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1800-lemonadeg1rl · 20 days

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Sleepless nights

Natasha Romanoff x reader

Minors dni!! Masterlist°•☆

Summary - you go on a routine mission which ends badly how will your girlfriend react

Warnings - gunshots, violence, bullet wounds, mention of stitches, likely medically incorrect, blood, hospital? Not proofread

word count - 1.5k

A/n - I dont know what happened while writing this its all a blackout. As always any feedback is rlly appreciated!!!

It was just supposed to be another simple routine mission. Over and done with in a matter of hours. But of course nothing was ever as easy as predicted.

It had all been going with relative ease until you and Clint were fighting off agents left and right. Something you were usually both good at. However where you'd found yourselves was very much enclosed meaning you couldn't run and you had no idea how many or where these agents were coming from. Your backs were against each other as you moved in circular motions around the room.

"You did this you know, everything was going just fine until you said 'wow this mission has been quite the breeze.'" You mimick Clints earlier words in a squeaky high pitched voice while taking out a couple agents. "Couldn't have just waited till we were on the quinjet could you?"

"Look I really thought it was over. At least I wasn't the one who knocked over the vase alerting everyone in the Tri-state area of our location." He pipes back as you both fall into the usual bickering banter you often did, squabbling like small children. You and Clint had always been close and worked well with each other despite the constant pecking at each other. You'd become even closer once you'd gotten together with his best friend Natasha. Well, after he stopped threatening you about breaking her heart that is.

"Okay well atleast I'm not stupid."

"Yeah real mature. What does that even mean?" He retorts back with a chuckle at how quickly you begin to lose an argument and just throw childish insults at him.

"I thought you'd be smart enough to understand a simple senten-.." You trail off as you see an agent aiming at Clint, one he hadn't noticed. Though you considered letting the agent hit him and getting to be considered the better fighter it wasn't worth letting your friend die just to one up him.

"Clint watch out." You yell frantically as you watch the agent take aim. Clint wasn't going to have time to move. You panicked and shoved him to the floor knocking him from the bullet.

You don't think much of it when you don't see the bullet land or even when you vision blurs. It's only you notice somethings up when you see a blood splattering on your hand. Instinctively you look for Clint worried something hit him but you find him staring right back at you. That's when you feel the searing pain from your hip. Placing a hand over it to find out what's wrong, you feel a cold and wet substance spilling from it.

Thats when everything starts spinning. Moving too quick but not fast enough at all. The pain feeling worse, like nothing you've ever felt before as the adrenaline wears off and the severity of the situation sets in.

"Y/n look at me." Clints voice is grounding and calm making you briefly feel better. "There's no agents left okay. We're going to walk together to the quinjet, don't rush yourself it's going to be okay." You nod along even though your unsure you'll be able to walk that far as your vision fades in and on like a flickering TV.

He moves over to you and presses your hand firmly over the wound. "Keep your hand there and apply as much pressure as you can." Despite the way you stumble around as you try to apply any pressure at all to the wound he still sounds calm like he believes you can do this.

His hand hooks around you helping hold you up as the two of you begin a slow walk back. Things aren't looking too bad at first I mean sure you can hardly see infront of you an everytime you open your mouth to speak the only thing that sounds is a groan of pain but your managing it, you feel yourself believe you'll be able to do this walk back.

That is all before you trip over a stone which sends you tumbling onto your front, directly where the bullet wound is is where you hit the hardest when you fall causing you to scream out in pain with a noise you never knew you'd make. Clint immediately tries to pull you back to your feet while telling you how close you are to getting home but it's no use as your body goes stiff, legs refusing to move.

"Natasha is gonna kill me." I mumble half heartedly as he holds me up and my vision fades for what I believe might be the final time.

"Not if she kills me first." He chuckles and that's the last thing you hear before everything goes black.

Two days. Two whole days they said you were out for. You missed two days. Two days where you didn't see Natasha but she saw you, she sat by you every minute she could and when she couldn't sit anymore she slept by you not leaving for a second. She wouldn't even leave your hospital room for food. Clint having to practically force food down her throat so she didn't end up in a hospital bed alongside you.

You blinked awake. You'd been awake about an hour prior but were too drugged up to process anything going on and had quickly fallen back into your slumber. This time you were much more determined to stay awake, that and your pain medication was wearing off and you could begin to feel a sharp pain replacing the previously dull one.

