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strawberriianime · 11 days

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Video Phone

♡ horney calls with JJk men

♡ satoru gojo, suguru geto, nanami kento, toji fushiguro, choso, sukuna.

♡ cw: 18+ content, sex on the phone, descriptions of sex and sex organs, breeding kink if you squint, degradation if you look fast, lots of dirty talk, praise kink (choso), mentions of creampies, mentions of facials, phone sexxxxx...enjoy!

✰ Satoru Gojo

"Can you see how hard I am?"

He flipped the camera showing his hardened dick, the red tip being covered by little beads of precum. His free hand wrapped around his dick stroking up and down slowly, thumb circling at his tip. You heard him let out a low groan as he fastened his pace fist getting more red in the process. "You like that baby?" you heard him speak pulling you out of your trance. "Fuck, wish I was home right now. Miss you so fucking bad." His words cause you to rub your thighs together feeling your own arousal dampen the panties you were wearing. "I bet you're wet as hell, come on baby use the new toy I got you." You felt around the nightstand drawer to find the shiny new glass toy. You quickly discarded your sleep shorts and panties before getting back under the covers. "Come on baby, you know I want to see." You grabbed the phone positioning it so it'll stand before rubbing the toy up and down your slit, the cool sensation sending a shiver up your spine. Circling the toy at your entrance, you pushed it In causing you to let out a high-pitched moan making your back arch slightly. "F-fuck" you heard Satoru groan. Pushing the toy, you began thrusting it in and out as sounds of your arousal flooded the room. "Shit you sound so wet, keep going im almost there." you could hear shuffling as you followed the instruction, moving the toy at a more rapid pace. "Ah fuck I'm going to cum, fuck baby you're doing such a good job. Fuck I miss you so bad....can't wait to get home and fuck my pretty girl. You can't wait until I get back home hmm?" He spews fastening his pace as he watches you please yourself with the toy. You moan feeling yourself clap around the glass to know your orgasm was approaching. "I-Immm about to" "Let it go baby" his words send you over the edge as you orgasm, sliding the toy out in the process. "Miss you so much"

✰ Suguru Geto

"It's not the same"

You whine out using your two fingers to circle your clit before pushing them inside. "You can do it" you hear your boyfriend's voice ring out as you grab the phone watching him smirk at your struggling attempts to satisfy yourself. He watches as you huff, frowning at him for his teasing remarks. "What, can't get yourself off? You need me that bad?" he speaks again causing you to roll your eyes again. "Just relax sweetheart" The smirk never leaves his face as he watches you lay back on the bed. "You have to warm yourself up first." You lay the phone down using your hands to rub at your breast, thumbs rolling over your nipples. You free your left hand, snaking it down your waist fingers trailing around your cunt. You part your legs using the new access to rub up and down your slit, collecting the arousal that had begun pooling. "Mmh make sure to go nice and slow, just how I do it." you follow his instructions trying to replicate his manners. You use the collected arousal to circle at your clit causing you to let out a whimper. Your fingers trailed down poking at your entrance before pushing them in causing you to sigh. You begin pumping two fingers in and out causing you to let out a series of moans, your legs shaking slightly at the intense amount of pleasure. "Fuck baby you're making me hard." you heard Suguru speak as shuffling sounds could be heard in his background. "Baby I need to see you" he speaks out causing you to reach out to the phone seeing he had shaken off his typical attire. You watched as he stroked his hardened dick, gripping it with such a tightness that his knuckles had turned white. Your fingers moved even more rapidly as you watched him stroke, his low moans making you more aroused. "Fuck Suguru I'm about to cum." you moan, fingers aching as you're getting closer to your release. "Cum, I wanna hear you cum." he groans out, the pace picking up. Your fingers curl slightly, pumping faster before your orgasm washes over you as you let out a sultry moan. "Fuck, I wish I was cumming in your pussy...what a waste of cum." "Babe!"

✰ Nanami Kento

*New message message: 6 photos*

He put his pen down seeing that you had messaged him, what he assumed asking of his whereabouts. He had got stuck working overtime once more to his dismay. He looked at the time on his phone, sighing thinking about how he'd rather be at home spending time with you. He clicked your contact, opening the message you had sent him. He was met with the sight of you wearing a white lingerie set that snuggled your body perfectly. Each picture had been taken from a different angle, allowing him to see the patterns and design of the lingerie. Fortunately for him, he had an office to himself which allowed him to have his much-needed privacy. Pulling him out of his thoughts, his phone rang as your contact popped up once more. Swiping, he picked up the Facetime call hearing that voice he loved oh so much "Hi baby, how's work?". "I'd rather be home" "I miss you such much, I can't wait until you get here it's so lonely in the mansion." he hears you sigh. He knows you too well and knows that you're up to something. The low moans that came through the line were more than enough confirmation that you were pleasing yourself. "You're that eager huh? Couldn't wait until I get home?" he sits in his office chair watching as you furrow your eyebrows in frustration. "I couldn't help it, I missed you so much." he watches as you press your lips together in a small pout. "Go ahead, continue what you were doing." he leans back into his chair, eyes fixated on the phone screen. You peeled off the lingerie set you were wearing, revealing your plump breast nipples hardening from the cool air of your bedroom. His breath hitched as he watched you pull down your panties, a thin barely visible string of arousal sticking between the two. He watches as you tease yourself, fingers brushing over your nipples as your other hand runs down to your sopping pussy. He watches you collect your juices on your finger, using it to swirl slowly at your clit. knock knock knock, "Mr. Kento?". He furrows his eyebrows frustrated, "You better not cum until I get home. Stay just like that, keep the clothes off" he eyes you as he disconnected the call. He thanks the heavens for his desk, because how odd would it be to explain the boner he suddenly popped.

✰ Toji Fushiguro

"Put your pussy on the phone."

He was completely serious, taking you off guard as he suddenly videocalled you. Toji isn't one to videocall so considering he did you figured it had to be something urgent. "Wait what?" you sat up readjusting your ears making sure you heard him correctly. "You heard what I said. It's been a shitty day and I still have 3 whole days left on this damn trip," he grumbled on the line making you giggle slightly. "Shit is that my shirt you got on?" he noticed the oversized black tee that swallowed your body. "Maybe" You knew it drove him crazy when you wore his clothes. "And what's under there," he asked raising an eyebrow. You raise your hand to the sky, giving him a full view of your body that is covered by the shirt. "Just the usual" You pulled the shirt up revealing your fully nude body. "Fuck" you heard him groan watching as he threw his head back. He watched as you grabbed a toy from under the pillow, bringing it to your dripping core. "Fuck baby stop teasing. Put the damn thing in," he demanded eyes glued to the screen watching as you rubbed the toy up and down your slit using your own arousal as a lubricant. You push the toy in whining as it stretches you out due to your lack of preparation. "I bet you wish it was my dick, wish it was the real thing." "That toy can't fuck you like I can cant make you squirt like I can." he spewed as he pumped at his dick you trusted the toy in and out lewd squelching noises filling the room, mixing with your moans. Your arm shook as the amount of pleasure was too much, "You better not drop this fucking phone" you heard him grumble causing you to steady your grip. You moan as you angle the toy, reaching a new spot you were unable to hit before. "Fuck you sound so good, I can hear the sound of that slutty pussy from over here. So wet for me, I miss it so bad. Shit, I can't wait to get back home and fuck that dirty little pussy. All wet and tight just for me." his words make you wetter by the minute as you moan at the idea of him fucking you roughly into the mattress. "I'm about to cum fuck, wish I was cumming in your pussy. I just wanna fill my pretty girl up with my babies. Huh like the sound of that? When I get back home I fuck a baby into you to keep you company when I'm gone?" your legs begin to shake as your orgasm approaches closely, your hand getting tired in the process. "Ah I-I....I-mmm cummingg" you moan out. "Cum for Daddy." your orgasm washed over you making your eyes roll back and your back arch, dropping the phone in the process. You grab the phone, seeing his dick covered in his thick cum leaking over onto his hand. "Wish you were here to lick it up."

✰ Choso

"Baby wait!"

He shook his head frantically as he watched on the phone as you moved to your bathroom. "What? It's not like we haven't showered together before. It's the same thing you're just not here physically." he watched frantically as you propped the phone up in the shower, securing it so it didn't fall. He watched as you stripped your dress off, bra and panties following shortly. His cheeks flushed red as he saw your nude body as you stepped into the shower, turning on the water. He watched as the water slid down your skin, glistening under the spotlight in your shower. The water ran from your head, down the sides of your face, neck, collarbone, down to your breast. Some ran lower, some stopped at your breast until they hit the perky nipples that he loved to such on. He watched as you squeezed soap onto your washcloth lathering it before going to scrub your body. He examined you as you scrubbed your body until you got to your breast once more. You scrubbed each breast leaving a soapy trail between the two. He felt his dick twitch when you took the water rinsing them slowly. "You like that honey?" he could melt hearing you call the name he loved so dearly. He felt his dick twitch once more as you squeezed shower lotion into your hand, rubbing it onto your body slowly allowing him to examine every inch of your body. Taking a bit more into your hand, he watched as you rubbed your palms together seeing them land on a boob each. You rubbed them up, down, left, and right before swirling them into circles. "Are you hard?" you asked as he nodded his head frantically. "Show me." he was quick to lock the door to the room he was in, quickly shaking off his clothes allowing you to see his hardened dick. Precum was already leaking at the head, rolling slowly down the shaft. "You're so big, I miss you baby. I miss having you inside of me." his ear turned red, dick twitching once more. He began slowly stroking his dick, eyes fixated on the screen not taking his eyes off of you. His thumb circled at the head, gathering the precum and using it as lube to set a good pace. "Good boy." he stroked faster watching as you fiddled with your breast, fingers pinching at your nipples making them temporarily engorged. "Ah-ah Im gonna cum" he stroked rapidly chasing his own high. "Wanna cum on your tits or f-fuck on your face" his chest heaved feeling his balls tighten. "Fuck!" he let out a low moan feeling his cum shoot up onto his own hand. He heard the water turn off, "Let's make that happen when you get back."

✰ Sukuna Ryomen

"Don't tell me you're about to cum already"

His smug smirk flashed across your phone screen as he played with the toggles to the vibrating dildo he had gifted you before he left. Although he was far away, he was able to control the device no matter the region of the world he was in. He wanted as your body shook, hands gripping the sheets as he pressed the number 2 causing you to let out a loud moan. "Come on that's only the second setting, I know you can hold out longer than that." he laid back, back resting on the headboard watching as your body twitched from the purple toy pulsating in you. He shook his own pants off, grabbing at his own dick that had hardened quite some time ago. Skipping a setting, he pressed the number five watching as your legs began trembling nearly causing the tory to fall out. "Stay still, you don't want to get punished when I get back" he hummed "Now spread your legs and let me see the mess that you've made with your pussy." You sigh as your wobbly legs separate from one another allowing him to see the pool of arousal you laid in. You had yet to cum, yet the toy was glistening with your juices that had run down your leg, onto the red sheets of the bed creating a puddle. He went back to the app, pressing on the special feature he hadn't told you about. You squealed in pleasure as the toy began vibrating along your clit. "Kuna I can't, I can't Im gonna cum." you moaned out back arching, his wiggling along with the toy. "You don't cum until I say cum. What a needy bitch only thinking with your pussy." he scoffed jerking his own dick at your moans, unknowingly to you. "Kuna I-" he heard your sigh immediately looking at the phone watching as you orgasmed around the toy, eyebrows furrowed in mild satisfaction. "I told you not to cum, I'm leaving the mission early expecting to be punished. Im going to fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk for months and you better not fucking cum." he angrily disconnected the video call.

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scudslut · 1 month

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Ok hear me out. Reader and Daryl go on a run for supplies with a few other people. Reader makes a mistakes and almost gets seriously hurt/ near death experience. Daryl gets pissed at reader, maybe yells at her. Reader laughs it off and acts like she doesn’t gaf. Daryl later finds reader all shaken up and crying by herself. Love if you don’t, love if you do!

stay with me

daryl x fem!reader

wc: 2k

warnings: typical twd gore/violence, mentions of death, mentions of trauma/ptsd

a/n: absolutely love me some good fluffy angst, thank u nony❤️ i hope you like it:))

As much as you tried to prepare yourself for the inevitable situations runs would put you in, the blood-chilling reality of it never got any easier. No amount of mental prep could stove off the sounds and smell of the dead, nipping ravenously for a taste of your sweet living flesh.

Of course, over time you’d learned just to shut your brain off and fight. Fight as hard and tirelessly as you possibly could, but mistakes could still be made. Shit happened, whether it was your fault or not.

Hours earlier, a group of you went a few miles east of the prison; Daryl having spotted a little strip a few days prior, not too overrun that he thought might be loot-worthy.

It was a simple run really. Keep close, hit a few shops in and out, then head back home. That’s it. Follow the plan, get as much useful shit as possible, and get the fuck out of there. You guys had it down to a science at this point, runs becoming so second nature it was almost too easy to let your guard down nowadays.

“Hey D, I’m gonna go check the storage room back here. Might have something we could use,” you voiced to your partner a few isles down, still keeping your tone as low as you could.

“Gimme a sec, I'll come help ya,” you heard him say but you kept moving. You two had already cleared the main area, you could handle a walker or two if there actually was any behind the small door. You figured you would’ve heard something by now, some sort of banging or grumbling to announce their presence, but there was nothing, the coast presumably clear.

You should have waited.

