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bapydemonprincess · 1 year

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want to know your HC for how Grell and Rin got togther to have Zoe!

My brain might be a bit pudding-ish rn because I'm at work and running on fumes and also Hands Cold syndrome so it's hard to type, but let me see if I can write this out, as I HAVE discussed my general idea of how she was eventually conceived with @grelleswife, my partner in plotting crime. 💖

At that point of Grelle and Mey's relationship, they'd been together quite a while, and even though it was still canon times and Mey was still at the manor and Grelle still slipping away from her job to see the maid, they'd gotten pretty like reckless with their meet ups and couplings. No longer just meeting at night, but meeting during day times and sometimes while Mey WASN'T at the manor for fun outings. Much like the time grelleswife and I wrote their Valentine's Day Date! ❤️

Basically: EVERYONE KNOWS THEY ARE TOGETHER.

And again, because Grelle realized that fact, she grew a bit careless in bothering to only come every once in a while, and to only kiss and cuddle so much with her darling maid.

She just couldn't resist wanting to faire l'amour to Mey Rin as much as she could!

And so... well.. even a bringer of death can create life, Grelle has discovered..

And on that note, I headcanon that would absolutely not be the first time such an oopsie has happened to Grelle Sutcliff. BUT, it definitely is rare, considering her male to female lovers ratio is typically more on having male lovers..

But that's another reason why it hasn't happened MUCH, because the lady death only finds a fellow sapphic once in a blue moon.. And well, her last lady before Mey had clearly been Angelina, and if you know her story, you know there was no possibilities there.. 💔

Back to our present loving ladies; I suspect like in many scenarios like this, they had no CLUE right after, and a day or two maybe went by...

Grelle may be a being that collects souls, but that doesn't mean she has some grand power to sense a new soul that has just been made!

So just like her Mey Mey, she was oblivious for a time of what they'd done in one of their best nights of passion, and perhaps, if not for another immortal being who CAN sense new souls, she would have remained oblivious up until the signs of a pregnancy in progress started to show up.

However Sebastian Michaelis, despite being a creature known for SIN and VICE, was quite displeased with this new development, under this very important roof and in this very important noble house.

He was in Mey Rin's bedroom as Grelle arrived in a typical fashion to see her love, and he informed her that they needed to talk right now.

And as he actually grabbed her wrist to drag her out in a particular direction, the reaper's mind went to an extreme direction with all this, and IMMEDIATELY attacked the butler, assuming he was holding back information on something that had happened to Mey Rin, perhaps such as their finagling had lead to her getting punished by this bastard and his bratty master!!

But the butler interrupted her shrieks of outrage, informing her he was taking her directly to Mey Rin, as they were BOTH in need of discussing something very important!

"Fine," the reaper huffed and pulled away from him where she'd pinned him down and shaken him, gripping his jacket violently, "then take me to her, tout de suite, demon!"

And rolling his eyes and getting up and brushing himself off, Sebastian continued.

Mey Rin was just in the kitchen. And just sitting in a chair, fiddling with her hands, also looking confused and uncertain of what was going on.

However seeing Sebastian return, but with her lover Grelle, Mey Rin practically flew out of that chair, knocking it to the floor, to jump into Grelle's relieved arms.

"Oh Grelle, oh I hope everythin' is okay!! I dunno why Mr. Sebastian was really persistent he was that I stay here an' wait fer 'im t'come back, an' an' he'd said he was gettin' YOU but I didn't know 'OW he was an' WHY an'--"

"Oh darling, hush now, I'm sure we'll sort this out, surely it's nothing too serious that genius ladies such as ourselves cannot work together to fix!"

A clearing of a throat.

"Ladies.. please sit so we can proceed.. and get right to the issue at hand."

Both ladies were semi hesitant to humor the butler, considering despite letting them be, he was quite miffed every night he had to endure overhearing them have their fun in the maid's quarters.

But Sebastian's extra serious expression could not be denied in this matter and they slowly parted and carefully sat, eyes darting from each other to him constantly and silently.

The butler actually took a breath, at first, before looking upon the ladies with something bordering mild concern.

"Beforehand I wish to say it is entirely up to you both how you'll handle this. You are both adults, and though this will be.. strange territory, especially to you Mey Rin," He looked upon her with an especially concerning look, "I will leave it entirely up to you on how to work this out."

"What the devil are you talking about, Bassy??" Grelle shrieked, letting annoyance cover up her fear of the unknown, "is this something to do with other reapers coming to muck about and try separating us?? Just describe what they look like and I'll take care of them myself!"

Sebastian raised a hand firmly.

"No, nothing of the sort. There is no outside parties trying to separate you, and this is an issue much more.. internal than that."

Grelle went quiet, and even more deadly serious herself, lips a thin line, her eyes shining behind her glasses.

"Then what could it possibly be?"

Sebastian closed his eyes almost solemn-like.

"I am a demon as you both know now," he started. (Side note: I of course headcanon by now that Mey Rin knows of this as she knows Grelle is a reaper)

"And one of the most obvious abilities of my kind is being able to sense souls. From the old and dying kind.. to the new and having just been created kind.."

He opened his eyes and looked from the reaper, slowly over to the maid.

"And so you see, on one particular night, about three days ago mind you, I sensed the.. creation of a new life."

He paused and let that statement linger, observing them, watching as both ladies' faces changed from confusion and fear and paranoia to... more confusion, more fear, but.. not exactly paranoia.

"L... like a... b... baby??" Mey Rin squeaked, barely choking out the last word.

Sebastian nodded once, and as he spoke again found his voice softer, gentler. Perhaps out of... sympathy for the young woman?? He wasn't sure himself..

"Exactly. A baby. A human infant had been.. conceived. Though I know some humans do not consider it much of a baby at that point, if at all. It depends on the human's--"

"WHERE??!!" Mey Rin suddenly shouted with excitement out of the blue, standing and smacking her hands down on the table, "WHO IS HAVIN' A BABY, MR. SEBASTIAN?! WE- WE AIN'T AROUND MANY FAMILY HOLMES OUT HERE, NO WE AIN'T-- M-MAYBE IT WAS ACTUALLY AN ANIMAL LIKE A COW OR-- OR--"

"N-No, Mey Rin, that's not--"

"Oh, p-poppet.." Grelle's much more emotional voice cracked out, interrupting Sebastian as he'd interrupted Mey Rin.

Sebastian's eyebrows flew up as he looked over at the reaper, and beheld a look he'd.. sworn he'd never seen on Grelle Sutcliff before.

Her gloved hands were over her mouth and nose firmly, in a familiar way to restrain sobs from coming forth.

Her phosphorescent eyes that were usually animated were practically drowning in held back tears.

These traits, combined with how she'd spoken, drove home that.. Grelle was not taking this situation the way Sebastian had assumed she would.. Considering..

In fact...

Grelle Sutcliff seemed rather...

Ecstatic!

"Wh-whot's wrong, luv??" the maid asked immediately, still not yet comprehending the full situation.

However instead of verbally answering Grelle was scooping up the other woman in seconds flat, holding her tightly, as her tears finally escaped her eyes and streamed down her rosy cheeks. She kissed the woman all over her confused little face and pet her hair and when she was finally FINALLY able to talk, she was lowering herself, on the floor, on one knee, looking up at Mey Rin.

"Mey Rin... FORGET what Sebastian said about it being up to BOTH of us-- It's your body. Not mine. Not his. Not ANYONE elses. Just..Just know.."

She had to take a breath.

"If you choose to keep this baby, I will stay right here beside you, for the entirety.. I will see this out, through thick and thin--"

"W.. wh.. what.." Mey was barely able to squeak out, but clearly now she'd understood the gravity of this ordeal, and it was clearly currently sinking in, as she stared down at Grelle before her, like one of those grand knights in fairy tales, swearing to protect and honor her princess paramour.

"You're pregnant Mey Mey!" Grelle told her, no accusation in sight. Simply getting to the point.

"I'm.. preg.. nant??" Mey blubbered out, eyes getting as watery now as Grelle's.

"With MY baby!! ...OUR baby!!!" Grelle continued, insisting with a hint of pride to her tone now, for she knew for certain there was no way it could be any other...

Considering she'd been the very one to deflower the sweet maid herself!

"I... I.... I'M SO..." Was all Mey could manage, before practically falling out of the chair she'd sat in this whole time, all because she wished to fall into Grelle's arms as she sobbed and sobbed.

...

Overall, just as written, both ladies took this news from the demon butler surprisingly well, and began at once to plot out how they would handle this.

Seeing as it was still an era of pregnancy being quite dangerous, especially if foisted upon a lady that was not married nor a noble of some sort, both maid and reaper had to keep mum outside the manor.

Of course this meant the others within the manor were brought in the know, but as mainly they were all on Mey Rin's side, even the Earl himself (though he might have.. threatened the reaper a bit after confronting her..), they all planned to help the ladies however they could with the process.