As you woke yourself up to the bright white fluorescent lights of the hospital, those lights which practically felt blinding. Giving you little time to adjust to being awake, Natasha started speaking.

"So what happened?" She sounded angry. A little rough maybe as the Russian tinged her accent slightly in a way you only heard few times. As you located where her voice had come from, a small chair just to the left of your bed. Now that you could see her she seemed more worn out or stressed out the angry. Dark circles lurked under her eyes as her forhead creased showing visible lines.

"Uh.. didn't uhm.. Clint... tell you." You slowly mumble out as you try to push myself into a sitting position but before you can Natasha is up and pushing you back down to lie down.

"The doctor said you can't sit up yet or you'll move the stitches. And no he hasn't explained anything, so you better." She lays your head back on the pillow with such a contrasting softness to the way she's speaking which is almost as if she's interrogating you.

You roll your head over the side to face her as you recount what you remember from the mission. "So basically me and Clint, well especially me are kicking ass knocking these agents to the ground. But then one aims at Clint and I push him out the way and now we're here." You explain the best you can but it's just so difficult when your heads all fuzzy and until five minutes ago you were convinced you were dead. "I thought I was gonna die 'Tasha."

"You shouldn't put yourself at risk like that baby." She says while brushing stray hairs away from your face and back behind your ears. "Things could have been a lot worse.." her voice trails off all usual roughness gone as she appears as if she may break down crying at any second. "I could have lost you."

That's all it takes for you to start crying as hot tears stream your face making it hard to see anything. Seeing your deteriorating emotional state Natasha makes the descion to crawl into the bed next to you. "Oh hush now, it's alright. I was just worried about you lyubov." she coos while leaning over to kiss your dampened cheek.

"I know I know.. I'm just really sorry... I dont ever want to lose you Natasha." Your tears keep falling despite her soft, reassuring words.

"Y/n, I don't want to lose you either. Which is why I think it could be time we retired before either of us do. Of course it's up to you though, I won't pressure you."

It takes you a minute to process her words but when you do your glad for them. You'd been considering at least cutting down your workload recently but hadn't considered Natasha would be open to retirement at such a young age. You can feel your face break out into a small smile as she suggests it herself. Her own face is one of nervous apprehension as she chews on her lip.

"Yes. Please I want nothing more than to retire and with you." You reach in to kiss her face eagerly. Your lips smothering hers in an almost desperate fashion as if you were worried it could be your last.

"If this is what retirement is like I cant wait." She whispers as she pulls away from your lips, nipping them gently first. She cups your face in her hands before leaning back in.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #natasha x reader #natasha x you #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x gender neutral reader #natasha x y/n #hurt/comfort natasha Romanoff #lemonade writes☆•#possibly terrible #im half asleep again

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peachsayshi · 5 months

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✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ being wrapped in your arms feels like coming home ⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

wc: 1,820

minors / ageless blogs / blank blogs - do not interact.

notes: here is a little drabble in honor of toji's birthday! this piece was originally titled as "adoration" but I changed it to this instead. I'm taking a small posting break, but I'll be back to my regular schedule within a week! I'm sorry if I haven't been responding to tags or messages, but I will do so soon <3 I hope you're all having a wonderful time and I'm sending all my well wishes out to you! xo

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ tags: widow toji; age gap (reader is 30 while toji is in his early 40s); a little angsty; toji attempting to break up with you but failing because he's oh so in love

toji overstayed his welcome which was only supposed to last the scorching heat of summer, but he found himself lingering through the quiet stillness of fall. winter came in with a brisk chill and gloomy skies, and that's when toji knew it was time for him to end things with you.

he’s lost interest far quicker in previous relationships. they served their purpose of healing over the wound in his heart, of soothing away the ache of loneliness. he oftens forgets that he was once a loyal, loving husband whenever he abandons yet another fling.

the difference, however, is he at least had the guts to verbally cut things off before.

fucking pathetic, he thinks as he scolds himself. he's been a coward, reducing his actions to disappearing before the sunlight peeks through the horizon, and avoiding any chance of waking you up. he ensures that he is never there to see the way your brows furrow with concern when your hand meets the cold pillow, because otherwise he would falter in his attempt to escape.

this has been going on for over two weeks now but last night was the first time you've actually snapped at his cold, detached behavior. he approached the argument with nonchalance to wither you down, shrugging off the gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach and then walking out halfway through the fight.

