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cherryrainn · 1 year

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Can I request a family yandere shredder?

Yandere brother! Shredder and sibling reader who likes to walk to different places.

And when the reader enters the battle with the turtles.

Tmnt 2014/16

yes!! my first tmnt ask, tysm!

☽ ༚ ༵ ۰ ✧ ۰ ༵ ༚ ༵ ۰ ✧ ۰

— fractured devotion

yandere!shredder x sibling reader (platonic)

in the bustling city, where skyscrapers reached for the sky and the streets buzzed with life, you roamed the labyrinthine streets. you were captivated by the allure of exploration, finding solace in the anonymity of your adventures.

with each step, you delved deeper into the city's hidden corners, unearthing forgotten stories and forgotten places. it was during one of these solitary walks that you found yourself caught in an unexpected encounter.

as you turned a corner, your eyes widened in surprise as you came face-to-face with the formidable ninja turtles. without a moment's hesitation, the turtles recognized you as a member of shredder's family and launched themselves into an attack, driven by their desire to protect the city from further harm.

leonardo, the leader of the turtles, charged forward, his swords slicing through the air. "no more games! we won't let you continue shredder's reign of terror!"

you instinctively raised your arms in defense, your own twisted ambitions fueling your determination. despite being outnumbered and facing the turtles' superior strength and skills, you fought back fiercely, your movements fluid and calculated.

you fought back with all your might, your attacks a testament to the shared darkness that dwelled within. however, the turtles' teamwork and relentless assault began to take its toll on you, your strength waning with each passing moment.

as the battle raged on, you realized your limitations. the weight of your twisted ambitions became a heavy burden, impairing your abilities and leaving you vulnerable against the turtles' coordinated strikes.

but just as you neared your breaking point, a furious roar echoed through the alley, freezing everyone in their tracks. the air crackled with tension as shredder, your brother, stormed onto the scene, his eyes burning with rage and possessiveness.

with a swift and powerful strike, shredder disarmed leonardo and sent him crashing to the ground. the other turtles halted, their expressions a mix of shock and realization.

shredder's voice boomed with authority, his gaze fixed on the fallen turtles. "you forget your place."

michelangelo stuttered, his voice filled with disbelief. "shredder? but we thought..."

shredder's eyes glinted with a mix of possessiveness and fury. "you thought wrong. y/n here and i share a bond that none of you can comprehend."

as the turtles struggled to regain their footing, shredder advanced, his movements a deadly dance of precision and brutality. with each strike, he demonstrated his superior skill and unwavering loyalty to you.

donatello gritted his teeth, his voice laced with determination. "we won't let you corrupt them further, shredder."

corrupt? what was he on about?

shredder laughed, the sound echoing through the alleyway. "they are already beyond your reach. they revel in our shared darkness, and together, we will reshape this city in our image."

as you watched in disbelief, shredder's attacks became more ruthless and deadly. the turtles, despite their valiant efforts, fell one by one, their strength extinguished by the relentless onslaught.

the once vibrant and spirited warriors now lay motionless, defeated by shredder's overwhelming power. a mix of anger and sorrow welled up within you as you witnessed the tragic scene unfolding before them.

tears streamed down your face as you turned your gaze toward shredder, your voice trembling with rage. "how could you? this isn't what i wanted!"

shredder's eyes filled with twisted delight. "did you truly believe they could stand against me? they were mere obstacles in our path, y/n. now, there is only you and me."

you had believed in a shared destiny, a bond that went beyond blood, but now it was clear that shredder had manipulated you all along.

"no!" you screamed, a mix of anguish and fury in your voice. "you're not my family. you're a monster!"

shredder's laughter filled the air, chilling and mocking. "oh, my dear y/n, don't be foolish. you belong to me, body and soul. together, we will wipe out this world. "

shredder's eyes narrowed, his grip tightening on his weapon. "you cannot defy me, y/n. i am your destiny."

but you shook your head, your gaze steady. "destiny is not something predetermined. it is a choice we make. and i choose to break free from your hold, to find my own path."

as you took a step forward, shredder lunged, but you deftly evaded his attack. your movements were no match for his expertise. with a swift and calculated strike, shredder managed to land a powerful blow, knocking you to the ground.

you groaned in pain, your vision blurred as you struggled to regain your senses. shredder stood over you, a mixture of concern and adoration in his eyes. he couldn't bear to see his sibling hurt, even in the midst of their conflict.

"i won't let you slip away from me," shredder whispered, his voice filled with a mix of desperation and longing. "you are my blood. you mean everything to me. i can't lose you."

disoriented and weakened, you looked up at shredder, a mix of confusion and fear in your eyes. you could sense the depth of his emotions, his overwhelming sibling love for you. it was a love that bordered on possessiveness but didn't cross the line into obsession.

he knelt beside you. "you have to understand, y/n. i never meant for it to come to this. i only want to protect you, to keep you safe."

despite your protests and pleas, shredder remained resolute in his decision. he had grown tired of playing by anyone else's rules, including those of his sibling. with a steely determination, he firmly grasped your arm and pulled you along, ignoring your resistance.

"no more, y/n. i've heard your words" shredder declared, his voice filled with a mix of authority and conviction. "i know what's best for us, and it's time you realize that too."

you struggled against shredder's grip, frustration etched on your face. "this isn't right, saki. we can't simply disregard everything and everyone else. there are consequences to our actions!"

shredder's grip tightened, his eyes narrowing with a fierce determination. "consequences be damned! i will not let anyone or anything stand in our way!"

as you continued to walk, you could sense the unwavering resolve emanating from shredder. it was a force that both intrigued and frightened you—a display of power that seemed unstoppable.

"listen to me, y/n," shredder's voice softened slightly, but his determination remained unwavering. "i love you more than anything in this world, and i'm willing to do whatever it takes to ensure our future. trust me, even if it means going against your wishes."

you felt torn.

"together, we will forge a new destiny," shredder whispered, his voice filled with equal parts determination and possessiveness. "i will protect you, guide you, and together, we shall shape the world in our image."

you looked into shredder's eyes, grappling with conflicting emotions. you knew that the road ahead would be fraught with challenges and sacrifices, but there was a twisted allure in shredder's unwavering conviction.

in that moment, you made a choice—a choice to follow shredder, not out of blind loyalty, but out of a burning desire to uncover the truth, to understand the depths of his obsession and the price you would have to pay.

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #shredder #oroku saki #sibling reader #shredder x sibling reader #tmnt 2016 #tmnt bayverse #yandere #yandere shredder #ask #request #tmnt 2014

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inukag-archive · 2 years

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We’ve got you covered, anon! Hurt/comfort is a well-loved trope in the InuKag fandom, so to keep this list at a reasonable length, we limited ourselves to one story per author. However, there are a few authors who specialize in whump and have several more stories within that category that you might enjoy. We added ** after their handles so that you know to check out their author pages for more!

P.S. If anyone is craving the reverse (injured/sick Kagome with Inuyasha caring for her), you can find our recommendations here!)

Gif by fic-finder @lostinfantasyworlds

Paralyzer by @splendentgoddess ** (T)

While traveling just the two of them, an unexpected attack leaves Inuyasha temporarily paralyzed. Can his pride survive having to rely on Kagome for aid? And how will he react to her getting all emotional when running away isn't an option? Inu/Kag WAFF

Kintsugi by @soliska (M)

AU. Failing to be chosen as her village's miko, Kagome had resigned herself to a humble life. An unexpected summons returns her to the city where she's forced to reconcile the taught virtues and the spiralling, warped reality created by those that abuse their power. She holds the key to repairing the fracture between humans and youkai, and the freedom of her new hanyou friend.

Free Falling by onyourleftinheels (T)

All Inuyasha ever wanted was to protect Kagome. He would slay the most dangerous beast to impress her. He would fall from the moon if it meant he could catch her. What Inuyasha doesn't realize is that sometimes a physical fall leads to much more.

The Scent of Winter by Camudekyu (T)

Winter smells like promises. Spring has to return.

Freezer Burn by @kstewdeux ** (NR)

No summary provided.

Freak Attraction by @artistefish (T)

A birthday outing to see a foreign circus turns into a nightmarish mistake when Kagome stumbles upon a circus of a very different nature and meets a sideshow freak with dog ears and a human heart. [Also be sure to check out the sequel Freak Attraction: Seven-Man Circus (T) for even more Inuyasha whump!]

The Way You See Me by King Baka (M)

‘If I transform again, with these claws of mine…I might even tear you up, Kagome.’ For the first time, Kagome must face Inuyasha’s full-youkai transformation alone. Will she be able to reach him, or will Inuyasha’s worst fears come true?

Blood and Bandages by Aryndiel (T)

Kagome comes home to find Inuyasha badly injured and reacts in a way that surprises her mother. Mrs. Higurashi wonders: who is this strong, unwavering young woman who looks like her little girl?

Rock Bottom by @lavendertwilight89 (E)

On the night of Inuyasha's weakness, he is attacked and ends up at death's door. Kagome works at the hospital he is brought to and ends up locked in the room with him as a full youkai. Will they be able to get along? Will Inuyasha survive?

Brownie Points by @elkonigin (T)

Kagome forgot how dog-like Inuyasha could be.

Skin by Neisha (T)

Somewhere in her subconscious she could still feel the warmth of his skin under her fingers, and the soft beat of his heart beneath her palm.

Claw Marks On My Heart by VampireWriter144 (T)

Inuyasha is left weakened and severely injured from a fierce battle. Kagome is determined to take care of him whether he likes it or not. Interesting situations arise and emotions are expressed.

