a death march to the door.

“Will you come by, to see us? I mean… to… talk to us. Together.”

“Yeah, I… I will.” The guillotine waits in the wings, a final chorus cut off by a symphony.

“Tomorrow?”

“Okay.” He leans in, presses his lips to your forehead.

“I love you, darling. We always will.” You nod, but say nothing, cheeks wet again.

He turns away, rolling his shoulders, heading down the hall.

There’s something building in your heart, an explosion, fear compounding.

“Simon! Wait.” He stops. You close the gap, tugging him down until your lips crash together, warm and salt soaked and full of torment, suffering. “I love you.”

This time, he says nothing. Only kisses you again, long and slow, before taking you by the shoulders and intentionally stepping away.

“I know.”

You stand in front of their door for too long.

You wish there was something you could take, something you could do, to release you from this. To build a barrier around your heart so you don’t have to feel it. Any of it.

There’s not, and you know that.

You know you must succumb to the water, dip your head below and hope you come up for air on the other side.

There’s nothing left to do except this.

You lift your fist to knock.

“This is my fault.” Johnny cries, and you squeeze his hand.

“It’s not. It’s… it’s all of us. We did it together.” Simon kisses his temple, rubs his back, and he leans into him, face buried in his shoulder. The guilt eats you alive, knowing that the last time you truly spent with him was when he was inside of you. You wish you talked to him more, made him feel loved, told him how much you cared.

But you were selfish.

And so was he.

“It’s not your fault, sweet boy. I promise.” Simon tries to soothe him, but  Johnny slams a fist into his knee, so hard you wince, and Simon grabs it, fingers firm around his wrist. “Stop. Stop now.” He strokes a hand through his mohawk. You struggle to breathe. 

“I love you so much. That’s… that’s never going to change.” Johnny shakes his head as Simon closes his eyes, nose dipping down into his hair.

“Ye cannae leave us, darling. We need- I need ye. I love ye… p-please.” The three of you are crying, sliced open, surgically diced into cross sections for an autopsy.

The death of a relationship.

The death of three parts to a whole.

“Johnny.” You say his name, over and over, until he pulls away from Simon and tugs you close. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in, committing his scent to memory.

Simon wraps his arms around you both.

You feel whole. A puzzle complete. A sunrise after a storm.

And that’s why. 

“I love you.” You kiss the shell of his ear, soaking him with your tears. They’re everywhere, dripping down your face, your neck, your shirt. You can barely keep your breathing steady, despair restricting your lungs. “I’ll always love you, Johnny. Always.”

“Please.” He sobs, shakes, holding onto you so tight. “Dinnae leave me. Please.” Your heart is shredding to pieces. Ribbons of blood and muscle trying to contain too much, unable to cling together. His pleas are enough to make you second guess yourself, to make you nausea enough to nearly throw up.

It’s beginning to become overwhelming, and in the throes of your building panic, you glance wildly at Simon.

He stares back. Nods. Wraps his hands around Johnny’s shoulders and tucks him back into his chest. “No!” Johnny hisses, but Simon holds him steady.

“I’ve got him.” He says, voice broken.

You sit frozen like a deer in headlights.

“I love you.” You cry, and hope they know it’s meant for both of them.

It’s always meant for both of them.

Simon takes one last long look at you and closes his eyes. “I’m proud of you.” He whispers, hoarsely, and the final piece of your heart breaks. “Go.”

Can you? 

Do you have the strength? 

The sun is bright on your face.

It’s warm, and beautiful, the promise of something new, something different. You stand on the sidewalk, devastated but-

Unafraid. Imperfect pieces, slowly stitching together to make you whole, all on your own.

Without Simon. Without Johnny.

Just yourself.

It’s terrifying. Heartbreaking. And it’s only you now.

You, figuring out how to exist in a world too harsh for your heart. You, without the protection and promise of your other pieces, the ones who came home to you every time, the ones who put you back together. You, learning how to take care of yourself, to truly do it, for the first time.

You, who is not broken.

You, who is stepping forward without darling.

You who is just… you.