he stayed at a motel thinking that maybe you have finally taken the hint that he's done.

he arrives back to his apartment only to be met with unfamiliar silence. the entrance of his home is dark and lifeless, and it's so quiet he can even hear a pin drop. there's a tightness in his chest, followed by a wave of disappointment that runs over him like a feverish shiver.

despite his hard headed decision, he's still anticipating on hearing your lovely voice to greet him as he walks through the door.

he knows it's selfish.

toji expected many things to happen after last night's fight. he figured the reaction to him leaving you (again) would be far bigger. a screaming phone call or a string of cursing text messages to call him out on his shitty behavior.

after all he deserves it for acting like an insufferable asshole.

he tries to swallow his guilt but it remains lodged in his throat when he acknowledges that this might actually be the end.

the expression on his features falls.

it’s better this way, he consoles, dragging his feet across the floor to approach his kitchenette. he shrugs off his beaten up, oversized coat and tosses it over one of the chairs. he opens one of the cupboards, and grabs a mug to prepare himself a cup of tea.

she’s too young to settle for a guy like me, he continues. widowed with two kids who he barely sees anymore, working paycheck to paycheck just to make ends meet…

a deadbeat.

he exhales, swirling his brew in his ceramic cup. the aroma of sweet leaves dances up the spiral of steam to kiss his nose.

she deserves more than me.

he places the kettle down but stares at the cup mindlessly, losing all train of thought as his hands grip onto the edge of the counter.

he can acknowledge that his insecurities are clouding his judgement on something truly special, even though this was only ever meant to be purely physical.

except, the sex was growing more intimate. the experience wasn't about pleasure for him anymore. he would find himself losing all focus to the depth of your pretty eyes, stealing kiss after kiss like your mouth was the source of where all his happiness belongs.

belonged.

it’s over now, he thinks again. it has to be.

a faint patter of footsteps distracts him, prompting him to ease his hold on the counter as the muscles on his face relax. his heart steadies itself, and he draws in a breath when he feels two arms delicately twine around his waist.

“you’re...still here...” he points out in shock.

he feels you press your forehead into his back. “of course, where else would I be?”

he clears his throat to release the guilt then spins on his heel to face you.

"I thought you might have taken off," he bluntly states as he rests his lower back against the counter.

his heart swells, emanates flurries of golden sparks when he meets your gorgeous irises. the will to carry on with his decision crumbles when he catches the corner of your mouth tick into a slight grin.

"I thought about it," you reply casually, loosening your grip to place your palms flat on the side of his stomach. "but the truth is I'm worried about you and I just…want to talk things out…make sure you're okay...”

“I’m the one acting like a jerk and you’re worried about me?” he blurts.

you quirk your brow at the slip of his question. “so, you know you’re acting like a jerk?”

toji’s eyes widen slightly, a hint of pink tainting his cheek. “I asked the question first.”

you purse your lips playfully, aware of the crack that's been revealed and ready to swing once again with another blow.

“it’s because you’re acting like a jerk that I’m worried about you,” you explain, “you’re not yourself when you’re unsettled about something…”

his face warms, the hue of pink deepening into a stronger blush. the familiarity of pointing out his personal traits feels all too homely. seven months shouldn’t feel like a forever but in this bubble with you time ceases to exist.

you trail the pads of your finger tips up his torso, your hands clasping around the back of his neck as you press all your soft and sweet parts right up against the frame of his body.

the brush of your lips on his scar prompts him to flutter his eyes close. he fails to stop himself from holding you then, his firm hands reaching for the outline of your waist

“so,” you murmur with a tempting kiss as you return to your question, “you know you’re acting like a jerk then?”

please don’t make me say it, he thinks, please don’t make me unravel right in front of your eyes.

he squeezes your side, whispering a defeated “listen…”

“did I do something wrong?” you question, a hint of pain laced through every vowel which only makes his heart ache further. “did something happen?”

toji shakes his head.

“it’s not you,” he grumbles. “look, you asked me a couple of weeks ago if this thing between us was serious and…it shouldn’t be.”

you narrow your gaze, tilting your head with adorable confusion that makes toji want to kiss you right there on the spot.

he can feel you pluck at the fabric of his sweater nervously, “why not?”

toji drops his head and sighs.