Mocha Latte by KittyKatz (T)

Just a little bit of chocolate can take all the bitterness away. A wounded Inuyasha wakes up in a stranger's apartment and experiences a warmth and acceptance he's never had before. Intended to just be a series of dribbles that can hopefully be just a little bit of chocolate in your day! [T for language]

How Does Your Garden Grow? by @dawnrider ** (M)

An Ingary-esque AU: Kagome, the newest generation of caretakers of the Higurashi House, finally starts to feel like her garden and business is thriving with the help of her friend Jinenji. Their routine is thrown off by the arrival of an injured visitor who does not want to be found...

Hurt by supernovagirl99 (T)

When our favorite duo gets injured, Inuyasha comes out a little worse for wear. Can Kagome save Inuyasha? Who could have done this to him?

The Last Stop by @banksdelivers (T)

In a world where demons are ostracized by society, Inuyasha has only his pride and the clothes on his back to his name. When Kagome offers him a place to stay during the approaching storm, will he take a helping hand?

Or, that story where Inuyasha is a stubborn idiot and Kagome has to rescue him.

Won’t Let Go by TheDiamondSword400 (M)

Kagome struggles to care for Inuyasha when he becomes sick after being injured in a fight.

Last One Standing by @lazy8blog ** & @mamabearcat (T)

Petty fights usually don't seem so petty anymore once you're faced with the possibility that they might be the last fight you'll ever have.

A Kiss to Make it Better by @ruddcatha (T)

When Inuyasha is injured during a fight, Kagome takes care of his wounds, bandaging them, and follows an example set by her mother. How does the silver haired youth react to the unexpected gesture, and how does he return the favor?

Have Faith in Me by AlondraDina (T)

Takes place after episodes 124-126 of the anime, where Naraku kills Kikyo and Kagome almost gets possessed by The Infant. On the way back to her home, Kagome and Inuyasha get caught in a Spring storm and take shelter in an abandoned hut. There Kagome discovers that Inuyasha has been hiding an injury from her.

Another Kind of Promise by @fawn-eyed-girl (T)

When Inuyasha is unconscious for several days after being viciously attacked by a scorpion yōkai, he has flashes of memories, of moments of Kagome caring for him. While he is out, he has a realization that, when he comes to, he must make clear to her.

#inukag archive #inukag fanfic #inuyasha whump #hurt/comfort #caregiver kagome

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keepsdeathhiscourt · 1 month

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Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x Original Female Character

Rating: Mature (18+ Only)

Story Summary: It's been ten years since Lucie LeMarche last set foot in New Orleans. But when she's forced to return to bury the woman who raised her, she finds herself pulled into the midst of rising supernatural tensions in the city. Entangled in a web of intrigue and seeking answers, Lucie must learn to navigate a powder keg of warring factions, family secrets, and old wounds if she hopes to survive.

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Language, Death, Mourning, Mental Health Issues, Family Drama, Gore, Depictions of Violence, Death

Series Masterlist

Read on AO3

Chapter 9: Pressure

Klaus pinches the bridge of his nose, doing his best to keep his temper in check. It’s proving exceptionally difficult. He’s getting close. He just needs to be patient for a little longer.

Full of displaced energy, he paces the length of the sitting room, wearing down the fibers in a 500-year-old rug. The object of his frustration sits in a wing-back chair in front of him, posture rigid and fingers clutching the armrests. Unease radiates off of her in waves.

They’ve been here for an hour now, sequestered in this quiet corner of the manor. For all his blustering, all his threats, questioning her has been more tasking than he’d expected.

She answers his questions politely enough. Things like:

How do you know Elijah? He saved my life.

What were the two of you planning? Nothing.

How are you able to do magic in the city? I don’t know.

Round and round they go in this dizzying little dance. She’s a stubborn thing, determined to circumvent his questions at every turn, to lie without lying. If he were anyone else, he might believe her. She’s but a novice compared to Klaus’ expertise in falsehoods. And he has had a millennium to perfect the art of getting people to talk. It is rather a point of pride.

Though she doesn’t give him the answers he’s looking for, the time elapsed isn’t without value. The entire time, he’s been sizing her up, surveying her every reaction. He knows her tells. She taps her fingers when she’s holding back, crosses her legs when a question makes her particularly uncomfortable. He uses these as his lead line, following faithfully until he has her where he wants her.

They will get there and soon.

If his unnaturally long life has taught him anything, it’s this: everyone breaks. It’s only a matter of finding the weakest spot and applying the right amount of pressure.

Most times, that pressure is violence. People respond very well to it. He doesn’t harm her, is determined not to unless she leaves him no choice. Not out of any notions of chivalry, but because he doubts it’ll be effective. And, ultimately, he will need her compliance.

“I’ve told you everything I know.”

“Really?” he asks, voice flat.

“Really.” Her fingertips press into the armrest. Not entirely the truth, then. It’s no matter, Klaus has done his research.

“I’m disappointed with your dishonesty. And here I thought we were getting along so well, but I suppose there’s nothing to be done,” he says, forlorn. He turns to her then. He wants to see her face for the next bit. “I’ll have to look for answers elsewhere then. Perhaps that charming little cousin of yours can help me, or maybe the pretty bartender from Rousseau’s.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Oh, but he would. He knows it and he knows she does too because her eyes flash with disbelief, anger, and then go bright with fear.

He restrains a grin. And there it is, the first crack in her defenses.

He watches her without a word as it spreads, fracturing like porcelain, and it is a beautiful sight to behold. When she exhales a broken shuddering sound, he knows he has her.

All she needs is one last little push.

“It’s frightening really, how easy technology makes everything.” He pulls his cell from his pocket and unlocks it. In his periphery, she fidgets uncomfortably at the non sequitur. With an air of disinterest, he continues, “For example, all I have to do is press this one little button and someone on the other line will snap darling Arabella’s neck like a baby bird. Hypothetically, of course.”

His thumb hovers over the dial button. Their eyes meet, locked in a life-or-death game of chicken, each waiting to see who caves first.

Her fingernails dig into the wood, nail beds white. Her cheek twitches, her eyes blaze in a last-ditch attempt at resistance. He moves his finger to make the call and—

“Wait!” she blurts out, and he has to repress his satisfaction. “Wait, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. Just please don’t hurt her.”

He takes his hand off the button, sets the phone within reaching distance on a nearby end table. “How very sensible of you.” Her chest heaves, as if she’s run a great distance. “Now, tell me how you came to be in league with my brother—the truth this time, love”

He hears her inhale as steadies herself and settles into a nearby chair, waiting patiently for her to gather her thoughts. She starts slowly, telling him of her arrival in New Orleans for a funeral, her lack of affinity with her own kind, and finding Jane-Anne’s body. He listens to the exposition absently, tucking the information away somewhere to be fetched should it prove relevant at a later date. Then she mentions his brother and his interest piques.

“A few weeks ago, a pair of nightwalkers attacked me on the Riverwalk. An Elder in the French Quarter coven sent them after me.”

“Of course.” Klaus has to suppress an eye-roll. Why is it that every time he turns his back, there’s another witch with a finger in the pie?

She shoots him a pointed look. “I held them back for a time. But there was no way I was going to walk away from it. That’s when Elijah stepped in.” Klaus snorts. Now that does sound like Elijah. “I was in pretty rough shape so he took me somewhere safe to see to my wounds-”

“This is all very precious, but will we arrive at an answer to my question anytime soon?”

Annoyance flashes in her eyes once more and this time, she puts a voice to it. “I’ll get there much faster if you don’t interrupt me.”

“Apologies, apologies,” he says, hands raising in a placating gesture. He can’t help a small, amused smile. She is a fiery little thing. “I’ll hold my questions until the end. Continue.”

“While he was cleaning me up, we talked. He told me about your family’s own trouble with the witches.” He straightens in his seat, leaning forward a fraction. Her eyes widen, as if catching his sudden intensity, because she adds, “He didn’t tell me much, only that the witches have some sort of leverage over you and brought you back to town to distract Marcel.”

His eyes narrow, assessing her. When he doesn’t detect any hint of a lie, he eases into his chair.

“That’s when he offered me a deal. His protection and resources for information.”

“What kind of information?”

If she’s irritated at his interjection, she doesn’t show it and Klaus doesn’t particularly care. He senses she’s reaching the zenith of the tale.

“On the witches, the vampires. Anything that might be connected. I refused, at first.” Klaus quirks a brow, savoring the mental image of the bewildered fury that Elijah undoubtedly experienced at having his careful plans thwarted. “I was going to go back to my life in New Mexico. I wanted nothing to do with any of it.”

“But things change.”

“Things change,” she echoes with a faint nod. “Let’s say I have my own score to settle with the witches now.”

In the fire's light, her eyes burn like melted copper. Her jaw tightens imperceptibly. It’s something he recognizes, has seen demonstrated many times over; mostly in himself. A consuming desire for retribution.

A shadow crosses her face, and the light dims, something sadder chasing it away. “And here we are.”

“Here we are,” he repeats, shifting to rest his ankle over his opposite knee. “But you missed one key detail.” Her head shoots up, expression curious. “You’re a witch. One that's used magic in Marcel's New Orleans and lived to tell the tale."

“Elijah...had a theory. My powers aren’t connected to the ancestral well like the rest of the coven. They’re weaker for it, but also means that whatever Marcel uses to track magic use, it keeps me off his radar. I’m…I’m sure that was a big factor in Elijah’s plans, but what those were, he never told me. And it’s not like I can exactly ask him now.”