Crossing the few miscellaneous isles you reached the back door, giving it a small rattle. Still complete silence, not even the faintest groan or shuffle. Knife at the ready, hand clamped over the cool metal handle, your heart rate picked up a notch as it always did before opening into the unknown.

“You got this, come on,” you muttered to yourself, before throwing the door open, bracing for attack. The door flew wide, only to reveal a dark, empty room. Squinting through the dimness, a few high, dusty shelves were visible, stocked with all sorts of canned goods. Fuck yea, that was certainly useful.

“D! Come look what I found!” you rasped, dropping your knife into its holster and shuffling in. You unslung your backpack from your shoulders, digging through it for a flashlight excitedly. It’s been so long since you’ve found this much canned food, surely enough to keep the group well stocked through most of the winter that was approaching. A loud creak from the left caught your attention as you sped forward. Hands finally finding purchase on the flashlight, you flicked it on, scanning across the room to the sound.

Dust caked the air, making the already dark room fuzzier and your eyes took a minute to adjust. You took a few smaller steps closer, peering wearily ahead and then you saw them.

Beady, soulless eyes staring back. A whole rickety staircase of them, heads turning one by one to the light source in your hand.

“Oh fuck.”

There had to be at least 10 of them that you could see, the top of the stairs pitch black and unrevealing.

Your feet stumbled backward, hands desperately reaching for the knife at your hip, dropping the flashlight in the process. It rolled and caught under your heels, knocking you on your ass as the corpses advanced, jaws snapping.

These were those moments. When you felt your heart in your throat, brain stuttering on action. Time moved so slowly that the fragments were almost visible and every thought screaming in your mind sounded like gibberish. You know you should move, is that what it was screaming?

The first one got to you, grabbing your leg trying to crawl up and finally, you were kicking, scrambling, grabbing onto the knife and slamming it into its skull with a loud squelch.

“Daryl!” you yelled. You needed him. Now.

3 more dropped before you, slinking towards you and you were trapped — the first corpse lying heavily over your midsection.

“Yea, yea girl. I heard ya,” you heard him respond, still sounding a few isles away.

No no no, this was not how you were gonna die. Not today. Please.

You kept stabbing, each kill taking everything out of you as you struggled against the body weight atop you. They just kept piling, you could hardly feel your legs anymore, the circulation surely cut off below your knees. And more were coming, a never-ending stream of hunger.

Another one landed before you and you had just enough time to catch its shoulders before it was inches away, snapping at your neck. Your arms burned, tears welling in your eyes as you realized this could be it. You didn’t know how much longer you had before they gave out and rotting teeth would be sinking into you, tearing you apart.

The walker kept snapping, so close you could see the layers of rotting flesh peeling from its face. You had been close to walkers before, had stared into the lifeless eyes too many times to count, but this was different. More were coming and the face in the reflection of its eyes was barely recognizable — terror painting every feature you’d known on you distorted.

The bones cracked in its left shoulder and it dislocated, dropping down to centimeters from your skin.

“No,” you sobbed quietly. Daryl wasn’t going to make it, you knew that. He was going to walk in and find his girl as dinner. You hoped he just booked it, and didn’t waste his time trying to save what would long be gone.

The walker fell limp in your arms and you flinched harshly, expecting excruciating pain to follow as it bit. But there was nothing.

“The fuck are ya doing! Get up!”

Daryl was suddenly right before you, ripping each body off your aching limbs and you were now acutely aware of the larger pile by the stairs, all with arrows and stab wounds littering their heads. When had he gotten in here?

You didn’t hear his words, adrenaline coursing so loudly through your system that all that could be heard was a loud, shrill ringing.

“Goddammit girl, wake the fuck up!” he shouted, grabbing you by the shoulders in an attempt to lift you. Your brain caught up then, as he harshly placed you on your feet. Walkers scattered the floor around you, and a grumble at the stairs announced it wasn’t the last of them.

Daryl reached down, grabbed your dropped items, and shoved them in your dumbstruck hands. “We’re gettin’ outta here, now,” he seethed, dragging you along and slamming the door behind you both, crossing the lines of isles quickly to the front entrance.

The fresh, afternoon air hit your nose in a gust and the last of the fuzz chipped itself from your senses slowly.

“Hope yer fuckin happy with yerself. Can’t ever listen to a goddamn word’a mine, can ya?” Daryl quipped beside you. His eyes were slits as they dug into you, so fuming you could see the heat radiating off his skin in the early autumn brisk.

He was angry at you, you knew that. But you also knew it was because he was scared. Hell, you were fucking terrified to stone back there, but if you wanted to calm him down at all, you knew you had to act unfazed.

Gathering any remaining wits about you, you took a deep inhale, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting them.”

He didn’t respond, wouldn’t even look at you anymore as he began to pace the graveled parking lot.

“Hey don’t stress Dar. I’m alive, we’re good,” you attempted to soothe further.

“Don’t stress? Yer a real piece a work, y’know that! Always fucking up everyone’s shit cause ya don’t wanna use yer brain, huh?”

Well, that did not go as you expected.

The rest of the group had started shuffling out of the other shops around you, making their way to the vehicles.

“Jeez, you need to lighten up,” you brushed past him, head high. You couldn’t let his words affect you, not with all the other emotions coursing as well. You didn’t understand what he meant. You had never put anyone other than yourself in danger, how could you possibly be fucking over everyone else?

You decided to wait in the car as the rest of the group went back for the cans, tag-teaming whatever walkers remained. The loot had decently filled both trunks and everyone was happy to call it a day and head back.

Your eyes followed Daryl as he jumped into your car, eyes trained on the windshield, “Ya alright at least?” he muttered glancing at you briefly while shifting the car into drive.

“I’m good, you big grump,” you huffed with a tight-lipped smile. “That much food will last us a long time. I believe a thank you is in order, don’t you think?”

You were not good. Not at all, but there was no reason to worry him anymore, putting him through enough today as it was. Your hands were shoved tightly under your thighs, so he couldn’t see the tremors racking through you.

You had smelt death so many times it didn’t bother you much anymore. Today you had smelt your own. Saw your life in that walker's eyes, mere seconds away from demolition. It was safe to say you were shaken to your core.

The journey back was silent, both not in the mood to chat for very different reasons, and the whole time you were trying to keep each breath of yours steady.

You helped unload as much as you could, before slipping away discreetly to your cell. You didn’t want anyone to see you like this, you felt kind of pathetic honestly. This was life now, it had been this way for a long time now, you shouldn’t be so shaken up as you were but the terror just wouldn’t leave your body.

Panic washed over you once again as your eyes hit your dim cell. Your mind was quickly slipping back into those last moments, the darkness and dust all too similar. The fear you had felt coating your veins icily and your breaths started to become agitated. There was nowhere else to go though. If you left the cell someone would see you.

Subconsciously, you backed yourself into the corner of the room, crumbling down to the floor with your head in your hands. Deep down you hoped your hyperventilating would knock you out. You didn’t want to think anymore — see it anymore. Tears were burning the back of your throat as you held down sobs, feeling the walker's hands and weight atop of you all again.

A small yelp escaped you when the hands became real. Pressure on your shoulders and waist and your head snapped up from its hiding spot, reflexes already prepared to fight whatever presence was with you.

“It’s jus’ me, hey, hey,” you heard through your panic, his blue eyes just recognizable through blurry tears. “S’okay, relax.”

You couldn’t calm down this time, vicious sobs finally breaking their way out of your frame. Running was your first thought; you didn’t want anyone to see you like this, Daryl or not. Emotions were never a strong suit of yours and would always find yourself dealing with them in private, away from sympathetic words and pitying eyes. But Daryl was never like that, he drew you in and held you tight, uttering no more words other than the ones to confirm it was him. If you asked him to say more, he would, but he knew this was what you needed. Someone to ground you back onto Earth and out of whatever images tormented your head.

So that’s what he did. Held you for hours as your body expelled all its terror and lingering adrenaline. He’d give quiet coos through each wave of shakes, grabbing a blanket to warm you through the cold sweats. And finally, once the fear faded to exhaustion, he scooped you up off the stiff concrete and into your soft cot.

“Stay with me?” you rasped, throat parched and raw from crying.

It wasn’t a second thought for him. He was never truly angry with you, and he knew you knew that. He needed you safe with him.

“Always.”

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pinkcatcafe · 1 year

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As The World Falls Down

Quick Description: Grim's thought process as he sees the reader going through an overblot.

A/N: I'd been thinking about this for a while now, and I just couldn't keep it in my system any longer. It's not written but the reader doesn't die, I wouldn't just leave Grim alone like that... maybe some other time lol now it's time for me to go to bed.

TW: Angst, no comfort?, mention of wanting to vomit

It felt like everything around him came to a sudden halt the moment Grim looked up at you.

He wondered what he had done wrong to have this happen to you. Sure, you looked more tired these days, your eyes more dull, but you said you were okay, so Grim just assumed that Crowley had given you his paperwork to complete again or something.

But seeing you frantically backing away from everyone, from him, while blot dripped-no, gushed- out of your nose had his head spinning. You started coughing, trying to get the blot out of your esophagus, and the noise felt like nails on a chalkboard to Grim.

His eyes started filling up rapidly with tears and your hunched figure became blurry. He wondered, Why? Why was this happening to you, his one and only hench-human? Sure, he often skipped out on his work and classes, and sometimes he would steal some food from your plate, but he didn't think this would happen. Not to you, the person who had his back through thick and thin, no matter what happened or what he did.

He sees Jack pick you up and start running, making a beeline for the infirmary and before he can register his own movement, he's running. He can faintly hear Ace and Deuce telling him to stop, but his only focus was catching up to Jack. He runs and runs and runs, and he keeps running after you, even when his lungs burn, even if he feels like he's about to throw up.

He should have been nicer, more diligent. Maybe if he studied harder you wouldn't have ended up like this. Maybe if he had shared his tuna with you, you would've been laughing alongside the rest of the first years without a care in the world. Maybe if he told you how much he truly appreciated you, you would have been okay, sitting at the Ramshackle dorms dusty couches, giving him the kisses he said he hated so much. Maybe, maybe, maybe-

He sees the infirmary door thrown open, a trail of inky black blot leading inside, and he rushes in without a second thought, nearly bumping into Jack. Jack was trying his hardest to maintain his composure, but he was quickly falling apart, distraught at the sight of you writhing in the infirmary bed. Grim looked at you, crying out in pain, reaching your hand out for someone and he rushed over to you, ignoring how Jack yelled at him to not get closer.

Grim put his paws in your waiting hands and begged. He begged you to stay with him, to not leave him. He begged the Seven to not take you away from him, and when that didn't seem to work, he made promises to you.

He promised he would attend all his classes.

Grim woke up in a panic. He had a nightmare, and instinctively started to look for you in the darkness of your shared room. His movement had shaken you awake, and you softly called out to him. "Are you okay?" He looked at you, and relief filled his body at the sound of your voice. He nodded, and you opened up your arms, inviting Grim to sleep closer to you. He shuffles over and lays down on your chest, your waiting arms hugging his shivering body close. "It's okay, I'm right here with you." You say, and before sleep fully takes over him, he feels you kiss his forehead.

He promised he would share his precious tuna with you everyday.

"Grim!" You yell out, and Grim hurries to hide the (already half eaten) sandwich he was eating behind his back. "Did you eat my sandwich?" You say with an angry tone, and he swallows the piece of sandwich he had in his mouth before answering. "N-no! I don't know what you're talking about! It must have been Ace!" You narrow your eyes and scoff at him. "The last time Ace was here was two days ago, and I just made that sandwich!" Grim knew he had been caught, and before you could catch him, he ran away. "Grim! Get back here right now!" He could faintly hear the ghosts laughing at him as he dashed through Ramshackle, with you hot on his heels.

He promised he wouldn't leave you to clean up his messes.

Grim could hear sniffling coming from the other side of the bedroom door, and he slowly began to open it. You were sitting on the edge of the bed hunched over, your hands covering your face. "Hench-human?" He called out, and you turned your head towards him, your eyes red and glossy. He jumped up on the bed next to you and asked you what was wrong. "Oh, it's nothing. I was just feeling a bit overwhelmed." You reply, bringing a hand up to his head, slowly petting him. Grim looks up at your for a moment before he crawls over to your lap and lays his back against your stomach, pointing his thumb at his chest. "There's nothing to worry about when the Great Grim is here with you!" He smirks up at you, and you smile at his statement. Your arms wrap him in a tight hug and you softly reply, "Yeah, at least you're here with me."

He would make you a million promises if it meant that you would be okay. If it meant that he would wake up every morning to your smile, telling him it was time to get up and get ready for class. If it meant you would stay by his side forever.

He would do anything, and so he begged once more;

Please, don't leave me.

#couldn't go to sleep until I got this out of my system #if I have to suffer you all suffer with me #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #grim twst #twisted wonderland #disney twst

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toasty-melons · 1 year

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All that matters.

abby anderson x fem!reader

short blurb about reader being attacked and abby finding her and comforting her

TW: mentions of blood, reader being attacked (but it’s not described in detail sooo), death, slight angst with comfort

crack.

The sickening sound of bones being crushed makes your stomach twist and your heart drop.

crack.

Your arms are starting to feel heavy. They start from above your head, fingers gripping a led pipe, swinging down until it clashes with what once was a head. You’re body crouched over their rib cage.

crack.