And speaking of marriage..

It was one f the first things on Grelle Sutcliff's mind after learning of the situation!

By Hell or high water, she was going to make this RIGHT, dammit. She was going to MARRY Mey Rin!

And proceeded to find the most gorgeous pink crystal heart engagement ring to present to Mey Rin, asking for her hand.

Which was of course accepted! 💖❤️

And again, all of this; the wedding and the pregnancy remained under wraps very tightly, under the secure watch of Phantomhive.

And after nine intense but seemingly swift dizzying months, on a foggy early English morning, after eight grueling hours of pain and tears and fear aplenty...

Mey Rin and Grelle Sutcliff got to meet their new daughter, a new life, that they had created together...

A Grim Reaper and human maid...

Zoe Sutcliff.

#varioushues #my oc #kuroshitsuj oc #kuroshitsuji #Grelle Sutcliff #Mey Rin #Grellerin #Grellrin #Zoe Sutcliff #Thank you so much for the ask!!!

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angeli-marco-writes · 4 years

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Charlie Weasley - Secret

A/N - This is my first imagine thing uploaded on Tumblr, and I’m uploading the smutty version of this story on this platform before posting the more PG version to my wattpad collection. Check it out: angeli-marco. Also this somehow became a Gryffindor reader kinda thing, it’s just what works but imagine you’re not in Gryffindor if you fancy.

Warnings - smut, rough sex, choking, kinky, all that jazz. Starting this blog off with a bang, literally. 6k words of p*rn with plot.

Summary - you have a secret regarding the dragon taming Weasley. The only issue is that he sees you as the child you were a few years ago. When you become legal, he seems to seek you out wherever you are. Maybe he has a secret, too.

YOU HAD A SECRET, a secret that no one beside yourself and your best friend knew, not that you’d readily admit to anyone that for your first three years at Hogwarts, you’d had a crush on none other than Charlie Weasley. Now, beginning your seventh year, having not seen him in three years, you’re surprised to find that your crush still lingers.

You’ve kept the notes that he wrote you, since the pair of you were actually quite close, Charlie tucking you under his wing once he found out your love of magical creatures. He nurtured your passion for the outdoors from the start of your second year. He sent notes, would help you access the forest, and he’d show you drawings of all these magical creatures that he wanted tattooed once he was older. He was the best.

All of these thoughts catch up to you while you’re lying in your tent, eyes closed and dreams clouding your vision, willing you to sleep. Until you hear yells.

Screams come from outside, howls and wails, yells for help and sacrifice. Not the kind of happy bellows that you’d expect after the World Cup Quidditch match. And then all of a sudden, moonlight beams in through the canvas of your one-man luxury tent and illuminates shadows you haven’t seen before, making you dwell in eeriness.

A head pops into your tent, followed by a voice, one that’s so familiar it makes your stomach ache and the hairs on your arm stand on edge.

“Whoever’s in here, you need to go! Get to safety, now!”

Charlie. As clear as day.

“I’m coming, what’s happening?” You call back, voice shaky while you try to stand up, legs nearly bowing and giving way beneath you.

“Death Eaters. Wait, Y/N?”

He recognises you from your voice. Your body feels electrified already. Not the right time, you scold yourself, but you can’t help feeling a little pride that he still remembers you.

“It’s me, Charlie, I’ll come to fight with you.”

You hear him stutter from outside, but within seconds, he’s raced across the expanse of your tent and has his arm wrapped around your waist.

“You’re too young,” he insists, but you just pull your wand out and look at him.

His blue eyes twinkle, even in a moment like this, and you feel as though he’s boring into your soul, which in all fairness you wouldn’t say no to.

You sigh, “I’m of age and I’m here alone, don’t think I’m not coming, Dragon Boy.”

He smirks at the nickname you gave him so many years ago, but smiles and brings you outside, still gripping onto you in any way he can.

You run to the centre of the outbreak. Men in masks levitating helpless muggles , the Ministry and other helpers already failing at bringing them down. It’s worse than you could’ve imagined. Charlie pulls you behind him, gripping your wrist with a determination, a protectiveness, one that he still had back in the day. Though it’s not the time, you feel your stomach flutter, even letting out a giggle at his gesture mere seconds before running out from behind him.

You proceed to run into the centre of the action, Charlie not far behind, calling out your name in the most desperate way you’ve heard him speak.

What he doesn’t realise is how much you’ve grown over the past few years. You’ve become trained in combat, mostly thanks to Professor Lupin, and you’re really bloody good at it. You have virtually every possible spell in your arsenal, ones that many ministry members mayn’t even know, all thanks to Lupin again who gave you one on one lessons and prepared you for anything. Not to mention that you play Quidditch for your house team, something that you always admired Charlie for, but now you’re extremely agile, ready for almost anything, and prepared to fight.

What you see is pure injustice, people being persecuted for their blood, all for a sick game. You’re a little scared, that’s a given, but you know it isn’t right, so aim a stunning spell straight at the chest of the tallest man in a mask. Non verbally, so he doesn’t see you coming. He falls to up the ground, wand discarded, a wand which you happily take and slot into your pocket. Your thought process is that you’ll take the men down one by one, maybe with a little help since you are only a 17 year old girl, while the weak ass ministry workers try what’s best for their image.

And really, that’s the way it goes. A good while later, when you’ve participated in a couple of duels, ended up flat on your arse in front of everyone, with a cut on your cheek and anger roaring in your blood, only then do you get a rest.

Charlie and his brother helped duel the masked men, taking them down, while the Ministry brought the muggles down to their Rightful Place and proceeded to wipe their memories. Horrible ordeal, all done incorrectly for press, especially since every single man got away, at least that’s what you counted. You tuck your wand away in your pyjamas. Certainly not the right clothes you wanted to be wearing when meeting Charlie again, but so be it.

You sit on the floor, looking up at the stars and hollow moon, really hungry and a little shaken up. You have a cold compress on your face, well, a tissue that you used an aguamenti charm to dampen and proceeded to lay it over your pounding forehead, throbbing eyes and bruising cut.

“Let me help you with that,” Charlie says, coming to sit beside you. You didn’t hear him approaching, so his sudden presence takes you by surprise. Surprise that evaporates the second he lays his hand on your thigh.

“Fancy seeing you here,” you quip, nudging his shoulder, “didn’t think you’d recognise me.”

It’s true, you really didn’t. You would’ve thought that you’d have to prove your identity with the notes he wrote you and by inside jokes you ice had, but he recognised you solely by your voice, very rare. You’ve changed a lot since your third year, growing taller, filling out, gaining a very desirable figure and you changed your style completely, including a complete makeover of your hair, and a nose piercing.

“How could I not? You still sound the same as ever.”

Once again, true. No matter what other hormonal and physical changes you’ve endured, not one of them included losing the babyish feature that your voice held, constantly making you sound like you’re dosed up on a little helium.

“And, you’re still as cute, but very... um...”

Wow. You have Charlie speechless, what a rarity. He has two modes, silent, or never shutting up, and the latter usually only comes when he’s with friends.

“Grown up?” You offer, turning to face him with a small smirk painted on your lips.

He chuckles, a low rumbling sound from the bottom of his throat while his eyes tiresomely yank themselves away from your best features, “yeah, you could say that.”

He brings an arm around your waist, shuffling along the ground to sit beside you, and then a warm hand encloses over your own, the one holding the bloody cloth to your face. Slowly, he takes the cloth away and replaces its positioning with rough, calloused fingers, tracing the outline of your cut.

“Tergeo,” Charlie murmurs, and he watches all the blood and debris disappear from your face, leaving a clean cut.

You stare into his eyes, feeling the same thing of fireflies in your bloodstream as you did when he looked into your eyes when you were all but a child. It’s illuminating, he makes you feel seen, he makes you feel special. He edges forwards, and forwards, until your breath mingles together...

“Try this!” He exclaims with a fake enthusiasm, jolting his head away from your own and clearing his throat with as much subtlety as a Hebridean black.

Charlie withdraws a small, battered tin from his pocket, placing it shakily into your open palm.

“I use it all the time on the sanctuary,” he opens the tin, places one finger inside, and swipes a cooling, vanilla scented balm over your cut.

You wince, involuntary flinching away from him, but your hand grips his string thigh. He contracts and calms beneath your touch as he rubs the balm over your cut, and you can almost feel it recovering.

“As good as new,”

Charlie brushes his lips against your forehead, the way he used to do, it ignites something special in you both this time.

He hesitates. “You’re still at school, aren’t you?” You nod, tucking your hair behind both ears, smiling up at him shyly. “I’ll see you sooner than you expect, I promise, but I have to be with my family now.”

Bemusement flashes over your face, but instead of questioning it and ruining the mystery, you just settle for a smile. Slotting your palm in his, Charlie steadies you to your feet and swiftly pulls you flush against him.