He suspects there’s more. There will be time enough for that later. For now, he has exactly what he needs. It’s better than he could have anticipated, this little gift that his brother all but delivered to him on a platter.

Marcel has his secret weapon, his ace in the hole. And now Niklaus has his.

All that he has to do is keep her hidden. Miles away from New Orleans, protected by bayou and forest, there’s no better place.

She adjusts in her seat, a rustle of fabric that shakes him from his thoughts.

They’re at their limit for tonight. The girl, Lucie, is exhausted. He can see it in her slouching posture, the dimness of her eyes, and the dark circles beneath them.

He rakes a hand through his hair and concedes to his own exhaustion.

"That's enough for now," he says, rising. “The room at the end of the hall is mine, and Hayley’s claimed the one nearest the door. Take your pick of any of the others.”

He senses Hayley’s unsettled presence at the door where she’s been listening in for the last thirty minutes in a woeful attempt at subterfuge. Her breath catches, anger rolling off of her in waves.

Wolves and their tempers.

“Hayley, would you be a dear and show Lucie to the upstairs?” Hayley appears in the doorway. When Lucie hesitates, he adds, "Don't worry, love. It's not a full moon. She wont bite."

Hayley shoots him a sour look, then ushers for the witch to follow.

Two sets of footsteps retreat down the hall and up the creaky staircase. Klaus listens until there’s nothing left but the dull rumble of distant conversation before settling in with his thoughts.

The witch will know about Hayley and the baby soon enough if Elijah truly hasn’t divulged the full truth. Embers roil in his gut, hot and angry and so sudden, that he takes a moment to recognize the emotion as protectiveness. A desire to rip out her throat and silence forever her knowledge of his child. The ferocity confuses him. He stamps it down. Protectiveness leads to love and love leads inevitably to disappointment and betrayal. He slows his breath and curates his thoughts until the heat fades and there’s nothing left but cold pragmatism.

He needs this witch alive, needs her powers if he hopes to one-up Marcel in this drawn-out game of power. And if she should prove a complication, there’s no reason he can’t do away with her later.

____

The tall, model-esque woman leads her through trimmed hallways and up the staircase to the second floor. All the while, neither woman speaks a word.

Lucie watches her long brown hair swish back and forth across her back as they go, still wondering at this unexpected third party even as they come to a halt just beyond the top landing.

She expects the woman to show her to an open room and then leave her to brood in peace. Instead, she turns to her, arms crossed over her green tank top and looking unmistakeably angry.

Great.

Still, she doesn’t speak. Lucie shoots her a look as if to say what do you want?

The other woman eyes her head to toe, sizing her up. It doesn’t take a body language expert to see the blatant disdain radiating off of her. She huffs in annoyance, attempting to side-step the new hostile to find a bed to face plant into.

An arm darts out, followed by a body blocking her path.

Lucie rolls her eyes, stepping back so she can look her in the eyes. They’re almond-shaped, almost golden, and glinting with distrust. “Do you mind?”

“Listen, I know I have no say in you staying here, but we need to get a few things straight." Lucie’s brow arches, mirroring her posture, and she waits for her to continue. “I don’t know where Klaus found you or what your deal is, but I’m done with witchy bullshit. So if you even think about doing anything to me or my baby, I’ll kill you.”

“Noted. Any more threats or can I go to sleep? It’s been a hell of a day.”

Hayley eyes her long enough for Lucie to wonder if they’ll spend the entire night in the hall, and then, finally, takes a step away and frees her path.

Lucie doesn’t think, just grabs the handle of the nearest door and slips inside. It closes behind her with a soft click, the wood grain smooth and cold where it meets exposed skin as she presses her back against it to hold some of her weight.

Though it’s well into the later hours of the evening, she doesn’t bother with the lights. She feels a distinct aversion to the idea. The overhead light would bring the room into relief and only confirm the harsh reality of her situation, of the uncertain future now before her.

So she leaves it off, not that it matters in the end. The moonlight filtering through the open curtains is bright, bathing everything in a deep blue. It’s more than enough to navigate her way around the mahogany dresser, tiptoeing around a priceless chest to the bed. It’s the focal point of the room, the wooden knobs of the headboard intricately carved. Even in the dark, she can tell the craftsmanship is fine, and ornate but somehow more elegant than gaudy.

She settles on the edge, the plush mattress creaking under her weight. The comforter is soft as kicks off her boots and draws her knees to her chest.

The glass window is slightly clouded, a testament to its age, alongside the brittle-looking panes framing it. Beyond it, the night is clear and quiet. Growing up around the hustle and bustle of New Orleans, she finds the silence oppressive. It makes her uneasy, finding it hard to settle even as her thoughts turn back to the night’s events.

As angry as she is at Arabella, as unsure about her role in Violette’s death, she can’t bear the thought of Klaus harming her. Or Cami, for that matter. Yet the second part of his threat would have frightened her more if she hadn’t seen the two of them interact at Rousseau’s. She remembers the soft way he’d looked at her. True, she doesn’t know Klaus well, but something tells her he doesn’t look at just anyone like that.

In the end, she hadn’t told him much — not as much as she could have. Still, Lucie’s skin crawls, unable to escape the wrongness, the sensation of having resisted and yet somehow moving right where he wanted. Like a marionette on a miniature stage, dancing with the illusion of autonomy but the strings guided by someone else’s hand.

She isn’t sure how long she stares out the window, knees hugged into her chest. Only that at some point, she cracks open the window and finds her way under the thick covers. There’s a weight to the air here that the city lacks. Dense like the blanket holding her in place.

She’s on the verge of sleep, eyes growing heavy—

Wait. Did she say baby?

____

After the first night, Lucie finds herself mostly alone. She’s scarcely seen hide nor hair of Klaus since his interrogation, and Hayley makes herself scarce. On the odd occasion they cross paths, the interaction is clipped to the barest amount of communication necessary.

Not that Lucie minds. She’s content to give her new housemate a wide berth. Call it a healthy mixture of standoffishness and self-preservation. Despite a lifetime in a coven of witches and decent working knowledge of vampires, she knows relatively little about werewolves. And though she’s fairly certain they aren’t a threat unless there’s a full moon, she isn’t willing to stake her life on it. Besides, something tells her that, wolf or not, Hayley can hold her own.

So she keeps to herself, stifling curiosity down in pursuit of other distractions. The house—even if it can even be called that—is massive in a way that borders on ridiculous.

She spends a lot of time exploring. At first, it’s with the hesitation of a child afraid of being caught out of bed. But with each venture, she grows bold, until the trepidation abates and is replaced with a surprised realization that Klaus isn’t lurking in the shadows to bust her and banish her to a locked cell somewhere.

She passes by him one evening, on her way to the kitchen, tries to sneak by the parlor where he’s slumped in an armchair, arms draped over the rests and angled toward the fireplace. Burning logs crackle and pop, the shifting flames illuminating his features in a warm flow. His eyes are fixed on it, reflecting the smoldering embers. Long fingers wrap around a glass of amber liquid. The acrid, earthy smell of bourbon reaches her as he takes a sip, expression indecipherable but markedly serious.

She’s been watching too long now from the doorway. It’s time to move on. When she steps forward, an ancient floorboard creaks, and she finds herself no longer looking at his profile but into tired blue eyes.

Freezing like a deer in the headlights, she waits. For what, precisely, she isn’t sure. Some form of cruel retribution for sneaking about and disturbing his privacy. He’s certainly the tit-for-tat type.

“Long night?” It’s stilted, uncomfortable, but she isn’t sure what else to say.

He stares at her for a stretch of seconds, as if she’s a particularly frustrating riddle. She watches the glass tip; the bourbon disappearing into his mouth.

“Something like that,” he says evenly. “Tell me, do you normally skulk about everywhere like a restless ghost or is this a recent development?”

“No skulking, just ah…going to the kitchen.”

He blinks at her, a vague glassiness to his eyes, but alert nonetheless. Then, slowly, he inclines his head and turns his attention back to the flames and whatever he’s puzzling over in his head.

Lucie recognizes the dismissal. Normally his imperiousness would make her bristle, but mostly she’s relieved and mildly bewildered.

Stunned, she can only manage a small ‘goodnight’ before she leaves him to his drink.

____

If there’s one thing Lucie has these days, it’s time—in abundance. Long uninterrupted stretches with no occupation and no purpose beyond running down a clock that only resets itself at the end of every day.

All the while, Klaus plays his cards close to the chest. He doesn’t tell her how long she has to stay here, or what he’s planning to use her for. In fact, beyond the night in the parlor, she only catches glimpses of the Hybrid over the first few weeks. A pass by in the hallway, the muffled sound of his voice behind closed doors late into the night.

He offers her no deals, no equal partnership in his plans. To him, she’s a toy. A magic dispensing wind-up doll, fetched when it serves a purpose and then promptly placed back on the shelf to gather dust when its utility is done.

In a way, Lucie is relieved to be left alone on her shelf. She’s had more than enough of threats to last a lifetime and engaging in small talk seems like an acute form of torture.

She resigns herself to it, this strange half-life she’s found herself in, and waits for Klaus to determine a use for her. But it’s its own brand of hell, being trapped inside your own head.

There’s too much time to think. And so often these days, her thoughts turn to her ghosts. It’s like they follow her, Peter whispering her ear over her shoulder or Violette leaning over her at night. All the what-ifs and why-nots bounce echoes on an endless loop, intermingled with fury and guilt.