You should probably stop now, but the adrenaline from pure fear keeps your arms moving. A guttural panic taking over all your instincts. Groans leaving your lips from swinging with so much force. Hit after hit, you can feel the blood splatter onto your face and clothes but you could care less right now.

crack.

You feel hands wrap around your shoulders, sliding up to stop your arms. Flinching you force yourself around to fight off another attacker. But instead, you’re met with a familiar face. Abby.

Abby.

With your chest heaving and limbs shaking, the pipe slips from your grasp. It clangs as it makes contact with the concrete floor, cold and hard beneath you. Your fingers grip onto her arms for support or comfort, you’re not sure. Glancing between her two eyes, coming to realization that it is actually her and not your imagination.

She’s here. She’s holding you. She has you. You’re safe.

You can’t stop the tears that start to well in your eyes and the way your breathing gets heavier.

“I didn’t.. I didn’t see him, and he.. he tried to-..” Abby cuts you off by gently, oh so gently, cupping your face. Her thumbs swipe across your cheeks and her fingers dip behind your ear.

“He tried to.. oh god Abby-..” This time you cut yourself off with a choked sob. She instantly pulls you into her chest. One of her hands moving to rest on the back of your head. You felt safe in her arms. But nothing could get rid of how shaken to your core you were right now.

“You’re okay now. You’re safe baby, I promise.” Her voice was soft but you could hear just how scared she was. She was shaken up too, angry at herself for not being here for you sooner. She knew you could handle yourself, clearly you did, but anything could happen to anyone.

The thought of death being right there, in front of you just a few minutes ago was earth shattering. Sure you knew about the possibility of dying, of course you knew the risk. But actually being faced with death, and alone at that, was a lot to take in.

“I got you. Im here now.” She was right. You’re okay now. You noticed how much you were physically shaking and you mentally scolded your self. Pulling away ever so slightly you looked up at met Abby’s worried gaze.

“Abby i’m sorry. I should have waited for you.” Your voice is weak and broken with soft sobs. She shakes her head and places a soft kiss on your hairline.

“No, don’t apologize. It doesn’t matter. You’re still alive. That’s what matters, so let’s keep moving.. okay?” Taking a deep breath and processing her words, you nod and cup her face with your blooded, shaking hands.

“I love you.” She leans forward and places her forehead against yours.

You’re safe.

That’s all that matters.

i have found a new obsession over abby anderson and i don’t know what to do with myself

#abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x you #abby anderson x y/n #abby anderson #abby x you #abby x fem!reader #abby x reader #abby the last of us #abby tlou #abby tlou2 #abby x female reader #abby anderson x fem!reader #tlou #tlou2 #abby anderson tlou #abby anderson tlou2

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izvmimi · 1 year

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cw: infidelity. angst. minors dni.

a/n: i was in a mood when i wrote this lmfaooo

There’s a lump in your throat, compounded by the feeling of your throat closing up concentrically, as everything settles in at once.

Izuku is cheating on you.

Your Izuku.

Symbol of Peace Izuku.

Izuku who has always smiled and held you and told you you were enough and more, in your highs and in your lows.

He’s cheating on you, unabashedly, and you’re in the process of forgetting how to breathe.

Your lungs ache as you sift through what else is left behind in his car. Besides panties that don’t belong to you (bolder and skimpier than anything you can imagine wearing yourself), there’s a bit of lipstick, stains that you can’t identify as your vision is blurring with tears… your mind keeps trying to recreate positions in the backseat that is too small for someone like him. Did he lay down like a filthy animal and let her ride him, smiling down at him like you’ve done so many nights before? Or did it start in the front seat, her taking the opportunity of a stopped red light to dip down low and engulf his straining cock in her mouth, only for him to pull over and pull her under him?

How many times? How long have you been fooled? Were all those late nights really missions or trysts? Every time he went to the shower first, instead of kissing you as you pretended to be long asleep - was that really coincidence or was he so desperate to wash off the stench of another woman?

Is the owner of the barely there panties, stuffed vengefully in a baggie, the only one? Or will there be more to find, each belonging to people that are prettier, younger, more agreeable than you are?

It’s all you can think about for the rest of the day. Wrapped up in blankets that you’ve changed because you can’t stand the smell of him right now, you force yourself into a fitful sleep, the evidence laid bare for everyone to see in the living room, the door to the bedroom locked, and your heart broken.

—

You wake up to the fitful shaking of the door. Disoriented, you can hear your husband’s voice yelling, or rather his voice is raised, but barely audible over the sound of the door being shaken dramatically. You know it’s just for show - he can just as easily force it open as he can do whatever else he wants in this relationship.

“Babe? Why is this door locked? Listen, if it’s about the… thing in the living room, I-I can explain.”

You don’t say anything back, reaching for your earphones, drowning out the noise with loud orchestral music, the sound of clashing cymbals minimally distracting to your life crashing to pieces.

It takes five minutes for him to decide to force the door.

You don’t budge, despite knowing that your bedroom door is now cleanly ripped off its hinges. Even if he’s gone mad enough to break your vows, and mad enough to break your property, he would never be so insane to hurt you physically.

You don’t hear him call your name, or rather you choose not to hear, and soon your blankets are ripped off of you as well, and this is when you sit up, now in a rage yourself.

“What the fuck do you want?!”

Izuku is red-faced and clearly upset, but even so, for a split second he pales in the face of your own fury.

“It’s not what you think-” he starts, and your blood runs hot then ice cold. You smile, wide and poisonous.

“Okay.” The smile doesn’t reach your eyes, and it unsettles him, because he knows that smile. It’s the smile you’ve given people the closest to dead you can manage; it’s the smile that means you’re past any sort of reason, and at any moment you can snap.

But you haven’t snapped now. Now you hold your arms to yourself, somewhere between cold and guarded, and watch him. Empty but smiling.

You didn’t ask him to continue, and he opens his mouth, faltering as he can’t come up with the words to explain himself. And here he notices that your eyes are puffy and red, and your face is puffy, and even your lips, and even if your smile is empty and terrifying, you look exhausted with thought.

“I don’t love her,” is the only excuse he can come up with. You already have pieced the rest, and this part is true.

“Isn’t that a relief?” your reply is honeyed. “May I return to bed?” you ask.

Izuku breathes in.

“Don’t leave me,” he says and his voice cracks.

And you laugh once, loudly, sharply, disrespectfully, before sitting back down on your bed and pulling the covers over your head.

He pleads your name again, pulling at the blankets and tossing them to the side, and he watches, as you try to pretend things are not happening, and you can make it through shutting out the outside world.

“Please talk to me.”

You snort, then sit up. There’s a long hard look you give him, where you take in his treacherous features, the false concern in his eyes, the quiver in his mouth, the freckles you’ve spent many a night kissing, shoulders that another woman has hung on, a voice that spoke lies to you, every inch of him a piece of shit.

“All I have to say to you is I hope she came.”

#izuku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #daydreams: bnha #thoughts: izuku #cw infidelity #izuku angst #mimi's notes

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roboctopus · 12 days

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I just had a thought for the next episode… What if they were to give us a redux of the elf moment? I’m thinking something like this:

Buck & Eddie are trying to figure out what happened that night so they can find Chimney. They find some of the people they were partying with & start asking around. While Buck asks someone else, Eddie approaches someone he vaguely remembers. The guy starts talking about how wild things got & says “I hope you and your husband got home alright”.

Maybe Eddie does what Buck did and just goes along with it. Maybe Eddie tries to correct the guy & in the process hears why people thought he & Buck were a couple. The way there were draped all over each other with barely an inch between them the entire time. The way they went on & on about how awesome their kid is. The way they stared at the other’s lips a bit too long & just could not stop smiling at each other.

Eddie may not sound as immediately on board with idea as Buck was with the elf while talking with the guy. He may sound a bit incredulous about the concept of him & Buck. But when he’s done talking to the guy and turns to go find Buck, he stops and looks at Buck. He stares, lost in thought, until someone accidentally bumps into him. He’s shaken out of the moment for now as he returns to the Chimney search, but later Eddie finds himself staring again as Buck dances with Tommy at the wedding.

#911 on abc #911 #eddie diaz #evan buck buckely #buddie #911 speculation #911 season 7 #911 spoilers

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bloody-bee-tea · 2 months

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IntiMarch 2024 Day 8 - It'll be alright

The prompt for this was "Trust me"

Suguru thinks that his hand should be shaking. It’s coated in blood, warm and sticky, but the knife in his hand is steady, as if it didn’t just claim two lives.

As if Suguru didn’t just kill two people.

Maybe something is wrong with him, he thinks and remembers all the times the other kids in school have talked behind his back. Maybe they were on to something, if he can kill two people and not feel a single thing.

Suguru can’t quite tear his eyes away from the bodies on the ground, tracking the ever-growing puddle of blood and he takes a cautious step back when it comes too close to his shoes.

It’s useless, anyway; the blood is all over him already.

He finally drags his eyes away from the bodies, looking out of the room, remembering the two girls in the cage and he should probably get moving, get them out of there and then get the hell out of here, but he feels rooted to the spot.

Suguru doesn’t know what to do, isn’t quite sure how to proceed now and the uncertainty keeps him frozen to the spot, even though he can hear the girls quietly cry in the other room.

It’s enough to make him finally drop the knife, at the very least and he is just about to make his way over to the sink, getting at least the worst of the blood off him so he doesn’t scare the girls further, when his phone rings.

It’s Satoru; the stupid Digimon soundtrack is enough to clue Suguru in on that and he wonders why he never got around to changing that, even after Satoru set that for himself.

Suguru reaches for the phone and there it is, finally, the shaking of his hands; Suguru lets out a harsh laugh when he realises that it’s not because of the bodies on the floor but because he won’t be able to see Satoru after this and he wonders just what the hell is wrong with him.

He still accepts the call, because what else is there to do but he can’t quite find his voice immediately.

“Yo, Suguru, you up for take-out today? I don’t feel like doing grocery shopping,” Satoru’s voice immediately fills his ear and it’s so normal that it feels jarring.

“You never feel like getting groceries,” Suguru gives back, falling into their usually dynamic even though everything is so wrong and something about his voice must have tipped Satoru off because he goes suspiciously quiet on the other end.

Maybe it’s the shaking, that has finally spread through all of Suguru’s body.

“What’s wrong?” Satoru asks, his voice low and serious and just that question is enough to break Suguru.

“I’m so sorry,” he chokes out, suddenly feeling as if he can’t breathe and the shaking only gets worse. “I’m sorry, I didn’t meant to, I didn’t mean to, it just happened.”

“What happened?” Satoru probes, and he stays calm even in face of Suguru’s panicked rambling.

“I killed them,” he whispers out, clasping a bloodstained hand over his mouth. “I killed them both.”

And now he’ll never get to see Satoru again.

The silence on the other end of the line makes Suguru’s stomach drop, even though he should have expected it. Of course Satoru doesn’t know what to say to that; of course he wouldn’t want anything to do with Suguru going forward.

He’s a murderer now, after all.

“Where are you? Who did you kill?” Satoru wants to know and he doesn’t sound as shaken as Suguru expected him to be but maybe he just needs more time to process.

“The girls I tutor,” Suguru starts, “I’m here right now and their guardians—they—they keep them in a cage, Satoru, a goddamn cage, as if they are some animals,” he hisses out and he can feel that spark of anger in his chest again, the one that made him reach for the knife and not care for the consequences.

“Fucking hell,” Satoru breathes out. “Okay. Did you call the police yet?”

“No, I—” Suguru isn’t sure if he should mention that he was going to take the girls and run away even though this is Satoru but Satoru doesn’t give him the time to decide anyway.

“Good. Don’t. I’ll handle it,” he says as if that makes any sense and Suguru blinks.

“What?” he gets out because he doesn’t understand. There is nothing to handle.

Suguru killed two people. He’ll go to jail, probably for life. There’s nothing Satoru can do to change that.

“Suguru, trust me. Just—trust me, okay? Don’t call anyone, just send me the exact address. Do it now.”

Suguru still doesn’t know what’s going on but Satoru’s voice doesn’t allow any argument so he takes the phone away from his ear and sends his location to Satoru.

“Done,” he shakily says once he returns to the call and there’s a bit of rustling at the other end before Satoru is back as well.

“I’m maybe ten minutes away. Can you stay put for that long?” he wants to know and Suguru’s eyes fall back to the bodies.

Can he stay? Is he able to stomach the sight for another ten minutes or so?

“I think I can,” he finally tells Satoru and decides not to think too hard about if that makes him a worse person or not.

“Okay, good. Don’t do anything, alright? I mean, maybe go to the girls and talk to them but otherwise don’t do anything. Drop the weapon or whatever you used and don’t try to clean anything up, yourself included if you got blood on you. Just—don’t touch anything. I’ll handle it, I promise.”

“I don’t understand, Satoru,” Suguru admits because what the hell is there to handle. He can’t just magically make it so that Suguru didn’t kill two people.

“I know. I’ll be there soon. Stay put, Suguru, promise me.”

“I promise,” Suguru gives back, because what else is there to do?

Satoru is asking him to do something and Suguru will very well do it, even though it won’t change the outcome.

Nothing can change the outcome of what he did but like this he’ll at least get to see Satoru one last time. That’s better than nothing.

Satoru hangs up on him as soon as the words leave Suguru’s mouth and the beeping of the phone sounds unnaturally loud in the otherwise quiet room.

Suguru gives himself one more minute to breathe before he turns around and returns to the girls. They are both crying, though they are trying to keep quiet about it and Suguru gives them his best smile.