“You look so beautiful, Y/N, so grown up. I miss you.”

His voice cracks, neediness clear in his deep, dulcet tones. He wraps his arms around your almost bare shoulders, allowing yours to fall around his waist. He’s grown impossibly taller, gained even more muscle, and his heart has most definitely swelled in his absence.

“I miss you too,” you murmur against his chest, the words getting lost within his chest, the warmth of his skin on your face through a tear in his shirt. You could quite happily stay in his arms all day, all night and never get tired.

Soon, though, he withdraws and holds you at arms length, observing every blemish on your face and the way your eyelashes curl and the way your lips quirk into a smile at the mere thought of him. You want him to wander further, for his eyes to follow down your body, the way your bust is accentuated in your scrappy pyjama top, and the way your 3/4 leg pyjama bottoms fall low on your hip and stay snug around you with no effort at all; but he stays with his eyes fixed on yours.

“Stay safe.”

And with a kiss, the brush of his stubble on your cheek, he’s gone and you’re left to wonder if him being beside you tonight was just a dream.

-x-

It’s been months since you saw Charlie last, despite his promise that he’d see you sooner than anticipated. You, however, had expected to see him there as a new teacher on September 1st, but your wish didn’t come true.

Your first two months at school weren’t too bad: a decent DADA teacher (nothing on Lupin though), no escaped prisoners, no escaped trolls or petrified students, and you could safely say that it was the most normal year you’d had so far at Hogwarts, at least since Harry Potter started.

That basic joy and normality evaporated with the announcement of the tournament, which you most unequivocally would not enter under any circumstances, so you stayed out of the way ever since. You couldn’t be arsed with the other schools, nor all the gossip about the tasks, and you instead continued to busy yourself with your nightly creature endeavours. You’d walk to all your favourite spots where unicorns, nifflers, bowtruckles and more stayed, but not once did you bump into Charlie.

You began to feel defeated, lost, like you wouldn’t see him again and he’d just been lying, or maybe it was all a dream. But tonight, your walk is different.

The sun set early, late November creeping in and enveloping you in a warm blanket of darkness, the moon comforting you. It’s not even curfew yet, nowhere near, but maybe you’ll stay out here until sunrise, nap beneath the stars, all curled up with an aethonan winged horse, but deep within the forest you hear clattering. There’s yells, roars, sudden blasts of light, and your curiosity gets the best of you.

You crawl all through the trees and bushes, finding a comfortable path, only to come across four huge dragons in their pens, a collection of wizards, all dressed the same as Charlie, dotted around them. And then, only then, do you see his twinkling blue eyes, a breath of fire from one of the dragons reflecting in them.

“Charlie!” You cry out, not caring about any form of common courtesy on your endeavour through the final brambles until you fall straight into his arms.

“I told you I’d see you soon.” He smirks, but you can just tell that he’s itching to grin like a Cheshire Cat.

You climb him like a vine, legs wrapped around his waist and arms around his neck. You tug at his man-bun and watch as his Adam’s apple bobs up and down. His face falters, cheeks a flaming red, and once again he clears his throat. He turns his head away awkwardly, still keeping his grip on you, so he doesn’t anticipate when you cup his jaw and angle his gaze towards you once more.

“Do you want to kiss me, Charlie?” You ask, voice low and sultry, hips rearranging themselves atop him.

He stutters, tongue tied, pupils blown wide with lust but the colour drains from his face. You repeat yourself, eyes boring into his with a ferocity you haven’t felt since that night in August. His freckled eyelids fall shut for a couple of seconds, crinkling in the corners, and then they shoot open, his nose nudging yours, lips grazing yours...

“Charlie!”

He sighs, putting you down onto the ground, and he turns his back momentarily which allows you to examine the way the moonlight ripples over his leather jacket.

“What, mate?” He calls, the most exasperated time you’ve ever heard him use, and you can see his heavenly back muscles tensing through his clothes.

“A little hand over here?” A European accent calls him over. “When shithead gets back from his food run, then you can run off with your girlfriend, but for now we need help.”

Charlie rolls his eyes and slumps his chest forwards. Clearly he’s not happy, and you can’t blame him. It’s a lovely evening that could be silent shagging you, but he has to spend it being burnt by dragons.

“You’ve had an impact on their language then, they’ll be yelling ‘BOLLOCKS’ soon if you’re not careful.” Charlie chuckles at your quip and brings you into his side.

“You still like animals, right? Fancy giving us a hand?”

You know Charlie well enough to know that he’s actually serious, so he sheds his jacket to wrap around your shoulders, and brings you toward the centre of the fire pit with him. You get strange looks from all the other dragon tamers and you can’t blame them. A girl like yourself, you don’t much look like a dragon tamer, but anything for Charlie.

The task is easier than you anticipated anyway, giving you ample opportunity to watch Charlie’s body, the way he moves, the way he smiles, and you even catch a glimpse of a few tattoos. You feel heat flowing to your core, desperate for him to just snog you already.

All you really have to do is cling to the rough skin of Charlie’s hand and dodge fire, occasionally shooting stunning spells at the Horntail or pulling on some chains to keep the creatures tethered. The beasts truly are magnificent, and it’d be a lot easier to take notes on them and examine them a little more closely if it weren’t for Charlie’s cute bum looking far too tight in his jeans, making your fingers ache to touch him.

You shrug his jacket off when curfew approaches, only just keeping time by slanting his wrist towards yours every so often, and so you drape it back over his shoulders, unwittingly giving him a kind of bear hug. He brings you around to his front, your legs settling comfortably on his hips, and he smirks at you. Bloody hell, just his smirk does things to you.

His breath mingles with yours, fogging your vision from the way it steams in the cold, night air. The moon shines down and illuminates constellations with each and every one of Charlie’s freckles. You slip a hand to his cheek, resting it on his stubble for just a moment while you stare longingly into his eyes. There’s no need to rush such a beautiful moment, but then he dips his head a little in order to catch your lips in a slow, savoured kiss, allowing every feeling the two of you harbour each other to be portrayed through the slow, deft dance if his lips on yours, passion exchanged when his tongue slips into your mouth, longing and urgency once he begins to fervently nibble at your lip...

“Fuck, Charlie...” you moan into his mouth, his hips involuntarily rutting against your core. You can feel just how much he wants this.

His eyes are shut, holding you against him with one hand slipped under your bum and the other exploring your back beneath your top. You kiss him again, needier this time, breathier, and you just pray that everything you feel can be portrayed in your mix of reverent kisses and sultry movements, your hips grinding down on him.

You pull away, gasping for air, rubbing your thumb over the curve of his cheek. You didn’t even notice your other hand moving to fist at his shirt for support, too lost in the moment. Your eyes flutter open and you search his for some kind of a tell tale sign that he just snogged you senseless, and you can see it in how lust-blown his pupils are. The earth cracks beneath the two of you while you’re still wrapped in the security of your kiss, but eventually you slip from his waist and land steadily on the floor, minuscule in comparison to his stature.

“I’ll wedge the portrait open and I’ll see you later. Don’t be too late. I’m sure you know how to sneak into the girls dorms by now.” You whisper to him, your voice carried away with the roars of the dragons and the nightly breeze.

And with a wink, you’re gone, with Charlie left dumbfounded, feet behind as you walk away into the depths of the forest, only to emerge the other side more flustered than ever before.

-x-

As soon as you reach your dormitory, you’re glad to see that all your roommates have disappeared, probably to their significant others' beds, or late night training help for Diggory just to watch him work out. You, however, have no inclination for anything or anyone other than Charlie.

You tidy your bed as much as you can manage, tucking clothes away wherever you can in as small a time frame as you have, leaving ample time to let your nerves subside and your tension to dissipate before getting ready for Charlie’s arrival, you just hope to Merlin that he’ll turn up. The way he kissed you gave you he, the way he savoured you in every sense, kind yet needy, soft yet burning. Just the thought makes you rise in goosebumps, let alone imagining what he’ll do to you tonight.

Finally, after what feels like a lifetime has passed, you’re lying in your four-poster with the covers wrapped around your body, the silk slip you put on leaving nothing to the imagination with the way it brushes your hips and clings to the swells of your breasts, moonlight shimmering on the fabric with any movement, the material almost not even daring to skim your skin from how in control you are of your body in that rare moment of power over yourself, and then you hear a knock, all of your composure flying out the window.

“Hey beautiful, it’s me.”

His voice sounds like molten honey with a slight rasp and you’ve never heard anything more perfect, so with as much normality as you can, you open the door to him.

“Fucking hell...”

The words tumble from his mouth so freely upon the sight of you, hair swept off your face with a scrunchie and nothing but your well chosen slip gracing your body, Charlie looks as though he may combust.

You step aside while Charlie awkwardly walks over the threshold into your dorm, no doubt one that he spent many nights in when he was a seventh year, but as soon as the chestnut door swings shut, he’s got you pressed against it with his chapped lips hovering over your own, the rough material of his jeans tantalising on your bare thighs.