It forces her to dwell on the culmination of all the emotional turbulence she’s been at the mercy of since she arrived back in Louisiana. Likely even longer than that, if she’s being honest with herself. It shouldn’t surprise her, this inevitable come-down, but it does. The uncertainty and fear of those first days out here in the middle of nowhere trickle away from the drudgery of routine and boredom of an indefinite stay. It isn’t long before it twists itself into a lingering melancholy.

There’s a slowness to everything she does during these autumn days that blend seamlessly into one another, like wading through knee-deep mud. All the while, the pain creeps in and makes a home in her chest—dense like swallowed stones.

Every day, she makes it a point to acquaint herself with another part of the manor. She gets to know the stern faces outlined in faded oil paintings, learns which rooms get the best sun in the morning and which offer the most shade in the warmer parts of the day. She roams the hallways until she knows which boards creak and which parts of the wallpaper are starting to peel. If she expects familiarity to breed fondness, she is sorely mistaken.

Every priceless vase, every draped bolt of rich heavy fabric grates makes her uneasy. Like four centuries of inhabitants are watching her with judgemental stares. She judges them back with equal fervor.

Any lingering doubts or confusion about Klaus’ permissiveness about letting her have free run of the place are conclusively stamped out when she finally ventures out onto the grounds.

It’s early morning and uncommonly chilly. The grass is tipped with crystals of frost as she steps out on the front porch, wrapping a long cardigan tighter across herself. It’s one of several articles of simple, but sensible pieces that had turned up nearly folded on her bed a few nights into her stay. At first, she suspected they were loans from Hayley, but the fit of the clothes debunked the theory. After all, the other woman is long-legged and has at least half a head on Lucie. She figures the most likely option is that Klaus compelled some poor woman to part with a chunk of her wardrobe. At least she hoped that was the case. In those first days, she spends extra time examining the garments for blood.

The air is crisp, whispering promises of a rapidly approaching winter. At the edge of the horizon, the sun is a faint line of pale yellow. She watches it creep its way higher and higher from the east.

She tries her best not to think of Elijah. Most of the time, she does a good job. But now and then, in more idle hours when the harder feelings grow teeth — like this one—she thinks of him, wondering where he is and what he’s doing. Sometimes, trying to decide if he’s even alive.

Beyond the exposed, sprawling orchard, the entire property is walled in by nature. Dense thickets of brush and jagged trees almost certainly conceal steep inclines and murky marshland. Should she run, a broken neck or tumble into a bog would likely do her in, if whatever made its home in the harsh wilderness didn’t find her first.

Lucie feels stranded in a way she’s never experienced before.

____

In these sluggish, lonely days, she finds her greatest solace in a corner room on the first floor.

She would be hard-pressed to name a single book she’s finished in years, but she finds comfort in the study all the same.

She’s nestled into the cushions of the window seat, an ancient volume cracked open over her lap. It’s late afternoon. The breeze beyond the window is soft as it combs through blades of grass. She resists the urge to crack the window open. The room always smells of polished wood and parchment and spice. It’s become one of her favorite things, enough that she’s loathe to disturb it.

The page rustles as she flips it. A compendium of genealogy, the neat, scrawling script, outlines centuries of New Orleans bloodlines. She’s ginger with it. The book is undoubtedly priceless just like most of the collections that line the shelves.

She pauses. This section diagrams the branches stemming from one of the casket girls. Lucie skims the lines without really seeing, her vision blurred by the sudden prick of tears. It’s October 22 -what would have been her brother’s thirtieth birthday. They should be out celebrating, instead, she’s a prisoner in some bayou, and her brother, her brother is…

She closes the book with a little more than necessary. The nearest pillow suffers its intended fate instead, careening through the air as she chucks it blindly to the side as she cries out in frustration.

She watches its path. It bounces once, twice, and settles by the doorway, right next to a pair of bare feet.

Mortified, she follows the long legs upward to a pair of wide eyes and a bowed mouth with slightly parted lips.

Hayley blinks at her. Lucie’s face is hot as she averts it, batting desperately at her damp cheeks.

“Do you need something?” Her gaze fixes beyond the window, her voice thicker than she’d like.

“No...no,” Hayley says behind her. “Just heard a noise and thought I’d check it out.”

Lucie clears her throat and nods. When she finally dares a sidelong glance at the doorway, Hayley is gone.

She thinks the incident is forgotten, that maybe by some miracle, Hayley had missed the worst of her outburst. Until the next morning, when she’s greeted by the smell of cooking oil and the distinctive crackle of frying food as she descends the stairs.

Feeling better if not somewhat drained after a night of crying into her pillow, she follows the noise, rounding the corner into the kitchen to find Hayley hunched over the stove.

Her back is to her, but she must hear her enter because she says, “There’s a plate for you over on the table. If you want condiments, get them yourself.”

Lucie is glad she can’t see her bewildered expression as she pours herself a cup of coffee. She settles into a spot in the sunny breakfast nook and pulls the plate toward her for inspection.

The toast is burned at the edges and the eggs are a bit shiny. Lucie is grateful all the same. Knowing a peace offering when she sees one, she seizes a fork and spears a piece of egg into her mouth. The texture is interesting, but the flavor is good. She’s never been a picky eater.

Not long after, Hayley slips into a chair across from her with her own plate.

They each dig into their respective breakfasts, both seemingly content to sit in silence. Lucie tears a corner off her toast, using it as a vessel to scoop up her eggs.

“Listen, I get what it’s like, being dragged into all this and not having any say.” Lucie’s gaze darts to her face, confused. “God, I suck at this. What I’m trying to say is maybe I was a little harsh with you that first night.”

Hayley doesn’t seem the type for apologies, but she thinks this is as close as it gets.

She struggles to find a response, settling on a soft, “Thank you.”

Hayley nods, taking a long gulp of orange juice. “I meant what I said, though. Mess with me or my baby and I will kill you.”

Fair enough. They return to their meals in silence. Though, perhaps one that’s less uncomfortable than before.

She spares Hayley the odd glance, gears in her head turning all the while.

Hayley huffs after a few minutes pass. “I can hear you thinking from here. Whatever it is, you might as well ask before your ears start smoking.”

Lucie’s head pops up, locking eyes with Hayley. She only looks mildly annoyed.

“You keep mentioning a baby. You’re pregnant?”

“You didn’t know?”

“Nope,” she says around a bite. “Should I have?”

“I guess not,” Hayley shrugs. “I figured if Klaus didn’t tell you, Elijah would have.”

Lucie stills a little at the name, gingerly setting down her fork so it doesn’t clatter against her plate. Hayley seems suddenly subdued. It seems obvious now, sitting across from her in their home, but she forgets sometimes that Elijah existed here, and lived a life beyond their harried encounters. It occurs to her that the woman across from her likely feels his absence just as keenly. Does she ever feel betrayed too?

She wants to bring it up, but can’t find the words, their peace is still too tenuous. All she manages is a slight shake of her head.

“Well, it’s true. Say hello to the resident knocked-up werewolf.”

“And the father?”

Hayley gives her a pointed look, waiting for her to put the pieces together.

“Klaus? You can’t be serious. I thought vampires couldn’t have children.”

“They can’t,” Hayley confirms. “But werewolves can. And Klaus is a hybrid, so…”

Lucie tosses her head in disbelief. “Elijah mentioned the witches had some sort of leverage over Klaus but never specified what. It makes sense now.”

“‘Leverage’,” Hayley snorts, putting down her glass of orange juice. “That’s a nice way of saying that they kidnapped me, took me to the bayou, and performed some freaky ritual to connect me to Sophie Deveraux.”

Lucie pauses, something else clicking. “The witch that performed the spell, it was Jane-Anne, wasn’t it?”

“For all the good it did her.”

And another piece of the puzzle falls into place. For the first time since she came back, she thinks she’s starting to understand. Losing her daughter in the Harvest Ritual and no doubt desperate, Jane-Anne performed a spell to link the mother of Klaus’ unborn child and that’s how they’d brought him here.

Horrible, but objectively it fits. But it still doesn’t explain what their end goal is.

She sighs, trying to put it all together is giving her a headache.

“You’re doing it again.”

“Huh?”

“Thinking too hard.”

#elijah mikaelson fic #elijah mikaelson x oc #elijah mikaelson x ofc #keepsdeathhiscourt fic #original female character #elijah x ofc #elijah x oc #the originals fic

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writer-in-theory · 2 years

Text

Whumptober 2022 Masterlist

Ships Included: - Harringrove - Steddie - Mungrove - Harringroveson

Gen Fics: - Steve & Robin - Steve & The Party - Billy & El/Jane - Billy & Max

◇ NO. 1 — A LITTLE OUT OF THE ORDINARY (Steve Harrington & The Party) Adverse Effect | Unconventional Restraints | "This wasn't supposed to happen"

Steve is the babysitter, he's meant to be taking care of everyone else so he'll do anything in his power to keep doing it.

◇ NO. 2 — NOWHERE TO RUN (Steve Harrington/Billy Hargrove) Cornered | Caged | Confrontation

Billy comes to a tough realization after graduation.

◇ NO. 3 — HAIR'S BREADTH FROM DEATH (Steddie, Implied Past Harringrove) Gun to Temple | "Say goodbye" | Impaled

Steve is apparently supposed to die in 24 hours, but there's so much left to say.

◇ NO. 4 — DEAD ON YOUR FEET (Harringrove) Hidden Injury | Waking Up Disoriented | Can't Pass Out

Steve notices the signs in Billy, and wonders how no one's ever noticed before.