He’s not sure how effective it is with the blood on his face, but he has to try.

“Hey, it’s alright, nothing will happen to you anymore,” he says as he crouches down next to the cage.

He’ll have to go look for the key to it soon enough because the girls don’t deserve to be in this cage for even a moment longer, but Satoru said to not do anything and so he’ll do exactly that. For now, at least.

“You killed them,” Nanako says, because of course she knows.

She might only be eight, but she’s by far not stupid and all that blood is a dead give-away anyway.

“I did,” Suguru admits and shuffles a little bit away from the cage in case the girls are frightened even more by his presence. “They can’t hurt you anymore now.”

“Will you?” Mimiko speaks up, almost hidden behind her sister and Suguru wants to get them out of there, wants to hug them and whisk them away so they can be happy, far away from all of this.

He doesn’t move a muscle.

“Will I what?” he asks instead and Nanako glares at him.

“Hurt us,” she clarifies and Suguru instantly shakes his head.

“Of course not. I would never.”

“Then why don’t you get us out of here,” Mimiko cries out and new tears fall down her face. “We just want to get out of here.”

“I know, I know,” Suguru soothingly says. “And you will, very soon. But—a friend is coming over, he’ll—” Suguru doesn’t even know how to finish that sentence.

It’s not as if Satoru can help, but Suguru has to say something.

“He’ll be here soon,” he finishes weakly and tries not to wilt under Nanako’s accusing glare.

“Don’t you want to help us?” she asks, making big eyes at Suguru as if that could change his mind and it might even have worked if there wasn’t a knock at the front door.

“That’s my friend, give me a moment,” Suguru rushes out, getting up from the floor and wondering just how fast Satoru got here because it hasn’t been ten minutes yet.

Suguru doesn’t hesitate to yank the door open but when he comes face to face with a police officer on the other side he freezes.

“Oh my, he really wasn’t kidding,” the officer says and shoulders past Suguru into the apartment.

Suguru is unable to do anything, as his heart plummets to the ground when he realises that Satoru called the cops on him.

It’s the smart thing to do, really, the right thing, too, but Satoru had told him to trust him. That he’d handle it, and Suguru breathes out a shaky laugh.

This is certainly one way of handling it.

“You killed them with the knife?” the officer wants to know, sticking his head out of the room with the bodies, before his eyes find the girls in the cage.

He lets out a low whistle.

“That’s most definitely a motive right there, good for you,” the officer says and smiles at Suguru.

“What is happening?” Suguru weakly gets out, because nothing makes sense anymore.

This officer is not acting like Suguru expected him to, mostly because he’s not yet in handcuffs and back up hasn’t been called.

“Oh, the brat didn’t explain?” the officer asks and just as Suguru is about to open his mouth to ask what the hell that means, Satoru spills into the apartment, breathing harshly as if he ran all the way here.

“Fuck, I’m late,” he pants out and the officer laughs.

“You could have explained a thing or two, your guy seems ready to keel over at any moment!”

“Suguru,” Satoru sighs out and comes over to stay next to him, one hand grasping his shoulder, clearly uncaring about the blood on the fabric. “I thought I’d be here before him. I’m sorry.”

“What’s going on?” Suguru asks again, because no one has explained a single thing to him yet and Suguru’s head is spinning.

This day is certainly not going how he expected it to when he woke up this morning.

“That’s Mahito,” Satoru says with a nod to the officer. “He—well, he’s on my family’s payroll.”

“On your—” Suguru can’t even finish the sentence, too confused by everything and Satoru tugs him to the side.

“Suguru, listen. You know who my family is. You don’t get to be one of the top clans in Japan without at least some shady business. We have people everywhere.”

“You—never said,” Suguru weakly says. “You don’t talk to your family.”

“I don’t,” Satoru gives back. “That doesn’t mean I don’t know what they are doing or who to call to cover up a murder.”

“Ah, but this’ll cost you, you know,” Mahito says with a bright smile. “You’ll have to go back for this, at least for the holidays.”

“I don’t care,” Satoru harshly says. “Can it be done?”

“Satoru, what does he mean it will cost you?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Satoru says to him as if that would make Suguru worry any less.

Satoru seems to get that, because he sighs when Suguru continues to stare at him.

“I can’t break with the family and then use their connections on a whim, Mahito is right about that. I’ll have to go back for at least some holidays now.” Before Suguru can protest, Satoru turns towards him. “Don’t even try. It’s worth it. If it means you walk free for this, then it’s worth it. I can sit through some dinners if I know you’re waiting for me to come back home.”

“Fuuuuuck, Jogo was right,” Mahito mumbles in the other room. “Now I owe him money.”

“For what?” Satoru asks, not taking his eyes off Suguru. “Jogo is our contact in the fire department,” he lowly explains to Suguru while they wait for the answer.

“You two are totally an item. I bet that no one is crazy enough to fall for you but ugh, of course the murderer would be,” Mahito carelessly says and Suguru feels sick when he realises that the murderer in question is he.

“I mean—we’re not—” Satoru stammers out and that gets Suguru to focus again, because it’s rare to see Satoru lost for words.

And Satoru might be right, they are not, but Suguru guesses covering up the murder of two people, and using connections of his despised family to do so, might mean something.

“Yeah, I guess you do owe him money,” Suguru says and threads his fingers together with Satoru’s, not caring that it gets Satoru’s hand all bloody as well.

Satoru doesn’t seem to care either, because he squeezes Suguru’s hand, even as he goes red in the face.

“You don’t have to,” he mutters under his breath as if Suguru is doing that for any other reason than the fact that he wants to.

“I want to, though,” Suguru replies and then drags his attention back to Mahito when he comes back into the room.

“So. Get Shoko to examine the bodies and the girls, Dagon to do the forensics, Higuruma as his defence attorney and Kenjaku as the judge and he’ll walk free, no worries. I mean the cage alone is enough to put him on probation but as long as you make it seem as if they attacked him first—” Mahito trails off with a shrug. “Get the kids to testify to that as well and you’re clean.”

“Geto-sensei has always been so good to us,” Nanako suddenly cries out. “We were so scared when he was attacked for trying to help us.”

“He just—” Mimiko chimes in, interrupted by her sobs “—he just wanted to get us out when they came up behind him with the knife.”

Suguru’s mouth drops open, because that is not at all how this went, but when Mahito laughs and the girls stop crying it starts to make sense.

“See? Easy. Very good, girls, do that in front of the right people and your ‘Geto-sensei’ will be fine.”

“They—sure seem cunning,” Satoru mutters, but there’s a relieved smile on his face. “Things will be fine.”

“I—Satoru, I still murdered two people,” Suguru can’t help but to whisper to him. “Are you—okay with that?”

At this point, he’s really more concerned for Satoru than himself, because now that the first shock has settled, Suguru realises that he doesn’t much care about killing these two. They deserved it, for what they did to the girls and Suguru is not going to regret it. But Satoru—

“Rightfully so, it would seem,” Satoru carelessly gives back with a shrug. “Suguru, I don’t care. As long as you’re still by my side, I don’t care. Hell, I’d probably murder someone too, if it means you’d stay so who am I to judge. And covering this up is really the least of my worries.”

Suguru can’t help but to go warm all over at those words, because even though Satoru hasn’t outright said it yet, Suguru can hear the confession plain and clear.

“I love you, too,” he quietly gives back, just for Satoru to hear and leans in for a quick kiss.

It should probably feel more wrong, with two bodies right next door and the two girls still in the cage, but Suguru wouldn’t change it for anything.

“And I want to keep them,” he then adds, which makes Satoru sigh.

“I suspected as much,” he gives back, because he knows Suguru well enough it seems. “I’ll call Utahime. She’s our girl for anything regarding child protection services. She’ll make it happen.”

Satoru doesn’t seem to mind the fact that Suguru wants to adopt two highly traumatised kids any more than the fact that Suguru killed two people and it might just make Suguru fall in love harder.

“Thank you,” he says, beyond grateful to have Satoru in his life but Satoru only shrugs because he’s incapable of handling sincere gratitude.

It’s kind of funny to watch him squirm and it makes Suguru smile.

“There you are,” Satoru mutters when he catches sight of that smile and leans in for a kiss. “It’ll be alright.”

Suguru leans into the kiss, because he knows that it will be. As long as Satoru is there with him, everything will be just fine.

#bt writes #jjk #satosugu #geto suguru #gojo satoru #murder #no curses #murder husbands #hurt/comfort #getting together #love confessions

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spinchip · 1 year

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Making Electricity// You Can Feel it in Your Mind

pairings: Gen/no pairings

Wordcount: 2.5k

Authors note: Title from electric feel MGMT lol. I am sick so you know what that means *Inflicts the horrors on my blorbo*

Warnings: Zane is electrocuted. this is what the whole fic is about

Summary: Jay accidentally shocks Zane during a fight.

His world is eclipsed by a pain so deep and all consuming that it leaves his body singing after it is done with him.

His vision is a kaleidoscope of colors and shapes that move and undulate in a constant flow. It’s a suggestion of the world around him, scrambled and shaken twice before it makes it to the part of his program responsible for interpreting reality. His vision is swarmed by a color- he knows his friends all have a signature color, but there’s a disconnect in his mind and he can’t understand what color he’s looking at. He is aware of the input but the information stalls and fails to process, leaving him clueless to the body at his side. His hearing is muffled and distant, the person is speaking but its formless syllables echo in his head as he tries to decipher it all. It’s overwhelming and he desperately wants to ask them to stop talking- but much like everything else, Zanes connection with his jaw has failed and he can’t vocalize a word.

He’s on his hands and knees- he doesn’t remember stumbling or falling. The amount of concentration it takes to keep his body off the floor is monumental- all his joints feel loose and liquid, like a light breeze could knock him over and scatter the pieces. He doesn’t know which way up or down is, everything swaying and twisting around him- his gyroscope is off kilter. It has to be. His clothes feel painfully tight- the person beside him touches his shoulder and Zane hisses in pain, and when he flinches away it knocks his hands from underneath him and sends him sprawling to the floor. Every one of his artificial nerves is on fire, like their sensitivity has been turned up past 11. Like someone had taken steel wool and scrubbed down each sensor until the wiring was exposed and sparking. He can’t feel his legs- the strangeness of that exacerbated by the fact he could still move them. The blobs of shifting light that he called his vision changed when he thought about moving his legs. He was watching them move. There was no input from the waist down, no data or pressure or spatial awareness to pin down how they were moving. Just that they were.

The air is sharp and chemical, ozone saturating every breath Zane takes.

He’s shaking. He’s breathing. There’s an awareness of the room creeping over the fog of his mind and he has to stop the ice from spreading- energy spits from his core and his chest feels hot and wet, his arms ache down to his fingers.

Something that sounds like it might be his name is called.

He’s on a table- a bed- it’s flat. He’s laying down. He’s so exhausted he can’t bring himself to think for several long moments, not processing any data his body is supplying him with. He drags a trembling hand up from his side and tries to focus on how many fingers he’s holding up. The fractals in his vision have merged and sharped to one point, but now everything is so fuzzy he can’t make out any details. His hand looks- dark. The casing is gone? The back of his hand, down his forearm, all bare- maybe more, but Zane doesn’t have the strength to turn his head. He slumps his hand next to his face instead of taking the effort to place it back at his side. A sound. Attempting to be soothing and soft, but his ears hurt anyway. Even that light, gentle sound input is overloading his processor and causing a sharp pain between his eyes. He feels nauseous.

What happened to the fight? Where was he? He doesn’t remember getting here. There were no memories connecting each moment. Did he black out?

His jaw is still locked. He beeps at the voice instead, a downturned note to show his disapproval of the silence being cut. A light turns on above him and his vision whites out completely, sharp piercing pain that feels like a fire has been lit in his face. He can’t close his eyes. He can’t do anything.

Zane wakes up.

He can see. It’s the first thing he acknowledges when his eyes open- still blurry on the edges, but clear enough he can make out where he is. It’s the garage, the one on the lower levels under the Monastery- in a back room that was tucked away from the rest of the place. There were desks in here, a few work tables for smaller scale projects and a couch that Zane was curled up on. There’s a blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His skin still feels raw, but the blanket is soft and welcome and he tugs it closer. The lights are on and dimmed, just enough so that he can see around the room easily. There’s a glass of water next to him that's only half full, and an apple with a bite taken out of it that Zane puzzles over for too long.

His brain isn’t catching up with him. Thinking is like trudging through quicksand, and he keeps losing the thread he’s following and staring blankly into space before remembering he’s trying to figure out what that water is doing here. It means something, right?

A door clicks, and Zane looks up. Someone is in the room. Dark hair. He closes his eyes and thinks, dragging up all his memories until he finds her inside them.

“Nya.” He concludes. His voice is jittery on the edges, but he can speak now.

Nya nearly jumps out of her skin at his voice. She barely avoids spilling her coffee down her shirt, looking up from her phone that she’d been absorbed in. She sighs in audible relief, “Hey, Zane. How are you feeling?”

He stares at her for a long moment, watching as she approaches him and sits in the chair set up next to the couch. She waits patiently for him to formulate a responde, “...it is hard… to think.” He manages. “...Why…?”

She smiles weakly, “You were struck by lightning, Zane.” She launches into a well-rehearsed and poised description of exactly what type of internal damage he had taken and how the blow had affected his body and delicate electronics. Each word is delivered carefully and confidently.

“This… is not the… the first… time…” He closes his eyes at the effort, grunting unhappily.