“c’mon, doll, let’s be real. I’ve got nothing to give you other than a good fuck in this shitty apartment. you're better off finding someone else and I don't want to waste your time”

you press your mouth into a firm line. “your behavior…” you reply, nipping your bottom lip slightly as you gather your thoughts. “are you acting like this because you…want to end things with me?”

toji has never felt smaller. you’ve reduced him into a shriveled pea rolling around his scuffed up boot. “look, it’s better this way, alright?” he admits with a raise of his head, still refusing to outwardly say what you easily deduced. “it's better to move on before things get too complicated…”

the silence hangs heavy in the air, the tension so thick toji feels like he can’t breathe properly. his heart rattles with no restraint, and he finds himself suddenly lightheaded. an apology rests on the tip of his tongue, ready to take back everything he just bombarded you with but his throat simply tightens once more when your hands cradle his strong jaw.

“I like your apartment,” you quietly speak, “your bed sheets always smell so good, and you fixed the water pressure after I complained that it sucked…”

toji blinks back his surprise.

“I also notice that you burn the candle that I got you and that you switched laundry detergents when your old one gave me that weird rash,” you giggle and toji couldn’t help but huff out an embarrassed laugh himself. “the windows let in the best kind of sunlight, and it’s always so cozy in here…”

you press your lips against his mouth to leave a chaste kiss, “as for the company…” you add on, nuzzling the tip of your nose over his, “I consider you more than just a good fuck.”

toji can physically feel himself wilting underneath the heat of your gaze. “I’m just looking out for you, doll.”

"you can look out for me by making me breakfast instead of running away from me..."

he looks serious but his eyes are sincere, holding a level of tenderness that he only reserves for you. his palm moves to seek out your lower back, a hint of pressure pulling you back into his warmth.

your lover has stayed tight lipped about his past, but over his period with you he's found himself spilling out a few secrets here and there.

"I haven't done this in a long time," he vulnerably admits.

"I know," you reassure him, "but...the real question is, do you want this?"

he parts his lips ready to seal the last nail in the coffin, ready to give you the chance to walk out of his life for good. but you're gazing up at him from underneath your eyelashes, your determined stare an opening of your own mercy. your plush, supple lips summoning his cowardice into oblivion.

"toji?"

his breath hitches, his apprehension silenced by the urgency of his desire.

you're so lovely, he thinks. you feel like home.

"I want you," he reveals, his deep voice smoky and untethered, releasing enough sentiment in those three words that he can feel you tremble in his arms. "I just don't deserve you. I don't want you getting caught up in my bullshit..."

""you're a lot sweeter than you look, you know?" you run your fingers through the streaks of his black hair, combing it back to reveal his forehead. "you deserve to be happy, toji, and...and I think I can make you happy..."

your aura beams with delight when he flashes you a wolfish grin in return. a smile you've grown to adore so deeply. his apology comes in the form of a kiss, one that's gentle and slow. a stroke of fire burns up the back of your neck, making you quiver in places when he glides his tongue across yours. you hum softly into his lips while he releases a content sigh, the barrier he's been keeping up turns to ashes beneath your feet.

#toji x reader #toji x you #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #toji x y/n #toji fushiguro x y/n #toji fluff #toji angst #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen angst #peach is {offline} ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

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ephemeral--dreams · 1 year

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Making you cry during a fight (2) - Scaramouche, Yae, Kaeya

Okay guys here you go never ask me for anything ever again /j

(part 1)

☆ ☾ ☆ ──────────────────

Scaramouche

There's a sort of deep, instinctive fear that takes root inside the place where a heart would be, as he watches tears fall after a few too-harsh words.

He's hurt you. He's been careless, he's been too difficult, too much - and it's going to drive you away. You're going to abandon him because of this incident, surely. Why would you stay with someone who makes you cry?

It's… it's not a feeling he's dealt with for many years. The fear of being left. He has not allowed anyone to get close enough to him to have any concern over whether they're around or not. Scaramouche had learned his lesson about getting attached and having emotion, after all. He had spat out whatever bitter words he pleased and felt nothing when he upset anyone he spoke to.

But those days are past, and while that's a good thing in many ways, right now it feels anything but.