“Did you think it was funny for you to kiss me like that? Climb all over me? Touching me relentlessly? I couldn’t concentrate, your ass in those leggings and you wearing my jacket, I’ve never seen anything so sexy.” He croons in your ear, causing you to involuntarily mewl and buck your hips against his. You were already at his mercy, clinging to his jacket and clawing at the back of his neck while he holds you up, the wood chilling on your tingling spine.

“When I left, you know, I thought I’d never see you as more than a friend, but now? The World Cup? You’ve gotten so mature, and your body, sweet Merlin. You’re all I want.”

You release a strangled moan, not wanting to let him know just how much his words are riling you up, but you’re sure he can already tell by the quirk of his lips, upturning into a smirk, a special glint in his eye that he was notorious for in his last year.

“Are we gonna do this? I’ve fancied you since I was twelve, Charlie, please.”

He chuckles at your desperation, but sheds his leather jacket nonetheless and steadies you on your feet once more. Within seconds, you’re pouncing on him and beginning to strip his shirt, pulling it out from his jeans and up over his head. He seems equally as eager as you with the way his hands take a bruising grip onto your hips, scared of stripping you of your only covering just yet.

You run your hands all over his tanned, muscular torso, covered in burns and tattoos and a fine dusting of dark ginger hair. There’s a Romanian Longhorn on his right peck, a Norwegian ridgeback on his left bicep (slightly distorted from a bad burn), an animated Zouwo on his hip and a crup pup on his perfectly angled shoulder blade. Charlie’s gonna be the death of you, you can just sense it by the heat radiating off his body.

Your eyes bulge as the pad of your finger trails the swells and dips of his abs, and the way his muscles ripple is divine, you may just puddle at his feet.

“I swear, Charlie...” you murmur, your fingers deftly working on his jeans, shoving them down his hips before winding your arms around his neck.

He lets out a broken groan when you tug his hair, weaving your fingers into his unruly red locks. He holds your waist and slowly grips the flimsy fabric in his big hands, allowing your back to arch against him from how electrifying his touch is on your upper thighs and now bare hips...

He kisses your collarbone, sucks marks on your neck, fans his hot breath over the shell of your ear, peppers feather light kisses to your jawline; all of them make you whimper, shivering and trembling like a leaf against his body from his other ministrations as well as the work of his lips. Until finally, his mouth slants over yours and his arms curl around your thighs, wrapping them around his bared torso, every inch of him carved by a Greek god. He slips his tongue into your mouth, savouring the moan that slides from your lips, swallowing it and keeping you for his own. He walks backwards until his knees hit the side of your bed, allowing you to clamber onto his body and latch your teeth onto his earlobe, biting a mark just below.

“Fuck baby...” he whispers. He grips your hips and ass to control your movements on top of him, feeling his boxers just tighten even more. “Your ass is perfect...”

He hikes your nightgown up even more, bunching it above your waist, while he massages the globes of your ass, kneading them between his rough fingers and pulling your ass cheeks apart for him. Just by those simple ministrations, you know that you’re in for a rough night.

“Fuck me, dragon boy,” you plead, eyes trained on his as his entire being is overcome with a desire to devour you, you can tell by the way his nose scrunches and his lips upturn into the most devilish smirk you’ve ever seen on anyone.

“That’s Daddy or Sir to you tonight, baby.”

The gasp that escapes your mouth is the most pornographic sound you’ve made in your life, not that you’ve had much experience to. His palm rubbing your pussy erases all inhibitions, and the thought that you should probably warn him you’re a virgin. Not completely, you’ve done stuff with guys before, but you’ve never gone further than third base, so your dildo is your only relief. That should be enough, right?

“You’re so wet for me, my sweet baby. I bet you taste amazing.” Already you’re mewling, clawing at his back, a whimpering mess and he isn’t even inside you yet.

Within a second you find yourself beneath him, hungry eyes looking at you as though you’re his prey, one hand planted firmly on your pillow beside your head and the other with two fingers knuckle deep inside you. You cry out in pleasure, toes curling, but it all just gets so much better when he begins to thrust his hand at an inhumane speed, fingers curling up inside you and pressing that perfect spot perfectly each time. Part of you expected him to start slow: one finger, shallow and slow thrusts; but he’s just going for it, and the ecstasy is incomparable to anything you’ve felt before.

“Are you already that weak for me?” He purrs.

Yes, yes you are. His movements, the flick of his wrist and the jolt of his fingers deep within whenever you clench around him. You can’t fathom a response, especially not when the heel of his hand continually hits your clit and his lips wrap themselves around your nipple.

“Fuck, Sir, I’m so close...” you whisper in his ear, yanking on his hair with one hand, eliciting a groan followed by a swift slap to your ass, his body now being held up by only his knees .

The way your fingers thread and tangle in his red locks and pull a little too harshly makes him insert a third finger. He twists his fingers inside you, hitting more places than before, and he withdraws his hand. You whine a little at the loss of contact, and certainly don’t anticipate their plough back inside, sharp and vicious, you’re unprepared for the sudden rush of contact to your clit, and even less prepared for the way Charlies tongue licks a circle around your other nipple, so you come. Stars blur before your eyes, a strangled guttural cry leaving your throat as Charlie rides it out for you. You already feel spent, body lax after scratching marks into Charlie's back while you clenched and came totally undone around his hand.

When you look up, Charlie’s still hovering above you, glistening hand between the two of you. As your eyelashes flutter and you focus on him, he knows he has your attention, so brings his hand up to his mouth and curls his tongue around his fingers, all covered with your cum. He moans as he tastes you, the most erotic sound that’s ever graced your ears, and it may just be the most sensual thing you’ve seen in your life. A slight fire lights itself in your belly while watching him, immediately ready for round two, so you let both your eyes and your hands dance down his perfectly toned body to his boxers. Your fingers feebly wrap around his member through his shorts, grasping tightly to cause jolts of both pleasure and pain shooting up Charlie’s spine. He hisses through his teeth and immediately climbs off the bed, only to retrieve a shiny silver packet from his pocket.

“Are you gonna be a good girl, sweet baby, or am I gonna have to teach you a lesson?” He coos.

You never thought that you’d be into any of this stuff, the ‘Sir’ and ‘Good girl’ and the spanking, but Merlin’s beard it’s turning you on.

“I’ll be good for you, but only tonight Charlie.”

He seems dissatisfied by your answer. You can tell by the way he strikes the side of your ass with his palm and proceeds to look completely calm about it. You’re quite literally salivating though, his dominance increasing your pleasure tenfold.

“Fuck,” you whisper, backtracking in your mind, “I’ll do what you want, just fuck me.”

Your hands find the hem of his boxers, pulling them off in one fell swoop and throwing them to the other side of the room. He’s huge, long and a decent girth, so big that you’re slightly fearful. You made a fist around his dick and moved your hand up and down a couple of times, looking up at Charlie with innocent doe eyes that you can tell are driving you crazy by the way his cock twitches in your hand. You stroke him a little faster, thumb flicking over his tip and allowing the drop of pre-cum to lubricate a couple more jerks before you settle back down, watching Charlie as he intently focuses on rolling the condom down his throbbing length. Fuck, it’s beautiful.

“On your hands and knees.” He orders you in a throaty voice. You look at him with eyes full of scepticism but only for a moment before complying, sticking your ass in the air at the foot of your bed, just waiting for him to do something.

He brings his hand down on your ass again, the skin prickling a little, causing you to moan again, seemingly what he wants, because slowly he begins pushing into you. He starts slowly, just his tip entering you after he’s run his cock through your folds and collected your essence. He stretches as the rest of his length pushes in, cautiously placing a hand on the small of your back to steady himself. You clutch the sheets beneath you, pleasure overwhelming the pain.

“Is that ok? I’m not hurting you, am I?” Charlie sounds worried, hands rubbing around your waist and stomach soothingly.

“No, no it’s brilliant, but I don’t mind if you wanna hurt me…”

You can hear his breath hitch in his throat. “W-what do you mean? I don’t want to hurt you properly… what are you thinking of?”

Your pause is atmospheric, leaning into a yoga resembling pose with arms laying flat and your back arched to perfection, boobs pushed into your duvet. You hum, “Choking, maybe a little more spanking, just general rough sex. Mark me as yours.”

Charlie's knees almost buckle beneath him, removing a hand from caressing your body to steady himself on the poster of your bed. “You sure about this? I still wanna actually make love to you, I’m not all dominant…” You let out a soft chuckle and turn behind you, cocking a smile at him. A subtle nod paired with the part of your lips gives him all the answer he needs to grip your hips and pull out from you, only to slam back in with an unrivalled force.