“No, this is not the first time I've told you all this.” Sipping her coffee, she shoots him a tight smile, “Hopefully it’ll be the last, though. Can you sit up? If you’re feeling up to it, we can do a few tests and see where you’re at recovery wise.”

He pulls the blanket out from under him, struggling to unwrap himself before he hauls himself up. His right hand is completely exposed, no protective casing at all. The wires are all shiny and brand new. Zane doesn’t dwell on figuring that out. He’s not in his ninja suit anymore- he’s in his pajamas. Did someone else dress him..? Uncomfortable, but understandable and necessary.

As Nya tests his reflexes and asks him to unbutton his shirt to examine his power core, Zane tries his best to organize his thoughts. His upper chest plate is brand new- the pieces around it have strange spider webbing marks, yet to be replaced.

“Lightning…” He makes a sound in the back of his throat that’s supposed to be the word how? But it catches on his tongue and doesn’t come out right.

Nya understands anyway, but she hesitates. Finally, “It was Jay. It was an accident- do you remember the fight?”

The fight. He does remember- but he also doesn’t remember. Strange. The thoughts and memories surrounding the moments before his world turned sideways are disjointed and nebulous, hard to pin down and recall. He doesn’t remember why they were fighting. He had been in the middle of a fight with another man- no, he had just defeated him? He was standing alone, taking a moment to… to… analyze the field… no, he stopped because his head hurt. Didn’t he? The guy he’d defeated had gotten a lucky shot. His jaw had ached, possibly dislocated…? Then the world was a bright white-hot pillar of fire and nothing made sense anymore.

“Is Jay… okay?” The feeling of Nya's hands in his chest makes him shudder, which she nods approvingly at. His sensory input was reacting correctly.

“Er… Physically, he’s fine.” She reassures him, “But mentally… Well, he feels really guilty. He thought… we all thought it was possible he killed you. You would wake up but you wouldn’t retain any memories or information we’d give you. You just kept resetting.”

“How long…?”

“How long have you been out of commission?” She guesses. He nods and she sighs, staring at his core, “Three and a half weeks.”

Zane stares at her, dumbfounded.

“This was not a light blow, Zane. Your internal self repair programming system has really been struggling to deal with all the damage. It was touch and go for longer than I’d like to admit.” Her voice is gentle, “We’ve all been taking turns watching over you in case you wake up. This isn’t the first time we’ve had this conversation.”

“I… do not… feel good.” Zane says plainly, weakly pushing her away from him and ending the examination. She doesn’t fight it, leaning away and giving him space.

She motions to the water and apple, “Those are yours from before. You should eat and drink- I know you don’t need to, but your core took some damage and you're on an energy deficit right now. You need physical fuel.”

He falls asleep before he finishes the apple.

He comes back to consciousness again in the same room, curled up in the same way, tucked in with the same blanket. This time, sitting next to him is Pixal.

“Pixal.” he says plainly. He says it like he’s proving that he remembers her.

She’s on her Borg Data Pad when he speaks, and she politely closes the case and sets it on the desk behind her, “Good morning, Zane. How are you feeling?”

The words make more sense, “I remember.” He tries to tell her firmly, with conviction, but his voice croaks out awkwardly despite his best efforts. “I remember… talking to… to Nya last… night.”

She blinks. Her whole demeanor changes- her shoulder slump in a bone-deep relief, and her eyes close, and she even takes a deep breath in. when she releases it, it trembles. When she opens her eyes again they’re shiny and wet, “You scared me.” She tells him before throwing her arms around him in a hug.

“Sorry.” He apologizes, slumping boneless into her arms.

"We're not out of the woods yet but this- this is a huge step in the right direction." She doesn't squeeze him too tightly and he's grateful.

After another examination, Pixal asks Zane if he's feeling well enough to make a trip up the elevator to see the others. To be honest, Zane wants nothing more than to do that. It’s early morning according to Pixal. He could have breakfast with them. He doesn’t respond right away, thinking. Truly feeling out everything.

His body still aches, his vision is still blurry, and it’s hard to think. He has to sort through the fog to remember anything- but he can walk, and talk, and remember.

“...Yes, I.. I want to.”

She helps him hobble his way over to the elevator and braces him while they head into the monastery. They take a break at the couch so he can gather some energy before making the final stretch to the kitchen. She sits him at the breakfast nook table and starts on pancakes at his request.

He leans back in the chair and involuntarily his eyes close until he’s lightly dozing in his chair, the rising sun warming his metal skin.

“Zane?” Cole asks, jaw dropped at the door.

Zane blinks open his eyes and smiles, “I am… okay… ish.” He says gently, and politely ignores Cole's tears as he brings him in for a quick hug.

Kai comes in next and actually jumps up and down in joy, clapping his hands. Nya is after him, and her sour-puss morning attitude does a heel turn and now she’s absolutely glowing.

When Lloyd comes in, he cries the ugliest out of them all. Zane is weirdly thankful he can’t think too clearly, or else he wouldn’t be able to simply not think about the snot patch Lloyd left on the shoulder of his pajamas. As Lloyd wipes the last of his tears he says, “I'm going to wake up Jay. He’s been sleeping in and I think he’d like to see you the most.”

Accidentally, Zane drifts off again. It feels so nice in the morning sun, and he’s exhausted again. He can’t help it.

A hand touches his gently and Zanes' eyes flutter open.

Jay is sitting next to him, looking like a kicked puppy but sixty times more pathetic and sad. He’s staring at the point of contact between their hands and Zane has to focus really hard to understand why. More of those spider webbing patterns wind down his left hand. The casing on his right had been replaced, but his left was still… still scarred from the blow. This makes Zane feel lightheaded. The injury suddenly feels so real.

“I am so… so sorry.” Jay looks like he’s about to cry. Oh- oh Jay is crying.

Zane doesn’t want Jay to cry, “It is.. Okay.” he reassures him, raising a shaky hand to place on top of Jays, “I will… be… alright. It was… an… an accident, I… I forgive you.” He says, and he means it.

“I was stupid and reckless!” Jay insists, looking at Zane with a pleading expression. Like he wants Zane to be angry- like he thinks he deserves it.

Zane pats his hand, “Eat with me.” He says as Pixal brings them each a plate.

He has to let Cole cut his pancakes up for him- his motor skills are severely lacking. It will take time for the fried pieces of his programming to repair. The next few weeks are hard and frustrating- but his friends are there to help him eat, help him walk through the monastery, even remind him basic facts that his processing fog loses.

There are things he’s lost forever. Memories that don’t exist anymore.

“We could watch the original Starfarer movie? But we’ve all already seen it.” Kai hums as he pokes through the stacks of DVDs they were discussing for movie night.

Zane wracks his brain, “I… have not…” He rephrases, “I do not… remember seeing that one.”

“Aw, lucky! What I wouldn’t give to watch it for the first time again!” Jay laments, not stopping to think before he speaks. He looks absolutely stricken when he realizes what just left his mouth.

The words shock Zane so much by their absurdity that he barks out a startled giggle before following it up with actual laugh, tittering at the sheer wrongness of that whole sentence. Jay is smiling again, and the room feels lighter.

They were there to help him laugh, too.

#spinchip fic #zane julien #jay walker #ninjago #nya ninjago #pixal borg #injuries #electrocution #brain fog #pain #hurt comfort #angst

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crowfeatherquill · 8 months

Text

Slavish Devotion

The fight to escape Creche Y’llek was grueling. This is undeniable. A drawn-out and anxious affair, taken a single room at a time and scouring constantly for healing draughts, and even still, some of them cling to life by fraying threads -- Astarion most of all.

Somehow, though, in the face of all this, Tathlyn still thinks the walk back to camp has been worse.

Their course is a delicate balance between their need for rest and their need to press on at a decent pace to make camp before nightfall. Astarion’s body does not radiate heat in the way that living things do where it presses into Tathlyn’s support. This, in itself, is not new -- he’s known about Astarion’s cold flesh since that first night in the woods that feels so far away and further still with every sunrise -- but it reminds him of carrying a corpse in a way he can’t quite stomach as easily now. He tries to remind himself that he is not carrying anything. That he is supporting Astarion’s weight while he walks on his own, and that he is still alive, and that he will be fine.

It doesn’t stick.

What does catch in his mind, though -- perhaps more than anything else; perhaps more than it should -- is the fact that for the entire journey, Lae’zel has been silent. At first, he had occupied himself trying to tease any kind of reasoning from her position. He remembers well how it felt under the Matrons’ yoke, and it had seemed, at least on the surface, that Lae’zel was in a similar position. He had dug deep for compassion -- for empathy to give her in the face of her world as she knew it being shaken to its foundations.

But he has only so much to give, and as he has continued to dig, he has found the fertile soil for olive branches waning. Rapidly.

Every hitch in Astarion’s breath as he tries to contain pained sounds he doesn’t want the others to hear adds to the simmering pressure that Tathlyn’s ribs strain desperately to contain. With every step drawn closer to camp, it becomes more and more clear that Lae’zel is not in contemplation. She is not processing what has just happened, nor taking the time to choose her words. She simply has nothing to say.

It makes Tathlyn want to scream his throat bloody.

By the time the flicker of the campfire draws into view, the sun has nearly set and the evening chill is beginning to creep in on them. Tathlyn barely feels it with how hot the fury in his gut has grown. It feels as though it’s taken his entire throat from mouth to stomach in one burning hand and squeezed until he can barely breathe.

He surprises himself with how quiet he is when he speaks.

“Wyll? Take him. Please,” he says, handing Astarion off in a way that has both of them looking at him, confused.

Lae’zel moves to pass them -- as though she means to enter camp; as though nothing that happened today should change how her evening goes -- and if he hadn’t reached the last straw hours ago, that would be enough to break whatever restraint Tathlyn still has left.

Phalar Aluve is in his hand before he really notices he’s drawn it. He rests the point of it feather-light where Lae’zel’s throat meets the underside of her jaw, and she lifts her chin. He knows it is instinct, and stays his hand, but the beast behind his ribs roars at the image of defiance.

“Woah,” Wyll intones, “Tath? Wh-”

“Give me one good reason why I should let you take another step after what you did today,” Tathlyn says in that same soft voice -- the quiet of a predator on the hunt.

Lae’zel does not speak -- only stares at him with a fire in her eyes that he badly wishes to snuff.

“One reason, Lae’zel. That’s all I’m asking for. Give me something. Because I have been wracking my brains trying to figure out how to forgive you for this, and I can’t work it out.”

“Forgive?” Lae’zel spits the word like blasphemy, and Tathlyn can’t hear Wyll’s soft ‘oh no’ over the sound of his blood rushing in his ears, “There is nothing to forgive. I acted as bidden by my Queen, as is my honor. To do otherwise would be to disgrace myself, and for what? For the madness of istyk?”

“Listen to yourself!”

The quiet shatters with the force of Tathlyn’s shout. The landscape is not conducive to an echo, but somehow it seems to anyway. What follows after is a moment of breathless silence before he speaks again.

“Do you hear how you sound? Do you hear what you’re saying? We knew -- we have all known from the very beginning that these godsdamned tadpoles can’t be removed. They’re magic. They’ll kill us. It’s one of the first fucking things we learned, and still you kept pushing. Insisting we go find this fucking creche so you could get your precious cure. Your purification.”

By now, the sounds of jogging footsteps are approaching. Karlach and Halsin, summoned by the noise and unsure of the trouble.

“I tried to wait you out,” Tathlyn continues, “I took every opportunity I could to gather more information about them. Followed every offer as deep as it would go without putting myself at mortal risk because I figured maybe if enough people told us in no uncertain terms that they couldn’t be removed, one of them might stick. That you might listen. But it never fucking ended, did it? No, you had to keep prying and needling until it came down to threats and even then I mustered grace to give you.”

Lae’zel opens her mouth, surely to voice her objection to the idea that anyone need ever give her grace, but Tathlyn is far from finished. He moves the tip of his blade just-so. Lae’zel’s teeth click together when her mouth closes.

Karlach and Halsin have reached the unseen edge of the confrontation, standing level with Wyll -- who is looking to Karlach with something like desperation -- and Astarion, who cannot seem to take his eyes off Tathlyn. Tathlyn is blinded to anything but Lae’zel standing before him.

“If I had let you wander off into the Cursed Lands on your own, you’d have died. Much as you try to act like you’re invincible, I know you know that. And you knew I’d never let that happen -- that if you insisted you’d go with or without me, I’d be forced to follow. And so I did. Because I thought…maybe if you heard it from your own people, you’d believe them. I so badly wanted to believe that you had it in you to change your mind. To see you were wrong like I did.”

“To betray my Queen and my people as you did, you mean?”

Tathlyn sees red and doesn’t quite realize he’s moved until there’s a hand on him, forcing him backwards, and a voice in his ear.

“Easy, soldier…”

Karlach speaks soft, slow, and even, like coaxing a frightened animal. When Tathlyn can see properly again, there’s a streak of fresh blood running down Lae’zel’s throat, shining and wet over what’s already dried there.

“Say it again,” he snarls, already fighting Karlach’s restraining arm, “If you won’t give me a reason to forgive you, I’d be just as happy with a reason to--”

“Oi!”

Karlach steps fully in front of him, breaking his line of sight on Lae’zel, and Tathlyn realizes just how far his vision had narrowed as he becomes suddenly aware of his periphery again.

“Karlach…” he says her name through bared teeth -- a warning he doesn’t mean to issue -- and she presses into his space until he can feel the heat.