"I-"

"Sorry. I shouldn't be crying," the way you apologize as if you're the one in the wrong stabs right through him. You're the one crying, yet he is being wounded just as much. It's an awful thing, caring. "Just. Just give me a moment…"

Scaramouche hesitates. He's paralyzed, caught up in the idea that anything he does or says may make things worse. But what wins out is the idea of fixing it, fixing things before you give up on him—

"Stop it. You shouldn't be the one saying sorry here. I shouldn't have said that to you, alright? You should know better than to take everything I say so seriously, honestly, I-" he sighs, irritated with himself more than you, before pulling you into his embrace. You don't pull away. Good. Maybe he hasn't entirely fucked things up. "...I didn't mean it. Sorry."

Yae

Yae Miko is not the sort of person who yells during a fight. Or at any time, really. So that hadn't been at all what had happened during your little conflict.

Rather, her words were pointed to hit where it hurt, an attempt to shut down whatever silly human nonsense you thought was worth causing a riot over. Problems came and went, and most weren't nearly as important as they may seem in the moment. Living many years had led her to this conclusion. She was a busy woman who had little interest in wasting her time arguing.

...Calculating and perhaps dismissive she may be, but she isn't cold. Yae still very much has a heart, and it skips a beat when she realizes you're nowhere to be found at the usual time she would meet with you after finishing her shrine duties. Surely you weren't that upset over it all, right?

No, you couldn't be still lingering on the issue hours later…

Well, you could. Others were far more sensitive to these things, a fact she often forgot. Yae should know better. Isn't she used to highly emotional people, after all? At least your tantrums weren't going to practically destroy the nation…

She finds you at the foot of the mountain, sitting and idly staring into the distance. The tear tracks on your face are all too telling.

Yae is not above realizing when she has done something wrong. Though she's also not one to openly apologize. She doesn't do much of anything openly.

"You don't listen to me," you tell her.

"Well, I'll try to listen more, then. Is that satisfactory?" She offers a hand to you. You wait a moment before taking it, allowing her to pull you up. "Just remember to consider my side of things as well. We can work on it… But let's not linger on this too long. Time is fleeting for mortals like you, hm?"

Kaeya

Kaeya is excellent at one thing - avoidance. In fact, he's been successfully avoiding you ever since your fight a couple of days ago. It's easier to simply wait until you've both cooled off.

That's what he tells himself. It's certainly not that the fight made him feel anxious. He's not running away from his problems, of course not.

(He's lying to himself. One wrong word and you'll leave. He knows that. It's bad enough that you had an argument, archons forbid he confronts you and it's the last straw.)

So Kaeya carefully stays out of your way, doesn't speak to you, doesn't let you catch sight of him. He'll have to deal with things eventually, he knows, but… Until then, he's content to keep things this way. Four days in you finally seek him out yourself, looking exhausted and absolutely miserable.

"Can we- can we stop fighting? You're right, I'm wrong, all that-" He can only watch as you start breaking down in front of him, a cold, sinking feeling of guilt settling in. "...Just stop ignoring me, please?"

His life has been filled with bad decisions - it seems that he's made yet another, by avoiding you so long. Now Kaeya is faced with your tears as you practically beg for his attention. It's quite the opposite of what he intended. He reaches a careful hand to brush them away. "Shh, shh. No more, alright?"

You sniffle, looking up at him. "You're not mad at me?"

"Of course not, sweetheart. I never was. We can talk about it later, okay? Let me make you feel better."

#scaramouche x reader #yae miko x reader #kaeya x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #wanderer x reader #story unfolding

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callme-holly · 2 months

Note

Johnny Cade x Reader where they get into a little argument but they solve it all out at the end:)

'𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞' [𝐢𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐣𝐨𝐡𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 '𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭']

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 - This isn't perfect and I'm so sorry. I'm trying to be better with my uploading but I've got some much to do lmaooo. Anyways, as always, hope ya'll enjoy!!

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 - 1.1k words

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - mild swearing !!

When you enter the Curtis home, the first thing you notice is Johnny curled up on the couch, knees tucked to his chest, his eyes dull and sad. His skin is noticeably paler than usual, his face is a patchwork of bruises and cuts, and he looks as if he hasn't slept for a while.

He hardly reacts as you make your way around to the front of the couch, but it's clear from the way his eyes follow your movements that his attention has sharpened and that he’s acutely aware of your presence. You reach out a tentative hand with full intentions of running your fingers through his hair, only to see him tense and flinch at the movement. You withdraw almost instantly, freezing for a moment before lowering yourself onto the armrest beside him.