Your ass jiggles with the power of his thrusts, Charlie's dick pumping in and out of you making you reach new heights of pleasure. His hand wraps around your hair, forming a ponytail and pulling you flush against him, your lightly sweaty back against his heaving chest, his hair tickling your spine. One of his hands grips your hip harshly, intermittent grunts of your name escaping his lips, and the other hand moves up your body, massaging your breast and plucking at your nipple.

“Can I choke you?” His voice comes out raspy, followed by a moan as you clench around his twitching cock, merely from his words.

“God, please.” You beg him, unsure if you’ve ever been so needy in your life.

His long fingers slowly wrap themselves around your neck, pressing his palm down and squeezing lightly. Hard enough so that your breath is slightly laboured and your senses are heightened. You can hear him counting under his breath, still thrusting in and out of you ferociously, and when he hears your breathing becoming an issue, he releases his grip. With a few seconds allowance, you gulp down as much air as you can, swirling your head around to face him. You bat your eyelashes at him, tongue darting out from between your lips, and you kiss him. His lips captured by your own, tongue dancing in your mouth, keeping his dominance over you. He spanks you once, twice, squeezes your hip, his mouth still locked on yours, kissing you tantalisingly. His kisses make you crave even more of him, his hand squeezing around your neck again as his pad of one finger travels down from your hip, pinching the skin on your pubic bone, and he presses down firmly on your clit. His thrusts grow erratic, the pressure on your clit and your oesophagus making the fire in your stomach spark even further, your high so quickly approaching…

He pulls away to whisper in your ear, “Come on me, pretty baby. Good girl.” You moan louder at his coaxing words, the wave of your second orgasm crashing over you and drowning you in pleasure. You cry out his name, his lips moving from pressing feather light kisses behind your ear to your lips, swallowing your screams of his names as much as he can. Your fluttering and shuttering around him allows Charlie to chase his high too. He throbs inside you, dick pulsating until he comes too, his movements slowing as you ride your highs out together.

You crash onto your bed face first, Charlie pulling out of you before joining you, your bare legs entangling as his fingertips brush your face.

“So, that was…”

“Perfect.” he finishes for you, pressing his lips to your nose gently.

“Yes,” you agree wistfully, savouring the moment of just being wrapped in his warmth, “a dream come true.”

He virtually giggles, unable to keep his hands off you. “Cuddles for a bit, and then round two?”

-x-

The next morning comes far too soon for your liking, sunlight blaring through your drapes and your bare legs tangled with someone else’s underneath your sheets, a strong arm draped over your body, warmth pressed against you.

You scramble as much as you can, jolting your neck to check that it was Charlie, and that last night was reality, and you let out the heaviest held breath you could from all the relief crashing down on you like waves, until reality hits.

“Shit. Charlie, Charlie, you need to sort the dragons! Fuck!”

It’s already late, but Charlie just groans and brings you closer into him.

“Charles,” you grumble, nudging his arm away from your body as best as you can, but still, he doesn’t budge and you’re too small to move him. “If it’s any consolation, we’ll definitely be doing this again, so you can let me go...”

Clearly that’s the remedy. His eyes shoot open and he begins to press soft kisses across the harsh marks he left last night, his hand gently caressing your soft skin, making you squirm and giggle a little.

Charlie being as gently dominant as he is (complete softie), refuses to let you do anything without him. That includes showering, dressing and hair. He massages any bruises or rough spots where he was a little too strong last night, whispering sweet nothings in your ear, kissing you whenever he can get to your lips.

“Godric, baby, I haven’t been able to get you out my mind for three months.” He tells you, arms twined around your waist while you primp. “You’re so perfect, so beautiful, such a good girl for me.”

Only a four year age gap, yet you still manage to moan the word ‘Daddy’ when he squeezes your hips just right and suckles on that sweet spot.

“Fuck,” his voice is breathy and strained, clearly trying to hold back, “if you call me that again then we’ll miss the task.”

You chuckle at him but hug him nonetheless. Yeah the intimacy is great, but this just started, and he’s a bloody good hugger. Just being close to him is enough. You wear his jacket and twine your fingers with his own, your other hand resting in the crook of his elbow to feel him as close as possible. When you finally do leave the dorm and climb down the disabled stair case, you get the strangest assortment of looks you’ve ever received, everything from shock to fury to admiration to jealousy. Your cheeks heat and you turn shyly into Charlie again, only for your console to be broken by a high pitched screech, one you know to belong to Fred and George when they’re feigning shock.

“Y/N! How could you!” Fred bursts out, pointing at you with a quivering hand, jaw slackened and face aghast.

“And Charlie, sleeping with a student!” George finishes, the exact same expression written across his face.

You merely scowl at them, but they’ve bought even more attention than you’d had before, namely two girls who would be far from happy.

“Really Charlie?” Ginny says incredulously, making fake gagging noises but snuggling into her brother's side nonetheless, clearly happy to see him.

Hermione stands before you, giving you a horrible stern, disapproving look with pursed lips and folded arms. You offer a snide side eye in return, not so subtly removing your hair from your neck just to watch Hermione’s reaction, and it’s worth the audible gasps from those around you. Bruising purple marks scattered across your neck and the join of your shoulder, a red handprint on the column of your throat. Hermione looks like she’ll faint from pure disapproval, after all, you were supposed to be the innocent animal girl.

“Part of me is impressed-“ Fred announces, a sly smirk painted on his lips.

“And the other part is disgusted.” George adds, scanning you up and down as though vying for another tell tale sign.

Charlie gives them what they want, spinning you into his body with his hands holding your waist beneath your jumper, letting it ride up a little to show more bruises. The twins look nothing but dazzled at the sight of your skin covered in splendid marks. They give their brother a subtle look of solidarity, exchanging no further words before leaving. Hermione remains speechless, but Ginny looks simultaneously confused and scarred.

“Sorry Gin,” Charlie says with a genuinely apologetic style, but turns away from her, leaning down to fleetingly capture your lips.

“I guess I’m something to talk about even when I’m gone, but I promise babe, there’s more where that came from. Dinner, tonight, the edge of the forest before I leave.”

You grin to yourself, squeezing his hand as you make your way to breakfast. All that passes through your mind is how wonderful it is that you finally have Charlie back. Your Charlie.

#charlie weasley #the weasleys #weasley imagine #Harry Potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter fic #fred and george #fred weasley #george weasley #hp and the goblet of fire #dragons #tattoos #harry potter smut #weasley smut

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badboys-imagines · 6 years

Text

Cassidy in love

PART V

Pairing : Loki, Bucky, Reader

Last chapter : Y/N and Loki got closer. Bucky is looking for her.

Summary : Y/N is the chief of Bucky’s gang, the Cassidys. While she’s in a peaceful relationship with him, the young woman has to deal with tough guys. What she isn’t expecting is that Loki, a mysterious member of an enemy gang, infiltrates her crew to help kill her …

A/N : Alright, I decided to post one more chapter of this story, still not sure if it’s going to continue. Hope you’ll like it ! xx

That night, after Loki tamed her rage, Y/N fell in a deep, dark sleep, her face buried into the crook of his neck. They didn’t need to speak. Touching each other was enough. Fingers entangled into her hair, Loki lulled her with whispers and sweet caresses.

To them, life was tough, it had always been. Violence, pride and power were the only things they’d been taught to love. But that night, it was different. An invisible bound was born between Loki and Y/N, linking them together, until death.

In the morning, she found him sitting on the bed, turning his back to her. Loki was facing the window, his pale skin almost shining in the light of day. He remained silent, even though he knew she was awake.

Y/N kept gazing at him. Millions of questions about him invaded her mind, but she couldn’t deny it was the first time she slept through the whole night in years. Loki’s voice burst her bubble at once,

‘’You should go.’’ He coldly said, not even looking at her.

And the words almost burn.

‘’What’s wrong ?’’ Y/N sat up on the bed and crawled towards him. Her arms softly snaked around his waist and she brushed the tip of her nose against his back.

Loki didn’t move,

‘’I want you to leave, now.’’ He coldly repeated, his eyes not leaving the pavement outside.

Y/N glanced in the same direction. People from her staff were walking here and there. She didn’t notice anything abnormal until her gaze caught the sight of a man standing still in the middle of the agitation. Her stomach twisted with guilt.

Bucky was proudly playing with a black knife she had never seen before. Narrowing her eyes, Y/N bent towards the window as she distinguished the details of the blade,

‘’I know that weapon,’’ she gasped, ‘’the Serpents use the exact same knives.’’

Silence fell over the room. Loki slowly shook his head and his voice dropped an octave,

‘’Leave.’’ He almost growled.

Under her fingertips, Y/N felt the muscles of his back tensing. When her gaze met his, he was looking straight into her eyes, piercing her soul.

His voice was a warning, but it also sounded worried and anxious. The way Loki shot quick glances to her, then to the cars through the window piqued her curiosity.

‘’Alright.’’ She nodded and after a moment, she added, ‘’Why ?’’