“Step. Off,” she replies, and her words are just as firm as the physical barrier she presents, “This isn’t you.”

If Dammon hadn’t tuned her engine, she’d be searing him with how close she’s standing, but as it is, it’s only enough to make him start to sweat. He stays rooted to the spot as he feels it start to gather at the nape of his neck and between his shoulders. He can’t seem to force himself to move -- some part of him stays locked onto Lae’zel like a bear trap even with Karlach obstructing his view of her.

It’s too much. His better judgement locks horns with the beast in his ribcage, howling for justice that can only be dispensed at the edge of a blade. He wants nothing more than to walk away. He cannot seem to move his legs.

With a guttural shout, he hefts Phalar Aluve and drives it into the dirt. In the same instant, he feels the ground upheave itself beneath him as thick vines burst upward and tangle around his legs and waist. He blinks, confused, and turns just in time to see the glow fading from around Halsin’s hands.

His ears are ringing. He can’t seem to remember how to breathe. Time seems to bend out of shape -- one second stretched out to eternity and obscuring how long they stand there, frozen, before he feels a pressure against his back and a pair of arms twining around his middle, just above where the vines stop.

“Darling…?” Astarion’s voice, quiet and only a breath away from his ear, cuts the fog in his head as cleanly as any knife. “If it’s all the same to you…I think I’d like to go and lie down now.”

Tathlyn nods, stiffly, laying one arm over top of Astarion’s and lacing their fingers.

“Halsin?” His voice comes ragged from his throat. He sounds gutted, even to himself.

The vines retreat, and Tathlyn shifts to let Astarion lean against him once more as they turn toward camp -- bedrolls and a sorely needed rest only paces away.

Lae’zel shouts something at their backs in her native tongue, and Tathlyn hears Karlach’s boots in the dirt and a low reprimand. He’s already too far away to make out the words.

He doesn’t quite realize he’s shaking until they’ve made it to Astarion’s tent. Astarion has almost certainly noticed, but doesn’t comment. He deposits Astarion as gently as he can manage onto the bedroll and finds he can’t bring himself to let go. There is a bone-deep need to feel the rise and fall of Astarion’s breath under his hands. To know he’s safe.

Astarion’s hands find his face -- gently caress his cheeks -- and Tathlyn sinks into the hold.

“You know…as thrilling as all that was, I have to ask,” he probes, “You’re not usually the one to reach for a blade like that. What happened?”

“You happened,” Tathlyn blurts before he really even realizes what he’s saying.

Astarion cocks his head, confused.

“What?”

“You got hurt. Could’ve died. I couldn’t…”

The bemused expression on Astarion’s face intensifies, and Tathlyn’s words catch in his throat. It feels silly. Childish. But there’s something more to it that he can’t quite name.

“Darling, I’ve been hurt plenty of times on any number of these foolish little sidetracks. I didn’t see you threatening Karlach after she almost brought a burning building down on our heads. What’s so different about this?”

The words rise to Tathlyn’s tongue before he’s even fully thought to say them.

“You didn’t trust me then,” he admits, “You’re trusting me now. And I trusted her. I thought…I thought I could trust her to figure it out, but it just kept getting worse and I kept not stopping her, and you could’ve died. And if you had, it would’ve been my fault.”

“Oh.” The single syllable falls breathless from Astarion’s chest. “Oh, sweet thing…”

“Don’t. You don’t have to--”

Astarion passes one thumb over Tathlyn’s lips, silencing him as easily as if he’d cast a spell.

“I rather think I do,” he insists, “You haven’t stopped shaking since we walked away. Tell me what you need, darling.”

Tathlyn reaches up to grab onto Astarion’s hands, still framing his face. He shuts his eyes -- tries to take in every detail of the way those long, delicate fingers feel against his skin.

“C’n I stay?”

“Of course you can, my sweet. As long as you like.”

Tathlyn lingers in Astarion’s hold a moment longer before pulling away and beginning the arduous process of removing his armor. Every twinge of wounds and overworked muscles makes itself known to him over the next few minutes and by the time he’s done, he’s more exhausted than he thought he could still get.

Astarion has reclined on the bedroll, and watches him now with care. He rolls easily onto his side as Tathlyn shuffles in next to him and twines his arms around Astarion’s slim frame. It’s not the ideal position to mediate in, but feeling the way Astarion’s ribs expand and contract as he breathes seems to be the only thing that settles the frantic worry that’s made itself at home under Tathlyn’s skin. Astarion tangles their legs together -- an additional offer of proximity -- and Tathlyn lets his forehead come to rest against the back of Astarion’s shoulder.

Rest is hard to come by as the evening drags on into the night. Every sound from outside Astarion’s tent has Tathlyn alert, assessing for threat. But Astarion’s breathing stays steady. one hand firmly laces fingers with his own, and Astarion allows himself to be cradled close to Tathlyn’s chest. Eventually, his mind settles enough to drift for a few hours.

In the morning, Tathlyn finds Phalar Aluve laid unassumingly across the threshold outside Astarion’s tent. He chooses not to attempt reading meaning into it, and slides it back into the scabbard where it belongs. They have a long walk back through the mountain pass ahead of them. Better, he thinks, not to spend it in suspicious silence.

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coldshrugs · 3 months

Text

longing's favorite season 🔹 prologue

pairing: io laithe / estinien varlineau rating: general - this is a simple introduction to the concept. later parts will be mature/explicit. word count: 925 additional entries: part 1 🔹 part 2 🔹 stable scene 🔹

Count Edmont De Fortemps has no cause to enter quietly, especially in his own home, yet he is quite good at it. Engrossed as she is in the most interesting part of this grand old house, Io doesn't hear him until a loose floorboard creaks under the weight of his bad leg.

She looks up from the shelf, "Edmont... Good evening. I was just admiring—"

"Yes, of course, Mistress Laithe, admiring..." He steps into the warm light cast by the fireplace; the red and black jewels decorating his coat take on a liquid sheen, like tiny droplets of blood suspended in time. It wouldn't surprise her if they fell to the floor with a splatter. "Exploiting. The difference is a matter of etiquette, is it not?"

What on earth? Io recoils slightly, shaken by his unfamiliar tone. "My lord?"

He waves a dismissive hand and settles heavily into an armchair by the hearth. "Come. Sit with me, then you may return to your admiring momentarily."

She follows him warily. The aura about him bears... not exactly a threat, but something malign. There is a game in process and she does not yet know the rules. With a satisfied smile, Edmont looks her over, sizing up posture and countenance as she sits across from him.

"My son is quite taken with you, Mistress Laithe. For now, in any case."

For now?

He continues. "Just two days past, he fairly begged me to sanction a union between you. He is an idealist—you are not free from his expectations, but if allowed, Haurchefant would live his life as a fairytale. On the other hand, I must be more practical, for the sake of my family and my country."

"Haurchefant wants to marry me?" Io whispers, looking from Edmont to the fire.

Haurchefant's attention has been plain since she stepped foot in Camp Dragonhead nearly a year ago. His warm welcome came with hungry eyes, and he proved an audacious flirt, in a charming sort of way. Charming enough to make a night in his chambers sound enticing once. While the interest and advances were not entirely one-sided and the time they've spent together has occasionally skirted the bounds of romance, Io feels his expectations weigh more heavily than hers can match. He's been a valuable friend and has shown her great kindness many times over. She owes him a great deal—her life and the lives of her friends most of all—but truth be told, they don't know each other very well...

With the Dragonsong War at its end and her name mostly cleared, she thought she might move on. But...

"That is his current whim, aye," Edmont sighs. "I was keen to deny it, of course. Heavens, the difficulty... You, a foreigner in these lands—Viera—with those markings on display, a bow on your back, and blood on your hands. I will hail you as a hero, of course, but I fail to picture you as a lady and wife. But perhaps... perhaps that is exactly what I need at this time."

Io stares into the flames as she listens to him. His hospitality seemed freely given but she cannot help but recall something he said moons ago: 'How quickly we forget the petty nature of men. I'd wager your friends are no more than pawns in another of my countrymen's games. Such is the way of things between the High Houses...'

House Fortemps is no different, she supposes.

Io's stomach turns. She dares to glance at him. The flickering light throws his features into a menacing caricature of the Edmont she's familiar with.

"At his side, and in residence at this estate, you could be the perfect example." He leans forward, looking at her through steepled fingers. "The less open-minded High Houses could learn to see the beauty in truly open borders. What do you think, my dear? You could help propel our fair city into its new age, complete with a life of comfort, free from grief, and you need do no more than you've already done: use my wealth, my resources, and entertain my son. What say you?"

"—daresay it was one of the more awkward sessions of my career. The bride sat beautifully while her soon-to-be husband fidgeted, though I hear he is an energetic man with a racing mind. They did converse during the sitting, as well-acquainted friends; his lordship is a veritable jester and his humor seemed to keep his lady at ease. I had been told they were a love match. Alas, I would liken the flame between them to a bedside candle instead of the roaring fire usually found in the betrothed... "

—Renowned portraitist Duremert, overheard while shopping in the Jeweled Crozier

"Preparations must be hastened, and leave the matter of gil to the Count. Unreasonable as his requests may be, surely we can provide yet another 'Wedding of the Season.' It does make one wonder just why the need for all this fuss and rush, but I digress."

—spied in a letter from Lisette Valentione

"His lordship has tasked me with a new mistress—the Warrior of Light herself! I want to hear all her stories! Although she's not a warrior anymore. She's a lady now, and I'm to look after her in the manor. I think she misses being out there. Can't say I blame her. If it were me, I wouldn't dream of giving up all those adventures to stay in this stuffy old house all day."

—Saulette, in service to House Fortemps, in a letter to her aunt

#azia writes #longing's favorite season #misery au #io/estinien #ffxiv #i'm about to spam the parts of this i've worked on sorryyyyy #no obligation to read them. i just kind of want them out of my hair for now LOL #i had some banger lines in some of these chapters and i think they deserve to see the light of day

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echo-bleu · 9 months

Note

Hi! For the fic prompt thing, can you do either 'The first glass of fresh water' for Maedhros or 'Trying to walk on ice' for Beren (plus maybe Lúthien?) Thank you!

Thank you!! I went with the first prompt, as I love writing Maedhros.

I guess the most obvious place for this prompt would be after his rescue from Angband but that's not where my mind went, so have some newly re-embodied Maedhros. And there is no glass involved, because sometimes utensils and manners get thrown out of the window.

13. The first glass of fresh water

On AO3 here.

It’s all rather overwhelming, actually.

He has a brand new body that is somehow the exact same shape as the one he left behind, missing hand and all. That’s a little comforting, because he’s not sure he’d know what to do with a right hand any more, and more importantly because it would feel a little too much like everything that happened has been erased.

He’s been given a soft linen tunic and breeches and summarily expelled from Mandos. So far so good. The clothes are scratchy, and the light hurts his eyes, and every sound feels like someone is playing drums with his heads. He’s also, for all the years in the Halls spent trying to piece himself back together, got his mind wrenchingly stuck on the very last moments of his past life. It’s distant, not quite here with him, but it’s like all of his edges are still held back in the past, in the horrified despair of the Silmaril burning his hand.

(His hand is smooth and intact.)

It was all for nothing. The despair gnaws at him like a small rodent, distant and easily shaken but persistent. Everything he did, everything he dragged his brothers into, their deaths – all the other deaths – were all for nothing. His emotions are muted still, just as much as his physical perception is enhanced in this new body, but he can feel that it will soon come back, and when it does—

Well.

And then, before he can process any of this properly, there are people around him. Hands, on him. Voices overlapping each other, barely distinct.

Three people. He makes his brain focus on each of their faces, ignoring their words for now. He knows them.

Fingon is just as breathtakingly beautiful as ever. (Except that day on the battlefield, when there wasn’t even enough of him left to bury.) The golden ribbons in his hair are a little blinding, but his face is soft and smiling and it feels like Maedhros can breathe again for the first time in countless years. He holds Maedhros’s good shoulder in a clasp that was once comforting – and could be again, he thinks, when his body feels like his again.

Maedhros basks in his smile for a moment, losing the feel of the damp earth under his bare feet and glare of the afternoon sun.

That voice, again, calling his name, and he’s not sure what the language is – what language is. He hears but doesn’t understand. Another hand, on his bad arm, the touch burning, like the Silmaril burned, like the fiery chasm—

Stop. Back up.

He is released from Mandos, and he has a body again. He looks down and stares at the manacle scars on his only wrist. He’s in Aman (but Aman is all wrong, with the sun casting all these strange shadows).

Fingon is here. Fingon has come to save him.

No.

The hand withdraws with a word like an apology. Maedhros doesn’t remember what an apology sounds like. Mechanically, he repeats the sounds.

Someone hums. He looks up, startled by the song, by the familiarity of it. No one sang in Mandos. No one sang, because someone was missing. Someone…

Káno looks… tired. There are lines on his face that shouldn’t be there. A slump of his shoulder, he who always slid everywhere dramatically, like he was in a constant performance.

Not so much, near the end.

Káno didn’t follow him. Káno wasn’t there, he didn’t die – did he?

He’s still humming, softly, barely more than a whisper. He’s here. Maedhros wants to… something. Say he missed him. Apologize. Hug him. Something.

He drops his gaze.

The third person has hands that hover but don’t touch. Different hands, lighter than Finno’s and darker than Káno’s, but also… something else. Their presence feels more real, somehow. Realer than reality.