“Johnny, is everything okay?” Your voice is quiet, almost as if you were addressing a wounded animal, which isn't very far off the truth when it comes to Johnny Cade. He's like a little puppy that has been kicked too many times; jumpy and skittish and so desperately broken down inside that sometimes you wonder how he can keep himself together at all.

“Johnny?” You ask again, trying to get his attention this time.

What?” He mutters, his head still buried beneath his arms. He sounds exhausted; every syllable is a struggle. “What’d ya want?”

You hesitate for a moment, not entirely sure how to proceed. It’s clear he’s not too keen on the idea of talking to you, but if you don’t ask him soon, you might lose whatever chance you have of getting answers out of him altogether. “Is everything okay?” You try once more, and Johnny huffs out a breath, sounding even more defeated than before.

“Fine,” He grits out between clenched teeth. “Everything's fine. Just go.” He lifts his head enough to glare at you, his expression unreadable underneath the dark bags covering his eyes. You fight the urge to brush the stray strands back from his face, because there's something about the look in his eyes that makes your stomach twist uncomfortably. But instead, you move from your spot on the arm rest to kneel by his head, your hand hovering on his shoulder.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You reply calmly, not wanting to push him too hard. “Not until you talk to me. I need you to tell me what happened.”

Johnny lets out a strangled sound, a sort of choked groan, and rolls over onto his side, away from you. “It doesn't matter.” He mumbles the words so quietly that they're almost lost in the air around you. “Just leave.” There's an edge to his voice; the tautness in his muscles is giving away his growing frustration. He tries to hide it, but it bleeds out anyway, and he finally snaps when you make no move to go.

He raises his head abruptly, pushing his weight into a sitting position before swinging his legs over the other side of the couch so that he’s facing you directly. “God, just stop! Stop treatin’ me like a baby all the damn time! I don’t need your help!” The outburst surprises you, and you blink at him in astonishment, watching with wide eyes as his face twists up in a grimace as though he could barely hold himself together anymore. It hurts to watch; you can feel your own emotions begin to twist in sympathy for him, and despite knowing better, you find yourself reaching towards him instinctively.

Before you can touch him, however, he jerks away as if burned. “Stop!” He cries hoarsely, his voice breaking with emotion. “Just get out of here and leave me alone!”

You sit frozen on the edge of the couch and let out a slow, shuddering sigh. “What is your issue?” You bite the words out between clenched teeth. “Why won't you let me help?”

You know that you should probably leave now before things escalate further, but you're also not quite ready to give up and just leave things be. Instead, you force yourself to stay where you are, your eyes fixed on Johnny as the tears well up in his eyes.

His lips part to respond, but he doesn't say anything; he just swallows hard and averts his gaze. “Go,” he repeats hoarsely after a moment's hesitation, his voice thick and strained. A tear slides slowly down his cheek as he speaks. He swipes it away angrily. “Just… Go home. I don't need ya.”

Your anger fades. The sudden burst of hostility washes away the last of your patience, leaving you feeling drained and hollow.

“That’s bullshit, Johnny Cade.” Your voice is soft, but it carries conviction. “You don’t mean that.”

The words hang heavy between you for a moment before Johnny's shoulders slump, defeated. He turns away from you, pressing his hands against his temples and squeezing his eyes shut tight. You watch silently as he takes several shaky breaths, fighting back tears.

Johnny doesn’t cry often; you know that much, so to see him now reduced to such a pitiable mess breaks your heart.

Slowly and carefully, you reach for him one final time, placing a hand lightly on his back. He tenses again, and you retract your touch immediately, unsure of what to do. “Hey,” you say softly. “Johnny, talk to me.” You pause, swallowing heavily. “Please.”

He shakes his head, the motion jerky and violent. You can hear his shallow breathing, which is ragged and painful, as he tries to stifle his sobbing. His body shudders slightly, and you have to suppress the impulse to pull him into your arms, to cradle his head gently between your palms, and to rub his back soothingly.

“I'm sorry…” He chokes out eventually, turning back to you with red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes. “I didn't want to shout at you... But I just…” He lets out a breath, struggling visibly to regain some kind of composure. “Can we talk about this later?”

You consider for a second, then nod. “Okay, if that’s what you really want to do.”

Johnny nods shortly, seeming to settle a little. He swipes at his cheeks roughly, scrubbing his hands harshly across his face to wipe away any evidence of tears or lingering distress.