◇ NO. 5 — EVERY WHUMPEE'S NEEDS (Steddie) Blood Loss | Running Out of Air | Hyperthermia

In which Steve doesn't want his bat-inflicted injuries to distract from the mission.

◇ NO. 6 — PROOF OF LIFE (Harringrove) Ransom Video | "I've got a pulse" | Screams from Across the Hall

After Starcourt, Steve wakes in a hospital and no one will tell him if Billy made it out.

◇ NO. 7 — THE WAY YOU SHAKE AND SHIVER (Steddie) Shaking Hands | Seizures | Silent Panic Attack

When Eddie held that bottle up to his neck, it brought far too many memories to the surface for Steve.

◇ NO. 8 — EVERYTHING HURTS AND I'M DYING (Steddie) Stomach Pain | Head Trauma | Back from the Dead

After another concussion, Steve is pretty sure he's hallucinating. People can't come back from the dead, right?

◇ NO. 9 — THE VERY NOISY NIGHT (Steddie) Sleeping in Shifts | Tossing and Turning | Caught in a Storm

The night reminds them too much of what happened, so they decide to get through it together.

◇ NO. 10 — POOR UNFORTUNATE SOULS (Steve Harrington & Robin Buckley) Taser | Whipping | Waterboarding

What if the Russians had more time with Steve and Robin?

◇ NO. 11 — 911, WHAT'S YOUR EMERGENCY? (Billy Hargrove, Implied Harringrove) Sloppy Bandages | Self-Done First Aid | makeshift splint

Billy thought he'd died in Starcourt, but he woke up alone in a strange version of the world he knew.

◇ NO. 12 — WHAT COULD GO WRONG? (Harringrove) Alt Prompt: Ringing Ears

Steve tried hard to keep it from him, but Billy finds out there have been lasting effects from all of the head trauma.

◇ NO. 13 — CAN'T MAKE AN OMELETTE WITHOUT BREAKING A FEW LEGS (Harringrove) Fracture | Dislocation | "Are you here to break me out?"

Steve finds out about the lock on Billy's door. Good thing he's had plenty of practice sneaking into windows.

◇ NO. 14 — DIE A HERO OR LIVE LONG ENOUGH TO BECOME A VILLAIN (Steve Harrington & Robin Buckley)

Desperate Measures | Failed Escape | "I'll be right behind you"

When they confront Vecna again, Steve is determined to make sure they won’t lose. At any cost.

◇ NO. 15 — EMOTIONAL DAMAGE (Harringroveson) Lies | New Scars | Breathing Through the Pain

It's the first summer after it all, and the boys have new scars.

◇ NO. 16 — NO WAY OUT (Billy Hargrove, Implied Harringrove) Mind Control | Paralytic Drugs | "No one's coming"

Billy was aware when the mind flayer took control of him, too aware.

◇ NO. 17 — HANGING BY A THREAT (Harringrove) Breaking Point | Stress Positions | Reluctant Caretaker

They’ve never had a positive interaction before, but when Steve notices Billy on the side of the road he knows there’s no other option but to stop.

◇ NO. 18 — LET'S BREAK THE ICE (Harringrove) "Just get it over with" | Treading Water | "Take my coat"

Steve has new migraine medication. He's also terrified of needles.

◇ NO. 19 — ENOUGH IS ENOUGH (Steddie) Knees Buckling | Repeatedly Passing Out | Head Lolling

Steve gets to Eddie in time to get the bats away, but now they have to get out of the Upside Down.

◇ NO. 20 — IT'S BEEN A LONG DAY (Harringrove) Going into Shock | Fetal Position | Prisoner Trade

It's 1991 and Steve Harrington is celebrating the end of the cold war with a bottle of vodka Murray had sent them all when he gets a call about an American prisoner that had been returned.

◇ NO. 21 — FAMOUS LAST WORDS (Steddie) Coughing Up Blood | "You're safe now" | "Take me instead"

They say nothing is worse than the pain of coughing up flowers. Steve thinks loving without return wins.

◇ NO. 22 — PICK YOUR POISON (Harringrove, Steve Harrington & Dustin Henderson, Billy Hargrove & Eleven/Jane Hopper) Toxic | Withdrawal | Allergic Reaction

Dustin and El convince Steve and Billy to quit smoking together. Neither of them are happy about it.

◇ NO. 23 — AT THE END OF THEIR ROPE (Mungrove) Forced to Kneel | Tied to a Table | "Hold them down"

The lab knows something weird happened to Eddie and Billy when they were in the Upside Down, they're determined to find out why.

◇ NO. 24 — FIGHT, FLIGHT, OR FREEZE (Billy Hargrove & Max Mayfield) Blood Covered Hands | "I don't want to do this anymore" | Catatonic

Though Billy was reckless, he was the best driver Max ever knew. She never expected this.

◇ NO. 25 — SILENCE IS GOLDEN (Harringrove) Lost Voice | Duct Tape | "You better start talking"

When Steve can't speak after what the Russians did, the most unlikely of people are there to help.

◇ NO. 26 — NO ONE LEFT BEHIND (Harringrove) Separated | Rope Burns | "Why did you save me?"

Billy runs away from Neil, having to say goodbye to the one boy he's ever loved. Years later, Steve goes on a road trip with his nuggets.

◇ NO. 27 — PUSHED TO THE LIMIT (Billy Hargrove & Eleven/Jane Hopper) Muffled Screams | Stumbling | Magical Exhaustion

When El pushes herself too hard, Billy is there to remind her to slow down.

◇ NO. 28 — IT'S JUST THE TIP OF THE ICEBERG (Harringrove) Anger Born from Worry | Punching the Wall | Headache

It's the worst call Billy has ever gotten when he’s told Steve is in the hospital.

◇ NO. 29 — WHAT DOESN'T KILL ME... (Steve Harrington & Robin Buckley) Sleep Deprivation | Defiance | "Better me than you"

Steve and Robin finally talk about what happened in the Russian base.

◇ NO. 30 — NOTE TO SELF: DON'T GET KIDNAPPED (Steddie) Manhandled | Hair Grabbing | "Please don't touch me"

Steve was so worried about the Upside Down monsters he forgot how evil humans could be.

◇ NO. 31 — A LIGHT AT THE END OF THE TUNNEL (Harringrove) Comfort | Bedside Vigil | "You can rest now"

Billy and Steve get an apartment in California together, away from everything that had hurt them.

#stranger things #billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove #harringroveson #whumptober

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herestrish · 2 years

Text

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠▸ nanami kento x reader (gn)

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬▸ hurt/comfort, fluff, coffee-shop (i have no chill with this au i swear to god).

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭▸ 1.3 k

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲▸ you desperately try to wash your thoughts away with your writing, when a workaholic nanami catches your eye.

𝐚/𝐧▸ dedicated to my sweet @kikyan, whose love for storytelling is as strong as nanami’s hate for overtime work. they’re a gem.

A beam of sunshine escaped through the window and fractured his face in a straight line of warmth. Pale cheekbones that looked almost healthy, dark circles covered under dying sun. A flare reflecting into his eyes that one—if blinded with hurry, obliviated with disinterest—would deem alive. They weren’t.

The place was almost empty. Small, narrow piece of intimacy hiding at the corner of the street; the secluded type where customers usually know the bartenders, and bills are paid at the counter. Cosy gradient of browns and beiges, light bulbs hanging from the ceiling, shining soothe and retro just like the music playing in the background. A casual guy with freshly trimmed beard was typing on his essay on the other side of the room. Two pink-cheeked girls in turtleneck sweaters (with steam spectrally hovering up from their cups, hardcover books by their side—oh, but we know it’s just for show) were keeping up with each other’s lives three tables farther from you. Rarae aves. Sighing in frustration, frowning at the sudden disturbance, he averted his eyes from the outdoor light play—gold turning to bronze, at last to silver—and pulled the laptop lid a bit lower. He didn’t like it when things dragged him out of his concentration state. Tightened the tie around his neck as a form of punishment. Then he rubbed on his eyes just so heavily, determined to get used to the screen’s whiteness as promptly as possible. As efficiently.

And now that the sun left his face and scattered into shades of pink behind the rip-roaring arcadia of Tokyo, the contrast between his own image and the setting he’d put himself into became more and more evident. Like a frame that had built itself around his table, covered it in paint and got it hung on wallpaper. At this point, you’d thought this man would fit better inside a cubicle: white quivery neon, coffee filtered in a hurry, nine-to-five schedules, cigarette breaks restoring the worker’s will to live. But it was still Saturday and an office room could be claustrophobic, and a home distracting.

So he typed and typed and typed; occasionally dropped some scribbles down the notebook beside him, took a sip from a white ceramic cup. He’d ordered a double-espresso—no sugar, no milk, just caffeinated oil to keep the cogwheels moving. By the other side of his laptop, the man’s phone started to buzz. It didn’t stop too soon. He rolled his eyes at the insisting caller, swiped a thumb up only at the fourth ring. Phone by his ear and a frigid tone in his voice, he looked up, and your gaze hurried downwards when he did. You had your own amount of typing to concentrate at, less work and more pain-killing escape. A laptop screen, a half-hearted paragraph and a story idea that had grasped you during your own morning shift at work and hadn’t let go ever since. Eyes heavy and back aching, you were here out of an unconscious attempt to bring it to life. You didn’t really know what to do with it in the future.

The conversation went on. (“Precisely. I’d very much appreciate it if you stopped associating me with all this, I won’t get involved with the line of work no longer. Well, I’m afraid you’ll have to acquire a new competency and do the jobs you are assigned to from now on.”)