(Is this reality?)

But they’re missing something. There used to be… more hands. More people. Two of them. One half is missing.

Elrond, it finally comes. Elrond and Elros. (Sons.)

The despair strikes back hard. It was all for nothing. He harmed them so much. He loved them so much. He didn’t know how to love them without being their personal monster.

Dimly, he remembers something from the vague clump of memories that is his stay in Mandos. Elros chose to be a Man. Chose to die like a mortal. (Chose to leave.)

Elrond stayed behind. He looks Maedhros in the eye now, just barely shorter than him, Elf and Man and Maia all mingled and focused on him and Maedhros can’t sustain it.

He looks away.

“Maedhros—”

Maedhros pushes the hands away and runs.

He doesn’t stop until he wakes up to himself waddling in a freezing cold stream. The cold jolts him to attention, drawing a sharp breath.

He’s out of Mandos. He’s alive again.

(He’s real again.)

He swoops down and gathers some water into the cup of his hand. With only one hand (he used to drink like this in the woods with Fingon, so long ago, before), he barely gets a few drops to his mouth. He does it again. He finds himself parched.

The water doesn’t taste the same here in Aman as in Beleriand. He’d forgotten.

(His mouth tastes like ashes. He doesn’t think it will ever go away.)

“Maedhros!”

He takes a breath, settled by the cold liquid tracing a path into his insides. Fingon reaches him first (as always). He drags Maedhros out of the stream, and Maedhros lets him.

Káno has stopped humming. He looks concerned. It’s a familiar expression on his face. Elrond is at his elbow, frowning but relieved. Alive. Real.

Maedhros reaches out.

They fall into his embrace with the gratefulness of relief after a very, very long wait.

(Alive. Real.)

Send me writing and art prompts!

#maedhros #fingon #elrond #maglor #silmarillion #the silmarillion #silm fic #fanfiction #echo's fanfiction #tolkien #tolkien legendarium

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tackytigerfic · 5 months

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hiiii tacky!!! idk if you're comfortable sharing, but if your are... what is your writing process like? are you a more like linear narrative person where you come up with an idea followed by a plot line or do you come up with like a piece of dialogue first and then write around that? do you use music, shows, other fics, real life for inspo or is it all kinda just ur imagination? lol i personally just adore your fics so i would love to hear how they come about :))

hello Anon! First of all, thanks so much for sending this ask. I always love reading other people's posts about their process so this was a really interesting one for me to think about. And I'd be delighted to share, though I can't promise it'll be anything profound!

I'm the opposite of a linear narrative planner type tbh. Whenever I try that approach, it always feels really flat and uninspired. I have a WIP at the moment that came to me in quite a plotty, formal way—it's a fic where there's an emergency at Hogwarts and Albus and Scorpius go missing, and Harry and Draco go there together and have to get their sons back (and fight the Giant Squid). I had an overarching idea, and a flashback/flashforward format with all the scenes I needed. But when I went to write it, it dragged and dragged. I hope to go back to it but I think it really needs to be shaken up!

Normally however, every fic I write begins with an idea for one particular moment or scene. It's almost like a camera flash, like an illumination, a moment of clarity where I can just grasp the mood of this tiny snapshot within the narrative. So everything I write becomes about getting to that moment and capturing the feel of it as truly as I can. It's hard because sometimes, as I write, there's a slippage between what I have in my head and what comes out on paper. My best fics (in my opinion) are the ones where the finished piece matches up with the vision/feel I had in my head.

So in Modern Love, that scene was the kiss in the church. Which, if you've read the fic you'll know, comes almost at the very end. So i basically wrote 60k to get to that: "Draco presses into him, and Harry can feel the answering press of the altar rail behind his thighs, and Draco bends him backwards so his body is a tightly-strung bow, and Draco is leaning over him, holding him up, and they’re still kissing, kissing, kissing."

In Unpin, it was the scene where Harry and Draco are getting into their uniforms in the changing room, and Draco can hear Harry unbuttoning his robes: "The buttons are tiny, impossibly delicate-looking, but he tells me they’re virtually indestructible. I can actually hear the whisper of the buttons as he nudges them shut, that gentle sussurating scratch of the edge of each one as he eases them through the buttonholes.'The kirin horn has protective properties, Malfoy,' he told me smugly when he bought them. 'And,' he added, like the sanctimonious prick he is, 'they look great.'"

In Power Lines, it was the scene with Draco floating in the sea: "They swam every afternoon, Harry mostly floating, blinking up at the flat blue sky, Malfoy with his shoulders pink and peeling and his wet hair bleached like bone from the sun. His Mark had faded over the years, though it was still ugly, and he had a ropey, reddened scar curling around the bracket of his left ribcage right up to the hollow below his Adam’s apple. Harry determinedly didn’t think about how odd it was that he suddenly knew Malfoy’s body like this, so casually and easily."

In Lick, it was Harry with his hand on the Hogwarts wall, talking to the building (and that scene comes right at the start, so in a way that was easier because I had the whole fic to play with afterwards!): "As he touches the wood, leans his forehead against the wall, he whispers under his breath, "Please." And as easily as that, at just one word from him, there's a click—the shockingly mundane sound of a lock turning."

In Our Little Life, it was Draco in a toga: "Harry’s fingers went to the fibula at Malfoy’s shoulder, but Malfoy murmured something about how he should leave it unless he was prepared to redrape it, and anyway Harry found he could get at almost all of Malfoy’s skin by going in from the hem up, and when the dream started to fade, Harry woke with the memory of Malfoy’s ribcage shuddering beneath his fingers."

In Howl, it was an almost jokey recreation of the rain scene in the newer Pride and Prejudice film: "“It worked out okay in the end,” Harry said, voice rough under the patter of the rain that had crept up on them, moving in sheets across the wide bowl of the valley below, wrinkling the surface of the lake. “You’re here, aren’t you? You came to get me.”"

In Countdown to a Life it was Harry thinking he'd enjoy being tied up and realising he didn't like it: ""I think," Harry says, so much later that Draco thought he was already asleep. "I think I'd prefer if it was just you. Keeping me still, I mean. I'd be so good for you. I wouldn't move at all, if you told me not to.""

in Take the Moon, it was Harry bringing Scorpius to the supermarket in the middle of the night and seeing his own reflection in the freezer doors: "Sometimes Harry could hardly see how three years had passed, could barely remember a time before Scorpius, definitely couldn’t count how many nights he had spent here in this particular Sainsbury’s, first with Scorpius in the sling, then as he got bigger, the trolley seat, walking up and down the aisles under the artificial lights that made it feel as though it could be any time of the day or night, Harry’s own warped reflection flickering back at him from the foggy glass doors of the freezer cabinets, rows and rows of chilly ghosts."

You get the idea! This is just a selection from random fics, I could probably go through every single fic and pinpoint that moment/scene that prompted me to start writing. Some are more successful than others in the way they turn out, of course—and I do think it's one of the reasons I think my microfics/oneshots are my best writing. It's because they usually are the essence of that one scene, distilled! So I can really indulge that purity of vision.

I'm not inspired by media like films/songs/books at all really, though I do greedily consume a lot of those (books in particular) and of course every single thing I read/watch has an impact in some way. I definitely write better when I've been reading really good books. This year, reading things like The Bee Sting or Close to Home or Open Water... they all really inspired me to think about craft and style and tone in a very considered way.

And on a final note, I've been writing a lot of original work this year and i've learned that I find it even harder to capture the feel of that one moment when I'm also trying to juggle characterisation and plot!

Thanks so much again for the ask and for giving me a chance to chat about my fics. Was lovely to revist them. Would also love to hear other people talking about their own processes if anyone fancies sharing.

#drarry #drarry fic #rowing and chatting #this fandom life

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defectivevillain · 1 year

Text

by your side

pairing: percival graves x reader

reader’s pronouns: unspecified but masc-intended

warnings: mentions of blood and injury, fainting

You’re starting to suspect that Director Graves thinks you to be incompetent.

It all starts in the halls of MACUSA’s Department of Magical Law Enforcement [as most things do]. You’re minding your own business, filling out some paperwork, when a sudden crash sounds. You quickly get up from your desk and run out to the hallway, only mildly surprised to see several Aurors. They evidently just Apparated back from their mission. Admittedly, they look to be in a pretty bad state.

“We need backup,” one of the Aurors manages to say, as they lead another Auror down the hall with their arm slung around their shoulder. There’s blood seeping from their robes, tinting their skin red. You’re quick to get the details from another Auror before Apparating there yourself. From what you’d heard, some Grindelwald sympathizers are fighting back against the initial group of Aurors.

The moment you appear, you have to dodge spellfire. There’s nothing but chaos. You cast a few haphazard shields and look around for any of the other Aurors. There are a few scattered about, but they look outnumbered.

As you fight, you make sure not to use lethal spells—despite your knowledge that the wizards casting at you definitely are. You take a deep breath and spin around, just barely dodging a curse that hurtles at you. Despite your speed, you’re beginning to be surrounded. You try your best to defend yourself, but it’s nearly impossible to do so with the opposition of several different people. A wayward curse barrels towards you and you’re not fast enough to dodge it. Pain shoots through you and you fall to the ground. Shadows creep across your vision and you blearily look up to the sky. Eventually, you succumb to the rather powerful exhaustion that pulls at your core.

You dazedly register someone leaning over you. Their face is entirely blurry and all you can make out are deep brown eyes and dark hair. The person brings a hand to your cheek and their lips move, but you can’t hear what they’re saying. Your ears are ringing and your eyelids sting with the exertion of staying awake. You’re shaken a bit roughly by the shoulders, but by then, your eyes are closed and you’re unconscious.

The next time you wake, there are pins and needles shooting through your arm. You try to lift your arm, only to find that it’s weighed down. You squint in confusion. It takes a moment for you to process what’s happening. It seems that you’re in St. Mungo’s. Your arms are bandaged and your entire body feels incredibly stiff. It’s only then that you realize why your arm is hurting. Director Graves is draped over your arm, his head rested on his arms as he.... well, you’re not quite sure what he’s doing here. You tap him on the shoulder and he jolts awake, looking incredibly startled until he meets your eyes.

“You’re awake,” the director remarks, a strange sense of relief almost invading his voice. You squint at him in confusion. You must be dreaming. That’s the only explanation for why the Director of Magical Law Enforcement is sitting next to your hospital bed.

“Why-” You try to say, only for a cough to crawl out of your dry throat. Graves is quick to get you a glass of water, which you drink greedily. It takes you a moment to collect your thoughts, before you start again. “Why are you here?”

“How are you feeling?” the director asks. You level him with an unimpressed gaze. Graves doesn’t react. You shake your head in disbelief, fully aware that he didn’t even bother to answer the question.

“I’m fine,” you reply habitually. Your entire body is aching and stiff, but it’s not an unbearable pain. You've regained control of your right arm too, thankfully. You try to push yourself up to a sitting position, but your arms are too shaky to provide much support. Graves levels you with an accusatory glare that you promptly ignore.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” the director remarks. You don’t quite know what to say to that, so you remain silent. Evidently, there’s something else the director wants to say, but he doesn’t voice it. Instead, Graves sighs and crosses one leg over the other. He makes no move to leave. Your heart starts to race.

“Now, rest,” the director commands. “That’s a direct order from your commanding officer.” You roll your eyes and fall into the pillow at your back. You stare up at the ceiling resolutely, not wanting to go to sleep. The universe seems to have other plans for you, however. The last thing you register is the brief press of lips to your forehead before you’re drifting off.

The rest of your hospital stay isn’t nearly as... intriguing. You don’t get any more visitors—least of all Director Graves—and you’re discharged within two days. The nurse firmly orders you to stay out of the field for a week and you sigh.

During the ensuing days, you’re incredibly bored. You still go to work, but you’re confined to your desk and a seemingly infinite stack of paperwork. The week passes and, on the eighth day, you’re extremely excited to return to normal work. Safe to say, you aren’t anticipating the continued influx of paperwork.

At first, you think it must be coincidence. You’ve always been assigned paperwork sporadically throughout the year. However, as the days pass and you continue to be assigned paperwork and nothing else, you start to suspect that something’s wrong. Ultimately, it takes another week of zero fieldwork for you to lose patience and walk over to Graves’s office.

Before you know it, you’re knocking on the door to his office. “Director Graves, can I speak with you?” You hear a voice allowing you in and you open the door. Tina Goldstein stands at the director’s side. The two of them turn to look at you the moment you enter the room.

“Goldstein, we’ll continue this later,” Graves says. Goldstein’s gaze flits between the two of you and a mischievous smile appears on her face. You’re quick to push her out of the space and dissuade her from any deluded fantasies. The moment you return, your impatience gets the best of you.

“Why are you keeping me from the field?” You blurt out. The director doesn’t seem surprised by the question. If anything, it seems as if he was expecting it. That sends off some red flags in your head. Did he mean for you to be assigned to paperwork this whole time? Shaking your head, you turn your attention back to him.

“You need rest,” the director replies, rather predictably. Graves taps his fingers against the surface of his desk. You’re unable to keep your irritation at bay anymore.

“Yes, for one week, not two,” you snap, quickly regretting doing so when you see the blank expression on the director’s face. Graves stands up and ambles over to you. Your heart is racing in your chest, but you grit your teeth and stand your ground. He’s nearly looming over you now. Merlin, I’m going to die, you can’t help but think.