When he finally speaks, his voice is steadier, although his tone remains subdued, bordering on weary. “Can you just hold me for a bit?” He asks, avoiding your gaze as his cheeks flush red again, embarrassment making him unable to meet your gaze. “I know I yelled, but...” He trails off, and you nod, rising to your feet wordlessly to settle down beside him, allowing him to lay his head in your lap and resume his curled-up position.

“Thanks.” He mumbles, words muffled into your leg. You run your fingers through his hair, smiling faintly when he nuzzles into your touch, clearly appreciative of the gesture.

“Anytime.” You whisper back, and, in that moment, amidst the turmoil, you knew one thing for certain: you weren't leaving him alone, not now, not ever.

𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬!!

#johnny cade x reader #johnny cade imagine #johnny cade headcanons #johnny cade #the outsiders #the outsiders x reader #the outsiders imagine #the outsiders headcanons #the outsiders preferences #darry curtis #ponyboy curtis #dallas winston #sodapop curtis #two bit mathews #steve randle

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takeme-totheworld · 5 months

Text

You Can't Go Home Again

I'm someone who walked away from my childhood religion almost twenty years ago, and I'm very firmly at a place in my life now where I am very happy to be through with it and have zero lingering desire to go back. I've also been out as some kind of queer person for the same almost-twenty years, and I've been out as trans for almost fifteen of those years.

If you knew absolutely nothing else about me or my life except for those major plot points, and the fact that I'm a Good Omens fan, it would be reasonable to assume that I would identify with Crowley far more than Aziraphale. At least at this point in my life. And in fact, I've seen many fans with backgrounds similar to mine say that they used to be much more like Aziraphale when they were younger, but nowadays they see far more of themself in Crowley. Which makes sense, as a trajectory for people who grew up in controlling religions and then left!

I've been trying to figure out what it is about me that makes me so automatically take Aziraphale's perspective when watching this show, even though the most aggressively Aziraphale time of my life was literal decades ago now. And I think that's probably a very complicated answer, but I realized today that I see an emotional struggle happening in him that I still wrestled with for years and years after leaving the church before I was finally able to completely put it to rest—the struggle to accept that some things can never go back to the way they were.

I seriously suffered so much over this for so long after I left the church. Despite all the damage it had done to me, my entire life had been intertwined with the church and a lot of things that were good—or at least deeply comforting in their familiarity—had also been a part of that. I had plenty of genuinely happy memories all mixed together with the harmful ones (which, in case you were wondering, is confusing as hell). There were fundamental human needs that I had only ever gotten met through the church, and as double-edged as what the church provided was, it was all I knew. Learning to get those needs met in new ways was much healthier, but it wasn't what I had always known growing up and it was a loss.

And I spent a long time refusing to fully accept that going back to any version of Christianity or the church just...wasn't ever going to be in the cards for me.

That is in the cards for some people, I know. Some folks who leave or get kicked out of ultra-dogmatic and controlling churches eventually find new homes in much more progressive and nurturing ones. And that's great! But that was never going to be my path. The process of seeing my childhood religion for what it truly was, losing my beliefs, leaving everything the church was to me further and further behind, and gradually learning who I was without it, changed me too much for me to ever be able to go back again.

I am fine with that now. More than fine. I'm healthier and happier now than I've ever been. Over time I grew into a version of myself that no longer has a church/religion/faith-shaped gaping wound in my life I'm trying to fill. But it was hard and painful and it took a really long time for me to get there. I spent a lot of my twenties and even a bit of my early thirties trying to find something...some new church community that I could be connected to in some way, that would give me back some of what I'd lost when I left my childhood church. But none of them ever did. I was never going to get the same things out of belonging to a church again, because I wasn't the same.

You can't go home again.

I see Aziraphale on that same journey and that's part of what makes my heart automatically go out to him and hurt for him, over and over again. He's still desperately holding onto the idea of a hypothetical version of Heaven and being an angel that can be home again one day. One where all the good things he remembers are still there, and still every bit as good, and all the bad parts have been fixed or gotten rid of, so that being there will be like the old times, only even nicer.

Except that even if he actually succeeded at somehow making Heaven the exact flavor of like-the-old-times-only-even-nicer that he is imagining, it wouldn't matter. Heaven is not his home anymore. He's already changed too much to be able to go back. He just hasn't accepted that yet.