You tried to put your thoughts in order, turn ideas into words, daydream into text; all efforts were to no avail, and a headache slowly started to take over in all your frustration. A word, cut out. Two words, replaced. Three—let’s select the whole row and begin a new sentence from scratch. At least the sound of your typing was soothing enough to keep you going. The man sitting at the table in front hung up the phone and ordered a glass of wine, moments after it wasn’t your typing to soothe anymore. You stared at the screen, eyes glazing over, with a finger curled up your lips as he completed endless rows of text. Mechanic, focused. And you were gripped again. Curious, mind blank.

“You’re staring again.” It was an observation. No hostility held to his voice, nor mischief.

A thought took form out loud. “Am I?”

“Pretty much, yes,” He responded, eyes fixed on the screen and fingers racing over keyboard.

You felt as if a knot got stuck in your throat. Your lungs got flattened, and your headache pulsed in response.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

A moment passed.

“You seem horrifyingly tense on a Saturday evening, is all.” You managed.

He didn’t take too much time to ponder over it, his words came out cold and professional.

“I shouldn’t be working on a Saturday evening.”

And he was professionalism incarnated, all right, with shirtsleeves pulled up to elbows and braces vertical to slim waist and round shoulders that had no time to loosen.

You closed your laptop lid, a faint ‘click’ when you did. Your stare was less sheer curiosity and more sociability this time, it propped your hand in a palm just as dandelion seeds are driven mid-air and then down to the ground.

Natural, understanding. “Leave it to Monday, then.”

“Weekend productivity leaves a door open for the rest of the week. If my schedule says I’m ought to be off at five, I’d prefer to be off at five.” The man clarified, with a lowered tone and a masked sigh that actually translated themselves to ‘cannot do’.

“Has it worked so far?”

“No.” He said, throwing you a wise look, hand resting somewhere near touchpad.

“That’s the case,” After a second of thought, you point a finger at the gleaming glass of wine on his table, “Drink up.” then at the opened laptop in front. “Open a word document, write a story.”

The interior lights radiated brighter and brighter—orange and yellow midst the room, dark circles on the ceiling—as the sun became completely concealed, and your reflections gained contour in over-carefully wiped windows.

He complied with the first suggestion, glass by his mouth and alcohol cascading down in crimson waves. “I’m not convinced literature will get any bureaucracy done, however.”

A shrug. “It shouldn’t. But it should clear up your mind at some point.”

“If only people functioned the same.”

“Still, I don’t know anyone who isn’t truthfully into taking a break from time to time.”

“All right, look,” He began, brushing a piece of blonde hair from his face, all austere and composed. “I much appreciate your concern, but under no circumstances will you see me becoming this Kobo Abe in my free time. Especially when overloaded with work. It wouldn’t make any sense.”

“Neither does bureaucracy.” It was all you could say back; your smile was still clear like a morning sky before you returned to your laptop, your own word document that remained to be filled with pages.

He left early, earlier than you. Watched him pack his things out of the corner of your eye, paid attention when bells chimed at the exit door. And it didn’t take much more time for you to follow suit: laptop closed, bag around shoulder, seat dragged to its place.

“Don’t sweat it,” The woman at the counter looked unusually casual for the dark circles she wore under her eyes. “it has been already taken care of.”

Like someone entering a numbing state after endless hours of labour.

“What do you mean?” Raising an eyebrow, you stopped rummaging through your wallet.

There was a deep sinking feeling in your stomach you found hard to get over.

“The guy from before? Looking like a peaky blinder or some sort? He paid for your bill before leaving.”

A couple of beats later, your lips curve in amusement. “If they ever come in here again, please tell them they be more old-fashioned than my granny’s curtains.”

#jjk #nanami kento #nanami x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #a little distraction until i get back to writing caffeinated #trish writing

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welcometomybraincomics · 4 months

Text

The world is full of so much beauty.

Sunlight glinting off the edges of a crystal garden, filtering light through each flat prism and speckling the ground in miniature rainbows. (The shattered remains of a crystal garden, glistening across the ground. The glistening spires they used to be before the battle. Lying in the rubble between them, incapacitated and left with nothing to do but observe. They bounce and fracture under pedsteps, each movement creating a near imperceptible symphony of chimes)

The greying of paint as a mech dies, starting at the edges and encroaching on the spark in fractal patterns. (A youngling, tucked into a shadowed corner, frozen long after the mech's spark snuffed, unable to move, like watching a train wreck)

the way energon drips down plating, always seeking the lowest point and inevitably painting a tapestry across the plane as it finds pits and valleys imperceptible to the naked optic. (Watching the energon seep from wounds. On the battlefield, in an alley, in his home. It always seeks the same path, that vibrant pink fluid, regardless of frame type. He watches as it solidifies, as the solvent that makes it "processed" evaporates, leaving the crystalline structure of energon once more. There are patterns to it, there are differences, depending on where in the frame it's from)

The way optics dim when a mech offlines, always from the edges in as the bulbs burn out or lose power. (He hides as much as he can, tucked into a crevice nearly too small for him, and he knows his face is the last thing the mech sees before his spark is shot through by someone he makes sure can't see him. Just like the mech who starved in the gutter next to him, this mech's optics fade the same)

There's so much beauty everywhere, you don't see how everybody misses it. (Pink and grey and rust. There's so much of it, this must be what the world loves. He's been gifted with paradise and he's honored to be born there)

It's in the techno-moth evaporating in a flame, the way rust slowly eats at metal, the way cooling frames bend and pop as their plating settles for the last time. (Symphony of life. Symphony of death. The patterns, here, always. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful)

The splatter of arterial spray is beautiful when captured on a wall, but in the middle of the battlefield, all you can do is snap quick captures as its arc is backlit by the fading light of a foreign star just above the dust and rummage of battle. (A shot to the spark, a knife to the neck, so many beautiful ways to kill a mech. The battle a gallery and he an artist relishing in the majesty of it all. So much so much so much, he wants to capture it all: Every frame, every movement, every death. But he is one mech. It's all he can do to capture this beautiful moment, framed by the flailing limbs of battle, so dark against the setting star)

There's beauty in a field after battle. Some say it's a chaotic wasteland of ravaged corpses, but there are only so many ways a mech can fall, and you see its beautiful patterns spread before you after the dust settles from the air like an ethereal mist and grey frames are all you can see for miles. After you, others will come and pick them apart, scavenge them. Then, their frames will be left to rust, to become part of the landscape, to wash away an acid rain, to disintegrate and wither away and turn into dust on the wild wind of land with no life supporting it. There's beauty in that too. (Cyclical, cyclical, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. To rise from Primus and to return to him. Till All Are One)

-------

Pov you see double standards in action and go "Oh! So all the rules are a lie and there's actually a secret set of rules that I must figure out with my brilliant powers of deduction!" except you don't determine you're on the lower end of double standards, you determine EVERYONE is on the lower end of double standards and now you look like a lunatic

Ahahahhaha After getting into his head, I realize that Guillotine is a deeply traumatized mech. Does he think he's traumatized? No. But his vision of beauty is 100% an attempt to cope with the persistent horrors of the world that just didn't seem to stop. "If all this is so horrible, why is it still here? If it's still here, that must mean this is a good thing, that this is beauty. That must mean this is a utopia"

Anyway, Guillotine is fucked up in ways that did not initially occur to me and now I need to write a Vaporwave pov to see how the fuck their thought processes go together. Not bc my imagined thought process for Vaporwave doesn't mesh well with Guillotine, but because I've only got an outline and I'm super interested in seeing what mindset is compatible.

#transformers #oc #transformers oc #robits #Guillotine #Local mech is very fucked in the head #Some of it is stuff he was taught #most of it is stuff he twisted up inside his brain and taught himself #maccadams #canon typical violence #Prose #uuuuh this entire thing is about death and mutilation soooo...#tw death mention

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asha-mage · 2 years

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What are your thoughts on Veins of Gold?

Surprisingly I don't really have an issue with Veins of Gold. On the level of just being a grand finale to TGS I don't mind it even if it isn't my favorite ending to a WoT book: well TGS isn't my favorite WoT book, or even my favorite of Sanderson's WoT Books. In fact I would go as far as to say it's one of the better parts of TGS, if not a general highlight.

On a macro narrative level Veins of Gold serves more or less as the climax of Rand's central character conflict, where he is forced to confront what it means to be savior of the world, and if the world is even worth saving or not. It's a well executed and written sequence, and serves as a decent enough payoff on something that's been building at that point for the majority of the series.

Their are generally two readings that take issue with Veins of Gold: the first is that Rand essentially accepts his own necessary death/embraces his suicidal ideation and spends the rest of the series in a giddy 'I have decided to die' bubble, the second is that Rand trauma is essentially resolved by epiphany therapy without having to properly process or work through his pain and negative experiences. I don't agree with either reading, though of the two I understand and can see the logic of the latter more.

The first reading I don't think is supported by the text, since Veins of Gold is largely about Rand finding hope, taking in the endless cycles of the turning of the Wheel, the endless patterns in which all humans are trapped and deciding to forge on ahead anyways. Rand's turning point is deciding that even if humans are condemned to never break free or transcend these cycles, because the Wheel gives them endless chances to love and fight and find their own meaning in life, life is still worth living, and thus saving. If anything, Veins of Gold, and later Rand scenes are explicit as they can be without giving away the AMOL ending twist, that Rand is determined to survive his battles with Dark One if possible, and is working twoards that end.