Loki’s penetrating gaze prowled over her face and pounced on her eyes. Shaking his head in dismay, he screwed up an eyebrow,

‘’It’s not like we slept together. I’m asking you to get out of my room.’’

Y/N’s eyes widened at his words and she scoffed in disbelief. Stomach tied in knots, she bit down onto her lower lip, her heart aching. The young woman put her hair in a ponytail, her fingers shaking. She grabbed the jacket she’d left on a chair and stepped towards the door. Her gaze went to Loki one last time and she stared at him for a few seconds. Tears started stinging her eyes as she slammed the door behind her.

Loki was ridiculously good looking, but also a dick, great.

Heart hammering in her chest, Y/N stormed into the corridor.

How could have she been so stupid ?

She needed to be alone, to think about all this. But there was one thing Y/N had forgotten about.

‘’Hey !’’ A voice called behind her, echoing on the walls.

A sliver hope crossed her mind, but as she turned around, she saw Bucky coming her way.

‘’Where were you ?’’ he asked laying a suspicious gaze on her, ‘’I’ve been looking for you all night.’’

He placed his hands on her shoulders and pulled the young woman against him. Instantly, his eyes darkened. Taking a deep breath and smelling Y/N’s perfume, Bucky moved back. Sadness clear on his face, he opened his mouth to speak and the words came in gulps.

‘’I-I… I can’t believe it,’’ he sighed, ‘’you slept with that…’’ he clenched his fist and brought it to his mouth, ‘’Bastard.’’ He swore, biting down on his own skin.

Anger emanating from his whole body, Bucky hit the wall, a loud groan escaping the back of his throat. Y/N buried her face into her hands,

‘’I didn’t…’’ she sighed, ‘’Stop it !’’ She tried to grab his arm, but he pushed her away.

Blinded by rage, Bucky violently slapped her face. Y/N didn’t even see it coming. It took her breath away for a moment, until a burning sensation spread over her cheek. Without hesitation, she threw a punch into his stomach, hitting as hard as she could.

Bucky cringed and coughed, placing his hands on his belly as the pain twisted his guts.

‘’Bitch.’’ He muttered.

‘’Fuck you !’’ Y/N promptly yelled.

They both leaned against the wall, recollecting themselves. Bucky and Y/N stared at the emptiness in front of them until she broke the silence,

‘’I can’t do this anymore.’’ She whispered for herself.

At first, Bucky couldn’t even talk. He tilted his head towards her, his sad gaze desperately searching for her eyes,

‘’There is something I wanted to tell you.’’ He managed, his voice husky and broken.

For a moment, Bucky’s hand hesitantly slid on his pocket where he kept the ring he wanted to give her. Y/N straightened her back against the wall and she shook her head,

‘’I don’t want to hear it.’’

‘’You must.’’

Another silence fell between them and Bucky took a few steps ahead. Y/N stared at him,

‘’So what, Bucky ? You betrayed me. You betrayed us. I already know.’’

A frown appeared on his face and he released his grip on the velvety box in his pocket. Instead, he pulled out Loki’s blade, causing Y/N to glide her hand straight to her gun,

‘’Don’t…’’ she started, but he cut her off, ‘’I found it.’’ He stated, ‘’In his room.’’

No. It couldn’t be.

It took her a while to realize what he was insinuating. Stretching out her arm, Y/N brushed her fingers against the knife handle. She remained silent for a few more seconds, then shook her head,

‘’I don’t believe you.’’

‘’Take it.’’ He insisted.

Y/N grabbed the knife, her eyes not leaving Bucky’s face. She blinked in confusion, averting her gaze to the weapon. Her eyes narrowed, noticing inscriptions on the back of the blade. The designs were the same as Loki’s tattoo. A familiar feeling came twisting her guts and tightening her throat.

The Serpents.

Hands trembling, Y/N’s fingers clenched around the knife.

‘’You went into his room ?’’

Bucky huffed,

‘’I’m telling you your lover is a spy, and you’re shocked I sneaked into his room ?’’ He paused, staring at her in disbelief, ‘’Yeah, I did, and it was the best thing to do.’’

‘’How do I know it’s not yours ?’’ Y/N tried, but the truth was out, dangerous and terrible.

He looked away for a while,

‘’I’ll go to the Serpents.’’ He suggested, ‘’I’ll tell them I killed him.’’

Y/N felt her heart sinking into her chest. The word sounded cold and terrifying to her ears. It was dangerous, both for him and Loki. Y/N shook her head,

‘’It won’t be necessary. I’ll take it from here.’’

Bucky licked his lower lip and came closer, his breath crashing down on her mouth,

‘’I won’t let go.’’ He whispered.

She felt his hand brushing against hers and moved back,

‘’Don’t.’’ She warned him, ‘’Just, don’t.’’

With these words, she buried the knife into her pocket and walked away, hiding the tears that rolled down and fell in cascade on her cheeks. Once she was out of sight, Y/N stormed into the closest vacant room and rushed to the toilets, succumbing to an intense nausea. As she caught her breath, she replayed Bucky’s words in her head.

I’ll tell them I killed him.

Blood rushed to her head.. She knew him too well.

He was going to kill him.

Without hesitation, Y/N stood up and ran back to Loki’s room, but he was nowhere to be seen. Shooting a glance through a window, she noticed his motorcycle was still here. She had to find him before Bucky did.

Tags : @hakuoyuki, @demon-soldier, @thisisnotseriousbussiness, @tchallaholla, @marvelousmissfit, @zebralover-333, @who-cares-rn, @grosskyjaja

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toycarousel · 6 years

Note

How are you doing?

Hi there, Anon~!!! Thank you for asking, that’s so kind of you~!!!!! :’3c I’m doing alright... a bit better than I was, as I’ve been going through a bit of a Dark Night of the Soul for, like. A lot longer than one night, and a lot longer than I’d hoped in general~! ; P That’s what addiction does to a person -- oftentimes, I feel like I lost a part of myself to substances, like a piece of my soul’s been wrapped in rough tarp and sealed away from me behind thick glass across oceans. I’m trying to regain that stolen aspect of myself, and to basically, like, simultaneously grip tightly the parts of life that I’m just beginning to see, to acknowledge as beautiful -- so in a way, I am slowly chipping at that glass wall, just by appreciating what my life is, and not focusing entirely on that longing for what it might be and what it isn’t~

I realize that probably sounds totally melodramatic, ahahahaha~!!!! But that’s, like, a huge feeling that I think recovering (and non-recovering, as I can still really recall what that was like) addicts experience; that stolen, hollowed out feeling. D ; It’s a process, but I’m doing it. And I have a lot more to live for than I ever saw or appreciated before I began to learn about self-compassion recently, and how to see, and feel, all of what I have~! Falling in love was something I never knew I wanted either, but it’s helped me learn to love myself as well~

Nights are now among some of the loneliest parts of my life. They used to be, like, a melancholy but peaceful refuge (I was nocturnal for a few years, and I’ve been diurnal/ish on and off for about a year now), but nights are just really saddening these days, like. When I have to say goodbye to another day I automatically feel that I’ve wasted, due to that whole, like, societal pressure to be productive.

Like I mentioned though, I’m slowly learning how to have compassion for myself, and maybe accepting the Death of the Day is a part of that, too. Acknowledging that my life isn’t where I want it to be, but that I still have so much as it is, and there’s still so much more I can do, and experience. That each current moment holds beauty and joy as well as the future will.

So, in general, I’m doing okay~!!! Lots of emotional turmoil. I was ejected from the DBT clinic I was a patient at (DBT is the main therapeutic treatment for BPD; borderline personality disorder), for an unfair and callous singular reason. And it turned out that my appointed individual psychiatrist, who I never got a good feeling from tbh, has been twisting my words behind my back, and sometimes just flat-out lying about me in order to make me out to be some sort of raging, lazy, unrepentant junkie. Which is weird, because she knows just how much I’ve quit, lowered, sacrificed, and committed to, wrt substances, both due to help from the program, and my own soul’s merit... but it’s like she doesn’t care -- she’s just too indignant, and too personally pissed at me for getting medications from my family doctor instead of her, that she’s willing to lie as much as she needs to about someone she was supposed to help heal.

So I’ve been in the middle of a huge string of filing complaints/concerns and explaining my exact, honest side of multiple events over and over so that someone in Alberta Health Services will listen and actually scrutinize this program and its practitioners, and who will be sure that my psychiatrist and any other staff member at that clinic, doesn’t get the chance to harm current and/or future patients with the same communication abuse (and other abuses) that the clinic, led by my psychiatrist, did to me. I’ll go more into all that sometime, like. That’s a massive story on its own.