“I... apologize,” is just about the last thing you’re expecting to hear. Your surprise must show on your face, because Graves chuckles. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I was just... worried.” Why would he be worried? You frown.

“I can explain,” the director starts. You raise an eyebrow and he doesn’t make a move to explain. “Perhaps... over coffee?” You’re certain your jaw is wide open now. Is he... asking you out? You look at him for a moment longer, trying to find any hint of emotion on his face. His expression is surprisingly blank. Well, fuck it, you think to yourself. There’s nothing to lose, really.

“Sure,” you respond. Somehow, it seems as if Graves hadn’t expected you to agree because his eyebrows rise high on his forehead. The display isn’t for more than a mere fraction of a second, yet it’s somewhat refreshing to know that the director isn’t as robotic as you thought him to be.

“It’s a date,” the man says, a hint of a smile creeping up on his face. You nod and dismiss yourself, walking out into the hall. It doesn’t take long for you to bury your head in your hands in simultaneous embarrassment and excitement.

y’all i had such a moral dilemma about how to write this... cause percival’s the head of the aurors and the reader is an auror so there are obvious power dynamics there.... thus the lack of explicit romance and emphasis on moving to an alternate location without work labels... ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#hp x reader #hp x male reader #male reader #gn reader #percival graves #Percival Graves x reader #Percival Graves x male reader #mwahahaha #fantastic beasts #ig

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ceru-at-hogwarts · 1 year

Text

Bad Dream and Hot Mint Chocolate

Inspired by @turningbubble's beautiful artwork. Reposted because I keep getting shadowbanned @_@

[SFW. Fluff & Comfort. A heartwarming conversation between Sebastian and Ominis after this latter wakes up from a nightmare. A slice-of-life portrayal of their relationships before the events of Hogwarts Legacy.]

My writing masterlist | Read in AO3

There are times when Ominis does not know whether this is reality, or if this is all but a bad dream. There he is, standing alone, echoes of water dripping in the distance, sounds reverberating from the walls. A large room, mostly empty. Someone wailing in the distance. All of it feels so real.

Suddenly, screams. A woman’s. Just beside him. A hard, cold voice. His own voice, casting that very spell he hates with his life.

“CRUCIO!”

She screams again.

Please stop. No. Why? Why did I do that? Why did I cast that spell? Why? No. I am a monster. No. Please someone stop me. No.

“CRUCIO!” This time, the spell is directed at him. He screams. Everything is painful. He begs, he cries out loud, and he is the one screaming this time. No. Please, make everything stop.

Please…

“…Ominis…”

His wand, where is his wand?

“…Ominis … It’s all right. Everything’s all right. I’m here. You are safe here. It’s all right.” Someone is talking to him, gently, but it makes no sense.

His wand is beside him. He feels it in his fingers and violently jerks himself to a sitting position, suddenly pulling back to reality, and waking himself up in the process.

He is trembling badly, gripping his wand tightly. He breathes heavily, feeling confused. His nightshirt is drenched in sweat, tears flow uncontrollably from his eyes. For a long while, nothing around him makes sense.

It takes him quite some time before he notices Sebastian’s presence beside him, calling his name gently, telling him he’s safe. There he is, his best friend, smelling exactly like the lemon-scented soap Sebastian is so fond of and Ominis grows to love it because it reminds him of Sebastian. This is all but a nightmare. He is safe. Everything is all right. He is in his bed at Hogwarts. Everything is all right. But everything is not all right. He gasps, unable to clear his mind from the palpable feeling of guilt and anguish that engulfs him still.

Slowly, he feels Sebastian moves to sit beside him on the bed. For a while, none of them speaks.

“Nightmare again?” Sebastian asks finally, his voice sounding worried. Ominis nods quietly. “It hasn’t happened in a while, hasn’t it? Not since Anne…”

Ominis does not reply, but he can feel Sebastian watching him closely. He knows his best friend well, after all these years. He sighs heavily, still feeling shaken. He hates how long it always takes him to get a grip on himself each time something like this happened. He can only be thankful that no one else is around, as the Christmas holiday has begun the day before, leaving the fourth-year dormitory mostly empty except for both of them.

He can feel Sebastian takes a deep breath and gently pats him on the back.

“I will get us something nice to drink, I will be back in a moment,” he said, and Ominis hears his leaving the room, his footsteps echoing in the corridor. Sebastian does not usually walk that loudly before. Except on moments like this.

Ominis sighs. Quietly, he rises out of his bed. Outside, the corridor feels chilly, but he needs air. Slowly he navigates his way to the Common Room, where a fire is still burning. Its sound is comforting. Its warmth slowly seeps within him.

“Ah, there you are. I have been looking for you.” From behind him, he can hear Sebastian approaching. “Here, take this. This will make you feel better. Warm you inside out.”

Ominis receives the cup Sebastian offers. It smells good. Comforting. “What is this, Sebastian?”

“Oh, just the usual. A very nasty potion of infused troll’s bogey mixed with Bubotuber pus.”

“Hmph.” Sebastian never fails to make him smile. Even at moments like this, Sebastian’s jokes ground him.

“It’s just hot chocolate with mint. My mother and Anne used to make it for me, long ago when they… I mean, around this time of the year,” Sebastian says lightly. “Anyway, do you want to talk about it?”

“Sebastian, we had talked about this before. I do not wish to bore you.”

“I know, but I think it will do you good,” Sebastian replies, his voice patient and firm, yet very gentle.

Ominis sighs, taking his time. “I am afraid of myself. What I had done. Of what I might become,” he says finally. “I had committed the Unforgivable, Sebastian. That is not a memory I am fond of, yet it is forever part of me now.”

Ominis can hear Sebastian sighs, ever so slightly.

“And I will tell you again, it is not your fault, and you should not blame yourself. Your family made you do it. And they even cast that blasted spell on you. You did not have a choice. How can you blame yourself is beyond me.”

“Sebastian, one always has a choice. I should have been stronger. I should have better resisted. I was as guilty as the worst of my family. Unforgivable Curses won’t work unless one truly means them. I had to want to cause pain and for that, I should never forgive myself.”

Sebastian sighs again. They had this conversation before, many times in fact, and as always, Ominis’ stance about his own guilt never moves no matter how many times he reminds Ominis that it was NOT his fault. The invisible and irreversible scars are clearly imprinted on every inch of his best friend.

“Well, Ominis, I must admit that I am quite deficient in my department of self-blame. Although, if you are going to continue to think like that, then the least I can do next time any of this happens again is to bring you infused troll’s bogey with bubotuber pus. I often heard that it helps clear one’s mind. And I will drag you tomorrow morning to get more fresh stocks. Mr. Moon had spotted a new troll den in the Forbidden Forest. What do you say? A fresh new activity for our morning constitutional.”

Ominis can’t help but snorts and laugh, feeling himself relaxing finally. After all this time, laughter with his best friend beside him truly does him good.

“And you, Sebastian, are a danger to yourself. Bubotuber pus and troll’s bogey? Are you out of your mind?”

Sebastian laughs. His voice is clear as a bell. “Well, my cup is empty and so do yours. I suppose you would not mind a second one? We would have only troll’s bogey as drinks tomorrow, remember?”

Ominis cannot help but smile at that as Sebastian takes his empty cup away.

“Thank you, Sebastian, it means a lot,” he says quietly as Sebastian turns away with their empty cups. He can hear Sebastian stops in his tracks, and after all these years, he knows that Sebastian is smiling too.

“The pleasure’s all mine, Ominis. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Sebastian.”

In the distance, he can hear the school bell rings twelve times. He can hear Peeves shouting in the corridor outside of their Common Room, and the firelogs burning in the grate. He can smell the pinecones, a lingering hint of mint, and a scent of lemon. He is home at Hogwarts, with his best friend by his side. There is nowhere else he would rather be.

#Ominis Gaunt #Sebastian Sallow #hogwarts legacy #Fluff #Comfort #This is how I imagine their relationship might be

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cxncri · 2 years

Text

only ones who know [suna x reader]

summary: you and suna get stuck in an elevator while going to get midnight snacks, and the two of you realize something important. cross-posted on ao3 as well!

word count: 1,056

author’s note: this was one of my first fics, i apologize for any mistakes! i hope you all like it :)

⋆｡ﾟ｡♡︎⋆�� ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ｡♡︎⋆｡ﾟ☾｡⋆｡ﾟ♡︎ ⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆｡ﾟ♡︎⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

the lights of the elevator flicker once, twice, and go out with a pop!

right after you’re able to process this, the elevator stops abruptly and you’re jolted to the ground. you yelp, completely unprepared for that entire sequence of events.

“what- hello??”

“suna??”

you blink, eyes adjusting to the darkness. it’s one thing to have an elevator break down, and another to have the power go out. both of these things happening was just unfortunate.

“are you good?” if you didn’t know any better, you would say he sounds shaken up. despite it being a small space, you feel lost, and the faint glow of the emergency light isn’t bright enough to see anything.

“yeah, i’m okay. a little spooked, but nothing too bad.” you put your hand on the floor to steady yourself and grimaced, trying not to think of what could’ve possibly been on this floor in the past.

“what about you? are you okay?” you ask, leaning against the wall. you’re suddenly aware of the fact that you’re trapped in such a small place with him, and your heart starts to race. you shake your head, choosing to focus on the most important thing: getting out of here and back to the room.

“it’s dark.” typical suna.

“great observation, smartass.”

“fine, yeah, i’m fine. so, we’re probably stuck in here for a while. the storm must’ve been worse than i thought.” he sounds tired, more so than usual. “yeah… do you have your phone with you? we should probably call someone for help.”

he groaned. “shit. no, i left it with the rest of my stuff in the room. i didn’t think i would need it, but uh, my mistake.”

to be fair, you were out on a midnight snack raid, completely unprepared for an entire power outage. still, it was unlike him to not bring his phone, and horribly ironic that he didn’t have it the one time you needed it.

“hmm… let’s see…” you think out loud, trying to think of the best way to get out of this elevator. coming up short, you sit back, stumped. with no phone, no way to get help, and no ideas, you’ll probably just have to wait this one out.

“we could press the emergency button, that’ll probably do something??” smart. you hadn’t even considered that, and you’re suddenly thankful for the other person here stuck in here with you.

“oh yeah! good idea!” you move towards where your best guess of the elevator button is, reaching out to touch the wall. instead of the wall, to your surprise, your hand is met with what feels to be fabric. surprised, you pitch forward, landing on top of (what is hopefully) suna. you both pause for a second, and then you scramble, trying to get off of him as fast as you possibly can.

“sorry, sorry! i was looking for the button, i’m so sorry!” your face feels hot and you’re so, so flustered.

“geez, y/n, you’re not the type i would expect to get handsy in such a crisis!” he’s just teasing, like he always does. there’s a somewhat-suppressed laugh in his tone, and you’re so glad you can’t see his face right now.

“i didn’t- hey- geez! it was an accident!” your face is probably way past flushed by now. if it was anyone else you would’ve brushed it off, but with suna? no way. you’ve been best friends since you were kids, and you’ve liked him for years. hell, you were even roommates, and he still had no clue. despite how many hints you’ve tried to drop and signs you’ve tried your best to give him, he’s always been oblivious to them. you’ve learned to live with this by now, accepting it for what it was.

“just messing with you. the button is over here, anyway.” see, you had the right direction, just a little uh, off-target. you hear a click, and you assume he pushed the button. you both wait for a second, hesitantly expecting something, but nothing happens. “well, shit. that didn’t work. since we’re gonna be here for a bit, you mind if i stretch out? it’s not easy being in such a cramped space with my height.”

“oh- yeah, that’s fine, take as much space as needed.” you scoot, trying to move out of his way. “alright,” he yawns. “cool.” you hear him shuffle around, getting situated. hugging your knees, you rock back and forth, getting tired as well. you sigh, fighting a yawn. eventually, you give in.

“suna…?” you ask, softly, “are you asleep yet?” his response back is quick. “nope. it’s actually kinda difficult to sleep on an elevator floor. why?”

again, you sigh, unzipping your hoodie for the greater good. “here, use this.” you toss it in his general direction, and you hear a thump and a muffled “thanks,” so you assume he got it. he shuffles again, and then pauses. “wait, y/n, do you wanna lay down over here too-? like, there’s enough room and all…” he trails off, waiting for an answer.

you scoot yourself over to him again. “uh, sure, i mean, if you’re sure there’s enough room, that sounds great-“

“c’mere.” his arm wraps around you and you let him pull you next to him. your hoodie underneath you isn’t much, but it’s better than laying on the bare floor.

you could feel his body next to yours, warm and comforting, and it put you at ease. “thanks…” you mumble, embarrassed once again. your eyelids grow heavy, and you shut them, this time letting sleep take over. suna’s breaths grow slower, and you assume he’s gone to sleep.

right before you doze off, you’re aware of his arm curling around your waist. “suna-?” you whisper, surprised by it. “shhh,” he whispers. “just go to sleep.”

you smile, because for a midnight snack run, this wasn’t too bad. you wrap your arms around him, feeling safe here, in this small space.

feeling brave, or maybe just tired, you rest your head against his chest, and for a second he doesn’t move. you contemplate moving, because what if you took it too far, and before you can do anything you feel him pull you close to him. you feel so fragile here, so delicate.

“goodnight. sleep well.”

“goodnight. you too.”

#fanfic #fanfic ao3 #suna #haikyuu suna #haikyuu!!#haikyū!!#haikyu x reader #suna x reader #suna rintaro x reader #fluff #friends to lovers #ao3 writer

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