The second reading I feel is far better supported by the text, even if I don't necessarily think that is the intent. Sanderson's tendency twoards simplification and lack of ambiguity means that I don't think he necessarily knows how to write characters except in a binary of 'in crisis' and 'out of crisis'. Onto of that, Sanderson leans heavily into the Messiah/savior angle with Zen Master Rand (to borrow a nick name from Leigh Butler over on Tor.com), and thus tends to show him in a very exclusively positive light, as having achieved a kind of apotheosis/enlightenment that makes him seem far more put together and mentally healthy then I necessarily think he is. We do see fractures in this, where Rand is forced to confront his failures in Bandar Eban, and when dealing with the world leaders during the Randland United Nations Summit. I suspect the intent of the text, based on those incidents, and his latter struggle with the Dark One, was always to show that Rand had the same underlying problems but had decided to confront them directly and with a new resolve, rather then allowing them to simply torment him while he tried to force his way through his fate.

In the end I think the fact that their are readers who don't come away that take away demonstrates the weakness and limitation of Sanderson as a writer. And I respect those who dislike the sequence even if broadly I disagree about it's merits.

#WoT #Wheel of time #WoT Musing #WoT Meta #Rand al'Thor #AMOL Spoilers #WoT Book spoilers #Sanderson Critical

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aro-aizawa · 2 years

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whumptober 2022!

okay im gonna try and get a headstart on writing for whumptober this year because i am determined to get further than filling 5 prompts bc if i can pass that goal then i’ll be in a better shape to keep the momentum going and do even better next year. THAT BEING SAID i v much would love to continue in the same manner and take requests. so! here are the fandom’s i’ll be writing for this year, and the characters i gravitate towards:

batfam (i have almost zero canon info outside of all the movies and whatever i read in fanfics but i love the family dynamics sm, and this is my current hyperfixation so prompts are v much more likely to be filled): - tim drake

miraculous ladybug - marinette dupain-cheng

danny phantom - danny fenton

avatar the last airbender - zuko

fullmetal alchemist - edward elric

my hero academia (maybe - my mha fixation is like the furthest orbit rn so no clue if it’ll come around before the end of october but if the prompt is good who knows - midoriya izuku

you’re allowed to request as many times as you like! however, sometimes i just won’t have any inspo from the request so it might not make the cut, sorry! i’m also pre-emptively replacing some prompts and blacking others out so i don’t have to write anything that makes me feel icky or just isn’t my jam, or so i can write prompts that are v much my jam. so here’s the prompt list!

1. a little out of the ordinary - stabbed / marinette ✔ [ao3]

adverse effects | alt: stabbed | "this wasn't supposed to happen”

2. nowhere to run - caged / izuku ✔ [ao3]

cornered | caged | confrontation

3. hair’s breadth from death - gun to temple / edward ✔

gun to temple | “say goodbye” | impaled

4. dead on your feet - hidden injury / marinette || can’t pass out / marinette

hidden injury | waking up disorientated | can’t pass out

5. every whumpee’s needs - hyperthermia / tim

blood loss | running out of air | hyperthermia

6. proof of life

ransom video | “i’ve got a pulse” | screams from across the hall

7. the way you shake and shiver

shaking hands | seizures | silent panic attack

8. everything hurts and i’m dying - stomach pain / tim

stomach pain | head trauma | back from the dead

9. the very noisy night

sleeping in shifts | tossing and turning | caught in a storm

10. poor unfortunate souls - waterboarding / zuko

taser | whipping | waterboarding

11. “911, what’s your emergency?”

sloppy bandages | self-done first aid | makeshift splint

12. what could go wrong?

alt: ambushed | cave in | rusty nail

13. can’t make an omlette without breaking a few legs

fracture | dislocation | “are you here to break me out?”

14. die a hero or live long enough to become a villain

desperate measures | failed escape | “i’ll be right behind you”

15. emotional damage

lies | new scars | alt: touch starved

16. no way out

mind control | paralytic drugs | “no one’s coming”

17. hanging by a threat

breaking point | stress positions | reluctant caretaker

18. let’s break the ice

“just get it over with” | treading water | “take my coat”

19. enough is enough - knees buckling or repeatedly passing out / danny

knees buckling | repeatedly passing out | head lolling

20. it’s been a long day

going into shock | fetal position | prisoner trade

21. famous last words

coughing up blood | “you’re safe now” | take me instead”

22. pick your poison

toxic | withdrawal | allergic reaction

23. at the end of their rope

forced to kneel | tied to a table | “hold them down”

24. fight, flight or freeze - blood covered hands / marinette

blood covered hands | “i don’t want to do this anymore” | catatonic

25. silence is golden

lost voice | duct tape | “you better start talking”

26. no one left behind

separated | rope burns | “why did you save me?”

27. pushed to the limit

muffled screams | stumbling | magical exhaustion

28. it’s just the tip of the iceberg - sensory overload / edward

alt: sensory overload | punching the wall | headache

29. what doesn’t kill me...

sleep deprivation | defiance | “better me than you”

30. note to self: don’t get kidnapped

manhandled | hair grabbing | “please don’t touch me”

31. a light at the end of the tunnel

comfort | beside vigil | “you can rest now”

#whumptober 2022 #PLEASE i need to get back into the habit of writing #this always happens when my gaming fixations over take everything #and it doesn't help i've got a new fandom fixation too so i've been consuming all the fanfic on that i can lol #im gonna try and write as many prompts as i can before october starts to give myself a lot more of a buffer #i think last year i started only a few days before october #we're in august baby so i wanna get a headstart by a month

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womenwithbeautifulhair · 1 year

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foliumdiscognitum2

I know I’m shadowbanned, but the algorithm can bite my fat ass. I’m so thankful for life at this moment. When I look back at November—things have changed in such a huge way. When I drove to work that day, I asked for a sign of strength and a sign that it will all be okay. I crashed minutes later… You all know the story at this point. I fractured my tibial plateau in my knee, ripped up my meniscus and broke my ankle. I couldn’t walk, but the whole time I was determined. It was the first time in my life I felt utterly vulnerable, but simultaneously I felt stronger than I’ve ever felt. I was determined. I was determined to win. I could not quit. Now, I’m here. I’m standing. I’m healthy. I have some aches and pains, sure, but I’ve learned that I’m one powerful human. Not because I’m a badass, or because I’m attractive, fit, successful, whatever…but because I asked for a test and I passed. When we ask for tests of strength, patience, endurance, and willpower—we often think that it means we will be given a prize. Wrong. We (most times for the devoted) go through extremely unsatisfying, unpleasant and hard trials that we really don’t want. But, this is the point: to hone our wits, and to give us an appreciation for life. My life right now is fantastic, and my greatest joy is waking up and seeing @ekmemet and kissing him on the face, my pigs, and fulfilling (what feels like FINALLY) my dreams. I’m being hired for film, my passions are being utilized…WE ALL have built a beautiful community of people who all support each other, love each other, and inspire each other to succeed and keep going. I owe you all my life. I do. You were and are there for me through the hood and bad. I will never forget that. Ever. And if I do somehow make it, I’ll never turn my back, but give you my head to pull you through. That is power; that is what life IS. And besides, we all know if I walked a red carpet I’d truffle shuffle and give my finger to elitism. ♥️ Shirt by the incredibly mighty @amenorrheadeathmetal if you’re not following them—you need to. They’re hot right now and finally getting the recognition they deserve.

#amenorrheadeathmetal #amenorrheaband #osdm

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mayhem24-7forever · 2 years

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This is my masterlist for what I’m calling “October Squared” which is both Kinktober and Whumptober 2022! I decided that it would take me too long to do all 62 fics so instead I’ve decided to do all the prompts but in less fics so some fics will have more prompts than others! I am determined to finish them all, even if it takes me until next October!

Also, I switched around some of the days but i did do the entire prompt list, just a little out of order. (I’m sorry!) I hope the list below can help you find exactly what prompts you’re looking for!

As usual, if you are under eighteen this content is not for you. I deserve a safe place to express myself without minors reading my content. Thank you.

October Squared

(all whumptober prompts from this list and all kinktober prompts are from this list)

A Little Out of the Ordinary (Part 1) - Jake “Hangman” Seresin (Top Gun: Maverick) - Whumptober: “This wasn’t supposed to happen” - X

A Little Out of the Ordinary (Part 2) - Jake “Hangman” Seresin (Top Gun: Maverick) - Whumptober: Tossing and Turning - Caught In a Storm - X

Hair’s Breadth From Death - Miles Miller (Bad Times at the El Royale) - Whumptober: Gun to Temple - “Say Goodbye” - Impaled - X

The Littlest Cowgirl and the Mean Old Bull - Rhett Abbott (Outer Range) - Whumptober: Lies - New Scars - Breathing Through The Pain - X

Break From Work - Rhett Abbott (Outer Range) - Kinktober: Shibari - Outdoor Sex (Alt.) - X

The Manager is a Little Tied Up at the Moment - Miles Miller (Bad Times at the El Royale) - Kinktober: Overstimulation - Toys - X

Please Please Me - Robert “Bob” Floyd (Top Gun: Maverick) - Kinktober: Pegging - Hair Pulling - X

Coming Soon:

Trip to Paris - Kinktober: Threesomes

Love to Hate You, Hate to Love You - Kinktober: Nipple Play - Biting/Marking - Begging - Dacryphilia - Hate Fucking - Pussy Slapping - Rough Sex