As for audios, like, I’m very excited to keep working through my commissions, as I’ve been~!!! And to start on projects that are completely new for me (potential podcasts/video series,’ working on both HS but also stuff totally outside of HS, etc.~!!!) I’m also studying for my statistics midterm, sigh. D ; It’s a mandatory course for my psych/sociology degree (and p much all uni degrees in Canada rn), so I figured I’d get it outta the way, but goodness gracious is it ever time consuming. :’)

Sorry this was so long, ahahahaha~!!! I’m trying to like, organize and condense my thoughts and feelings, and soooooooooo much has been happening/happened. Thank you again for asking~!!!!!

#wren's dollhouse mutterings #recovery #communication abuse #medical abuse #therapy -#school mention -#substances mention -#ask to tag -#anons #scotchasks

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mermaidmaiabelle · 7 years

Note

it's at 46.9% rn!! prompt: clizzy + superheroes au

Isabelle was working late again when she first arrived. A company relaunch wasn’t easy, which was why she was wondering how Alec had gotten her to agree to it. As if changing the name would somehow erase the Lightwood stain from the business when they were still the ones in charge. As if that was going to change everything.

People weren’t that dumb. But despite everything her parents had done, Izzy still wanted to make something of this company. To make it work, make it work to achieve something good. She wanted to leave her own legacy, more than her parents insanity, supporting a guy like Valentine Morgenstern.

They’d been afraid. That was their excuse. Isabelle didn’t think it was an excuse at all.

There was no excuse for doing the wrong thing, no matter what your reasons were.

That was when she walked into Isabelle’s office, looking like a prep school college girl, hair in a bun, a loose piece of her fire red locks dripping down the side of her face, somehow framing it perfectly. Her eyes sparkled behind glasses that were so out of fashion it should have looked awful, but it somehow suited her. She had a notepad in her hand, and when she smiled, it was like she’d lit up the world.

“Miss Lightwood? I’m Clary Fray, from Bane Magazines. I just wanted to ask you a few things about your relaunch, if that’s okay?”

She’s too polite for a reporter, but somehow that only makes her all the more endearing.

“Of course. What can I do for you Miss Fray?”

She asks the usual fluff questions - why the relaunch, what her company’s aims are, how it is working with her brother - and then it gets more interesting.

“You and your brother are doing a lot to shake the Lightwood legacy.”

“Not shake it. Change it,” Izzy insisted. “My parents did a lot of wrong. I don’t want that to be what people remember us for. I want them to remember us for the good we do. We manufacture drugs that prevent cancer, solar cells that can provide power to whole towns in poverty. I want people to listen to that, not to the terrible things my parents did to this city.”

Clary paused, putting down her pen. She looked up at Izzy over those glasses, and Izzy swore her heart stopped. Business, Isabelle. Business. What would Alec do?

“I’m just trying to make a name for myself outside of my family - my brother as well. I hope you can understand that.”

Clary stared at her like Izzy held the universe in her soul, and Izzy couldn’t help but smile. Clary nodded before clearing her throat, closing her notepad and standing up, holding out her hand.

“Of course. I hope to see you again, Miss Lightwood.”

“Isabelle, please,” Izzy insisted, smiling as she reached out to shake her hand. “Likewise, Miss Fray.”

“Clary.”

If Izzy held onto that hand shake a little more than was acceptable…. well, who would know, really?

Supergirl saves her life two days later.

Someone attacks the relaunch event, yelling about alien rights and how the Lightwoods are just disguising their sins, that the company still stands for all the same old things, that no one should be fooled. Their security guards hustle Alec out of harm’s way, but Izzy somehow gets lost from the group, ending up on the balcony of the corporate suite where they were holding the event. She hopes she’s escaped, but she’s not so lucky. The group follows her, ranting about how dealing with Isabelle Lightwood would strike a blow for their group.

Izzy wants to scream about how she is not Maryse, about how Alec is not Robert, how they don’t believe any of those things. About how Izzy sees poor, broken souls coming to her city seeking refuge, and all she can think about it helping them, about how they deserve a life, a future. She thinks about her own family, that ran away from Latin America for a better future, and how her parents try and deny that part of their heritage, as if it never happened. As if the Lightwood name can erase their history.

She grabs the gun from one of her fallen security guards, pulling off the safety and aiming it at her assailants. She might not enjoy violence, but her parents had insisted her and Alec learn some self defence skills. Somehow, how to shoot a pistol had come into that. She knew what she was doing, she just had to-

Before she could fire the gun, one of them leapt forwards, grabbing her hands and forcing the pistol up and away. The weapon was wrested from her grip, and before she could really contest for it, she was tipping backwards.

She hadn’t realised she was leaning against the balcony. It looked like neither had they. But it didn’t matter, because either way she was slipping with nothing to hold, and then she was falling, falling, falling.

It was the worst way to die, Izzy decided. Too much time to think, as she soared through the air. The suite had been more than thirty stories high. Beautiful views, but a long way to fall. She thought of Alec, of what she’d leave behind. She’d proved so much, done so little. It wasn’t fair.

And then, just when she thought it was all over, she stopped. But rather than her landing being hard and cold and final, she landed against something soft yet strong, holding her up and holding her close at the same time. Izzy’s hands immediately wound around the thing keeping up from falling, and then she looked up.

Oh. Supergirl.

Izzy was holding onto her neck. And she was holding her so close… and that outfit did not leave a lot to the imagination. In fact, Izzy was doing everything she could not to examine that neckline and what was… deeper.

She was too gay for this.

More importantly, though, Isabelle was fairly sure she recognised those pretty eyes, that fire bright hair and that soft, adorable smile. “You okay?” she asks, and seems bright despite the chaos around them. She’s… incredible. Isabelle nods.

“Thanks. For saving me,”

“You looked like you could use a lift,” Supergirl responds jokingly, and Isabelle laughs. In the arms of a pretty, cute girl, having just been saved from certain death and she manages to laugh!

Supergirl deposits her back on the balcony, kicks the asses of the assholes that ruined her conference, and then flies off into the sunset.

Izzy sighs, standing on the balcony as she watches her go. She didn’t know someone could have literal heart eyes… but she’s pretty sure she has those right now. Especially from the look on Alec’s face when he finds her there. Worried, of course, since she nearly died, but a little despairing.

“Not again, Iz,” he complains. “Your last date tried to hack the company for $3.5 billion.”

Izzy shrugs, looking back out into the sky, where she thinks she can see a fading vision of Supergirl there.

“This one’s different,” Izzy promises him.

Not that she’s ever dated a superhero before. But she’s also never dated a reporter…. and Izzy’s pretty sure she can do both in one move. Everyone seems to be clueless about who Supergirl really is, but those big old glasses aren’t fooling Izzy. She didn’t get a first class degree in forensic sciences for nothing.

And if she has a bright, copper red hair twined around her little finger, just waiting to be tested… well, who would know, really?

She met Clary in a coffee shop the next week, after the latest issue of Bane Magazine was published. There was a very, very flattering article in there about her company and the relaunch, all the good intentions that she and Alec had. Izzy was surprised, and then she read the byline.

Clary Fray. The one and only.

Izzy was there five minutes early, snagging a private corner booth for herself. She was firing off texts and emails from her phone constantly, but refused to be late for this appointment, especially since she set it. And then Clary walked in, white shirt cut a little too low, top of her boots a little too high, skirt a little too short. Isabelle swallowed once.

She could do this.

“Clary! I’m so glad to see you. I owe you a thank you for the article,” Izzy said sincerely, and Clary flushed a little, shaking her head.

“It was nothing. I only told the truth.”

“A very flattering version of it. One that not many people are willing to hear,” Izzy pointed out. Clary shrugged.

“Maybe I just believe people should be given a fair chance.” Izzy smiled, and Clary bit her lip, her eyes casting downwards momentarily. “So my office is full of flowers,” she started, and Izzy smiled.

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, you wouldn’t… know anything about that, would you?”

“I mean, I would say it was just a way for that person to express their immense gratitude for saving their life,” Izzy suggested, and Clary flushed.

“It was just an articl-” Clary started, but Izzy leaned forward, holding a finger up to Clary’s lips. She immediately stopped, eyes crossed to look at Izzy’s finger. Isabelle smiled, moving her hand up and gently reaching for those glasses, pulling them from her face, red hair falling forward. Her hair fell in pretty waves, and Izzy wondered how all that superheroing didn’t completely ruin it. She needed to get her style secrets. And a few other things.

“I know, Clary. I’m not stupid,” Izzy pointed out, and Clary blushed a little redder. “Thank you. For saving me.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied softly, smiling. It was Izzy’s turn to bite her lip, restraining a smile.

“So can I take you out for a drink sometime?”

“Like a drink or a … drink?” Clary asked, and Izzy laughed at the emphasis, leaning back in her chair a little.

“I want us to go out on a date, Clary.”

Clary’s lips formed an O, and she blinked, flushing. She ducked her head, and Izzy couldn’t stop herself from reaching up and tucking her loose hair behind her ear. Clary looked up from under her eyelashes, and smiled.

“I’d love to.”

And if Izzy ended up dating Supergirl… well, who would know, really?

#ficsformalecvotes #shadowhunters #clizzy #clary fray #isabelle lightwood #superhero au #ahhh this was so fun #i went with something outside my other verse #but i've been dying to explore this for ages and you gave me the excuse!!!#thanks!#myfic #Anonymous

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fqtoxicity · 5 years

Text

New Post has been published on My Quin Story

New Post has been published on http://www.myquinstory.info/chronic-floxing-and-toxic-positivity/

Chronic Floxing and Toxic Positivity

Recently a fellow chronically floxed person posted a very apropos link on Facebook. The link was to a page from our friends over at Health Rising, Finding Answers to ME/CFS and FM. The article was entitled “Just Be Positive!” Toxic Positivity, ME/CFS and Fibromyalgia. It is well written and frankly, speaks volumes. After I read it, it prompted me to write a quick article that focuses a bit more from the Chronic FQAD persepctive.

Let me throw in the caveat that if you are newly floxed, let’s say two years or less, it’s probably best that you pass this article over, especially if you are in a bad space emotionally. Seriously.

Every few days I get a new contact from a floxie that has been suffering chronically for several years, some of them decades. As a matter of fact, that demographic is the predominant visitor that comes to my website and hangs around.

When the situation arises and I have the opportunity for additional interaction with some of these individuals a common thread of frustration emerges. I find that many of them are looking for validation for their negative feelings. They are often angry, frustrated, depressed, remorseful, full of regret and often just plain pissed off. These emotions are the spectrum of feelings that are commonly felt in those who are long term or chronic sufferers.

Hope, The Caveat

Before you wonder where I am going with this, let me throw in the caveat that, there is no denying that hope is powerful and necessary. For me, over the last twelve years, I don’t know how many times the only thing I could do was just hold on to a very fragile thread of hope while experiencing very dark times. I have faced death three times at the hands of the FQ’s (1,2,3) over the last several years, so I know…all I can say is that, I know.

Having said that, it is interesting to note that very rarely, if ever, do I get industrial strength level of frustration from a newly floxed person. To them, they are still coming to grips with shock and awe of a new reality and frankly, although they are justifiably upset, have not had the time to process the deeper, PTSD level, hard core range of emotions that comes with long term chronicity.

For a long-term chronic sufferer, this is where things get a bit blurry.

It seems that for each chronic sufferer there is a fine line between validation, true hope, and those commonly seen sanitized stories or messages that border on toxic positivity. Many times, people, especially those who are not veterans to the depth or length of suffering that the FQ’s can cause, have difficulty understanding this level of frustration. They make the mistake of thinking that you can make long term sufferers be positive or they just dismiss the long term sufferer as bitter. Let me try to unpack this a bit.

Although I wish everyone would heal from an adverse event to the FQ’s, the truth is that many don’t, and stats I have collected unfortunately show this. It is not a popular message, just bluntly true, and yet another reason why these horrific pharmaceuticals shouldn’t be handed out like candy.

Visitor and poll demographics that I have collected show that there are so many who took a hit from the FQ’s, then believing to be healed walked away; Some announce recovery and even others claiming to have ‘figured out’ the healing process. Then, in an unfortunate twist of events, something goes wrong and they return. The time span varies from months to years. Either way, the dark realization sets in that many of the recovery stories that we hear were/are inaccurate, very inaccurate. They unfortunately don’t reflect the true reality.

The gravity of the situation is that for a lot of individuals, late effects, or delayed adverse events resulting in long term chronicity is more of a reality. Dealing with the emotions that come along with this living hell is tough to say the least, and that is one of my main points.

Well Meaning But Misdirected Advice

Although I don’t visit the various floxed groups on social media like I used to, when I did visit, I would see examples or forms toxic positivity directed at chronic sufferers on occasion. It usually went something like this, a long term floxed person would make a comment about the soul wrenching heartache they have felt while enduring years of setbacks and, frankly, insurmountable emotional and physical pain. Instead of receiving validation for these emotions, the well-meaning positive ‘fairies’ would swoop in with advice. These were usually folks low seniority so to speak. Examples of these well-meaning advice tropes are:

Positive thoughts to generate positive realities, (“Just ell yourself you are going to feel better.”)…yeah? ah, no.

Treatment advice, (“I have found the reason for floxing! All you need to do is start taking magnesium!”)….The veteran floxie has heard it all, so it better be good, real good. To be blunt, if the advice giver has been floxed less than six months they better keep their pie-hole shut about telling others what to do, lest things get real violent. I don’t care if you are an M.D. or have a PhD in biology. Seriously, in the last twelve and a half years I have heard it all.

Dismissive statements or caveats, (“Not all floxies are this bad,” or “She had a particularly bad reaction…”)…These statements just frost my cookies. It is usually done to blunt the negative effects of expressing valid negative emotions. In other words, an attempt to keep the really messy scary stuff hidden away, out of sight. Guess what? Floxing is really scary and messy. Hiding the reality doesn’t make it go away.

Now don’t get me wrong, most of these are offered up by well meaning individuals. Unfortunately, they can’t even comprehend the head-space the recipient is in.

Email From A Chronic Floxie

This led me to a search for an email that I received last fall while I was reeling from the symptoms of a CSF leak. Unfortunately I did not respond to her at the time but I did read the email. I usually read all emails I receive. Anyway, she spoke with such candor to this topic that I re-contacted her and got permission to reprint a few excerpts from her email (I changed her name of course).

Lynn, a former nurse and now a chronically floxed individual candidly shared her feelings in her email:

“I never realized how evil these drugs were. I was used to seeing side effects from medication at work, but this was a whole new level of understanding. When I first became floxed I gravitated to stories of healing. As a matter of fact, I was scared and went out of my way to avoid listening to those who had been battling FQAD for a long time. Shameful to say, I even complained when I thought someone was being too negative.”

She goes on, “I ate healthy, avoided all prescriptions and shunned negative emotions. I even paid money to a high-priced naturopath who claimed to have treated floxed people before. After several months I started healing, and after several more months, I felt good enough to go back to work. I proclaimed myself recovered and walked away, chalking it up as a bad nightmare. Then the unthinkable happened, after a year the symptoms came roaring back. I could never figure out what I did to trigger their return, if anything. I really don’t believe I did anything.”

“When I reluctantly came back searching for more answers my whole perspective had changed. I realized that my previous dismissive behavior before was motivated out of fear. Worse yet, being an RN I thought I had it figured out, that somehow I was more knowledgeable than most. I didn’t realize that my behavior was having the opposite effect on those who were really suffering. I viewed those who were really suffering as a minority. Even worse, to the outside world and other medical personnel I was sending the wrong message. I was telling them that the FQ’s weren’t really all that bad. I was sending the message that they could be beaten, if you just really tried.”

One poignant aspect of Lynne’s email, and it is something that I deal with all the time. She wondered how many people don’t even realize their long term problems are the result of taking an FQ? Even those folks who knew they had an initial adverse event, but then thought they healed. The numbers are probably staggering.

Emotions

Lynne bravely went on and with candor detailed her psychological battle dealing with the negative emotions, including depression, anxiety and anger. Emotions that weren’t as prevalent her first time around. She, like many, has been battling FQAD for several years now and is receiving regular counseling for PTSD-like symptoms.

It is unfortunate that I receive variants on this type of email on occasion from those who didn’t get better, from those whose recovery didn’t proceed like expected, or from those who were thrust back into this hellish reality after a perceived escape.

You get the idea.

For many, they become unable to express their emotions and the sense of isolation becomes unbearable, which just compounds the problem.

People do feel isolated because of what this damn drug has done to their bodies and the collateral affect it has had on your homes, jobs, marriages, relationships, and families.

I once heard someone said that true empathy is getting down in the hole with the suffering person, instead of shouting positive messages from the edge. Boy, can I relate to that!

So, if you are down in that hole, let me assure you that you are not alone.

You are not alone in your grief or anger. You are not alone in your sorrow or despair. I have walked a similar path, and so have many more. Please know that you have friends in this battle and it’s healthy, natural and necessary to feel the negative emotions brought on by being disabled by these drugs.

For me, I have learned to cope with these issues through my faith and focusing on the blessings that I have in my life. Even then it is still hard and some days, really hard.

One thing you won’t get from me is false promises. I won’t blow smoke at you and promise you that it’s going to get better. I won’t lie to you like that.

But I can tell you somethings that I know to be true. First, despite your disability, you still have self-worth. And secondly, something that I have learned and seen over the last twelve years; You will become stronger in your weakness.

This I know. I can’t fully explain it, but I have seen it time and time again. The human spirit and the will to survive still amazes me to this day.

Just know….you are not alone.

This website makes use of licensed stock photography and graphics. All photography is for illustrative purposes only and all persons depicted are models.

#Anxiety #Delayed Adverse Events #Depression #Emotions #Hope #Philosophical #Psychological

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