A Formal Affair - Kinktober: 69 - Formal Wear

Call Me Anytime - Kinktober: Underwear/Panties/Lingerie - Phone Sex/Sexting

Water Conservation - Kinktober: Bath/Shower Sex

Untitled - Kinktober: Praise Kink - Size Difference - Corruption Kink - Virginity - Tender Sex

Homemaker - Kinktober: Spanking - Cock Worship - Masturbation - Breeding - Table Sex

Untitled - Kinktober: Suspension - Gun Play

Four Is A Crowd - Kinktober: Bondage - Cockwarming - Double Penetration - GroupSex/Orgy - Handjobs - Cuckolding - Face Sitting - Sex Toys

Late Nights at the El Royale - Kinktober: Role Playing - Somnophilia - Deep Throating

Untitled - Kinktober: Glove Kink - Floor Sex

Advanced Herbology - Kinktober: Sex Pollen - Tentacles

The Maid is a Little Tied Up at the Moment - Kinktober: Gags - Fucking Machine

Untitled - Kinktober: Pregnancy Kink - Morning Sex

Untitled - Kinktober: Mirror Sex - Public Sex

You’re My Only Hope - Kinktober: Seduction - Costumes

First Time for Everything - Kinktober: Frottage (Dry Humping/Rubbing) - Role Reversal

The Big Bad Wolf - Kinktober: Consensual Non-Consent - Handgag - Breath Play

Jealousy Jealousy - Kinktober Free Choice: Bondage - Jealous Sex - Breaking the Bed

Freeze Warning - Whumptober: Hypothermia - Blood Loss - Comfort - Bedside Vigil

Proof of Life - Whumptober: Ransom Video - Screams From Across the Hall

Everything Hurts and I’m Dying - Whumptober: Fracture - Dislocation - “Are you here to break me out?” - Head Trauma - Back From the Dead - Caged

Nowhere to Run - Whumptober: Cornered - Carried to Safety

Ambushed - Whumptober: Taser - Ambushed - Defiance - Forced to Kneel

Untitled - Whumptober: Sloppy Bandages

Mayday, Mayday! - Whumptober: "Mayday, Mayday!” - Dazed and Confused

Cycle of Violence - Whumptober: Shaking Hands - Silent Panic Attack

Great Ball of Fire - Whumptober: Desperate Measures - Failed Escape - “I’ll be right behind you”

Dead on Your Feet - Whumptober: Hidden Injury - Can’t Pass Out - Adrenaline Crash

Just A Buckle Bunny - Whumptober: Breaking Point - Punching the Wall - Headache

Angel In Green - Whumptober: Treading Water - Emergency Blanket

Enough Is Enough - Whumptober: Knees Buckling - Repeatedly Passing Out - Head Lolling

It’s Been A Long Day - Whumptober: Going Into Shock - Fetal Position - Made to Watch - “No one’s coming” - Paralytic Drugs

A Full Moon Is Just Two Half Moons - Whumptober: "You’re safe now” - “Take me instead! - Muffled Screams - Stumbling - Magical Exhaustion - Manhandled - Hair Grabbing - “Please don’t touch me”

Pick Your Poison - Whumptober: Withdrawal - Whimpering - Touch Starved

Bite Me - Whumptober: Tied to a Table - “Hold them down” - Blood Covered Hands - Kinktober: Monster Fucking - Dirty Talk - Object Insertion

Untitled - Whumptober: Duct Tape - “You’d better start talking”

No One Left Behind - Whumptober: "Why did you save me? - Rope Burns

What Doesn’t Kill You... Doesn’t Kill You - Whumptober: "Better me than you” - Protective

#whumptober #whumptober 2022 #kinktober #kinktober 2022

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bloodylullaby · 3 days

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Author's Note: I decided to start listening to my favorite sad songs and thought about writing a Noah one shot to Dance Gavin Dance's song Betrayed By The Game. I even incourperated the lyrics into it, so please enjoy!

Paring: Noah x Fem reader

Trigger Warning: Car crash, mention of crawling through broken glass, mentions of broken bones and bleeding.

Word Count: 1221

As I lay in bed, vulnerable and with a wounded pride, I'm surrounded by open wounds, fear oozing out of every pore. I never thought this breakup with Noah would hit me so hard, Yet here I am, lying in bed, struggling to breathe, overwhelmed by the sense that I deserve to face this pain alone for what I've done. I roll over to his side and inhale deeply, burying my face into the pillow, catching a lingering trace of his scent. The bed still smells like I’m not all alone.

I reach for my phone on the bedside table, my heart pounding with a flicker of hope. Yet, as I unlock it, the screen remains as hollow and empty as ever, devoid of any trace of a notification from him. It’s been a long month since Noah ended things, and the blame lies solely with me. I let fear consume me as our relationship grew more serious. Noah and I had a twisted game of trying to incite jealousy in each other. That night at the bar, while Noah was engrossed in a game of pool with Nick, I found myself the object of someone else's attention. With the stranger's touch and my complicity, things escalated beyond my intentions. Noah reached his breaking point, and the next day, he left to stay with his bandmates.

I majorly fucked up, and now I'm reaping what I sowed. I look out the window, and the feelings start roaring within me again. It’s pouring down rain, matching how I'm feeling inside. I take a deep breath and pick up my car keys, deciding to go for a drive. I slip on my shoes and head out without an umbrella or jacket, letting the warm rain wash the pain away as I slowly walk to my car. By the time I reach it, I'm drenched. I turn on the car and crank up the radio, playing my break-up playlist at total volume, letting the music drown out the running thoughts in my mind.

As I navigate the winding road, lost in the distraction of singing along to the music at the top of my lungs and changing the song, I fail to notice the slickness of the pavement. Suddenly, the car starts to hydroplane, sliding dangerously out of control. Panic sets in as I desperately try to regain traction, but it's too late. The vehicle veers off course, hurtling towards a looming tree at a terrifying speed.

I groan as the airbag deploys, the impact jarring my senses. Pain shoots through my face, feeling like I now have a fractured nose, split lip, and eyebrow. Blood trickles into my mouth, mingling with the suffocating scent of smoke. This isn't good, especially with the airbag deployed. I deflate it to free my arms, struggling to unbuckle my seat belt. I push the door open with effort, ensuring my phone is still clutched in my right hand. I let my upper body slump out of the car, leveraging gravity to ease my bottom half out of the vehicle.

I scream as I land on a carpet of shattered glass, the shards digging into my skin. Ignoring the pain, I force myself to keep moving, crawling through the debris with determination. Every inch forward is a battle against the jagged obstacles, but I refuse to be deterred until I know I am safe from my car in case it catches fire. With a huff, I gather the strength to shift into a slight sitting position, intending to assess the damage. However, what I see makes my breath catch in my throat.

My car is a mangled wreck from the front, the metal crumpled and twisted. It's a miracle I survived the impact. The sight alone triggers a panic attack, and I'm overwhelmed, choking on tears. Sobbing uncontrollably from fear, I frantically take in my surroundings. As my life flashes before my eyes, all I see is Noah and me. My sobs come out longer and harder now, and I grab my phone and unlock it, clicking on his name to call. As it rang, my panic increased out of fear that he might not answer me, but after the fourth ring, the line picked up.

“Hello?” Noah asked relevantly and confusedly, sounding like he had come out of a deep sleep. I started to sob harder. “[Y/N]? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” He asked, slightly more alarmed.

“I just crashed my car….and….and…I love you so much, Noah. I miss you so much. I know we fucked everything up this time, but I can't stop thinking about you. I can't stop loving you. I still love you so much, Noah," I sobbed into my phone. Suddenly, I heard ruffling and panicking on the other side of the phone.

"Goddammit, [Y/N], are you okay? Did you call the police?" Noah's voice crackled with concern, a barrage of questions following. Another sob wrenches from my throat, raw and hoarse.

"No, you were my first thought when I decided who to call. I'm so scared, Noah. I need you," I pleaded.

"I know it's scary, baby, but take some deep breaths with me, okay?" he instructed gently as we went through breathing exercises. "I know you're still sharing your location with me, so I will call the police while I head over to you. Are you going to be okay?" he asked, his concern evident in his voice.

"Yes," I stammered, feeling slightly hopeful that things weren't as terrible as they seemed. I could hear Noah sigh in relief.

"Okay, the boys and I will be there soon. Don't move too much; I don't want you to worsen any injuries just in case they could be life-threatening," he stated firmly. I murmured an okay and an "I love you" in response. After he said it, he hung up, leaving me alone again. After what seemed like an eternity, I began to hear a car nearby and prayed with great intensity that it was Noah. Not far from where I was, the distant wail of sirens pierced through the night, signaling that help was coming.

There were screeching tires and then running footsteps coming in my direction. I turned my head slightly to see it was Noah, with a mixture of worry and horror on his face when he saw how bad the wreckage was. "[Y/N], baby, I'm so glad you're okay," Noah began to exclaim rapidly as he slowly kneeled beside me, his eyes scanning over the damage down to my body. As the sirens get closer, Noah looks deep into my eyes. He suddenly and gently kisses me, then leans his forehead on mine.

"You're never leaving my side again, got it? We'll work through our problems together and do whatever needs to be done, whether that's therapy or a different route. But I'm moving back in immediately," he states firmly. All I could do was nod my head as tears streamed down my face once again. Noah gently wipes the tears away and pulls me into a comforting embrace. As the police and ambulance arrive, he talks me through what's about to happen and assures me that he'll be by my side every step. Eventually, he accompanies me in the back of the ambulance, with the boys following closely behind in their car.

#bad omens band #fanfic #noah sebastian #bad omens #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens fic #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian angst

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