#good omens #good omens meta #good omens 2 spoilers #aziraphale #the final fifteen #religious deconstruction #personal

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foulwaterss · 3 months

Note

Hey hun! Here come a request! Headcanons about Sukuna’s possessive/protective side when his s/o gets accidentally hurt during a battle!! Thank you ❤️

Warnings: Slight mentions of injury/blood, hurt, comfort, fluff, angst, Sukuna being our emotionally constipated/complicated king ♡

AU: Where Sukuna and the reader are in a romantic relationship, they live together in their shared apartment, and they're overall happy together, trying to live peaceful lives. The reader has no specific gender.

Protective!Sukuna, who always pretends and tries his hardest not to care or show anything when it comes to his feelings, as he finds small things like that insignificant and a sign of weakness. But when you come to the front door of your shared apartment after a confrontation with a cursed spirit far more stronger and superior to you, leaving you with a deep gash on the side of your arm and many scrapes and bruises along your tiny frame, he can't help but let the strong wall he had built to barricade his feelings crumble down and immediately rush to your aid.

Protective!Sukuna, whose eyes and whole expression will soften ever so slightly as he lays you down on his couch without a word, shushing you gently as you occasionally whine out from the pain of your wounds, getting up to grab a first aid kit, some water, bandages, oh- and his sweater to lay under your head for some extra support.

Protective!Sukuna, who will gently clean your wounds, holding your arm where most of the damage was, keeping it still while he washed it so it didn't get infected. The feeling of the liquid he used to clean you up on your raw and exposed skin hurt like hell, it burned beyond any amount of pain you had ever experienced, he would simply continue cleansing and patching you up with a concerned and intense look, carefully wrapping your arm up with white bandages.

Protective!Sukuna, who will (as soon as he's done fixing you back up) immediately move to kneel beside you on the couch, carefully cupping the side of your face with his hand, searching your eyes with concern before finally speaking.

"Tell me, how did this happen?" He spoke calmly and quietly, using his other hand to move some stray pieces of hair from your eyes.

Sukuna would sit there beside you and listen carefully as you explained what had happened, and your whole interaction with the cursed spirit. It made him feel a visceral rage on the inside, hearing you describe the cursed spirit in detail, and what it had done to you. He wished he could've been there to destroy the creature that would dare to stand in the way of the one person he cared about in this disgusting, rotten world.

Protective!Sukuna, who will continue to stroke your hair gently as you start to drift off, feeling exhausted from today's events. But before falling into a deep sleep, you spoke in a quiet and small voice.

"Thank you, Sukuna. I love you." You utter a small smile.

Sukuna doesn't respond, he simply looks down at you with that adoring look in his eyes. After a few moments of comfortable silence, he finally spoke.

"I love you too, (y/n), is there anything I can get you? Are you hungry?" His tone was so gentle, and his words were thoughtful.

When you didn't respond for a good 5 seconds, he looked down at you, realizing you had fallen asleep, softly snoring. He chuckled to himself slightly, finding it cute that you had passed out from your sheer exhaustion, slowly pulling a blanket over your body, then planting a kiss on your cheek and forehead.

"Rest well, my love." He said before turning the lights off with a small smile, disappearing into the kitchen to prepare your favorite dish for when you woke up, knowing very well that you'd be hungry.

♡♡♡

Notes: Hey anon! I love this idea so much, thank you so much for submitting this request! This is my first time writing a request from someone, so I hope it's not too awful 😭. Anyway, I had so much fun writing this, I hope you enjoyed reading it! :)

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #sukuna #sukuna x reader #angst #fluff #comfort #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #ryomen sukuna #fanfic #headcanon

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namis-gf · 4 months

Note

Just saw that you’re open for one piece requests and thought I’d drop by.

Would you consider writing back rub and back kisses hcs for katakuri or marco please? And best of luck with the come back ^^

anon ur so insane how did u KNOW i was thinking obsessively about katakuri for the past two weeks straight... ur too good. i meant to stick closer to the prompt but the plot kinda got away from me, sorry!

summary: strawhat!reader x katakuri meet again after many years apart during the whole cake island arc. luffy has been trying to convince him to join his crew with no success, but maybe he might listen to you?

word count: 969 words / 0.9k

cw: none? i think?

whoever said katakuri was 48 year-old eldest daughter syndrome is absolutely correct. he has so many hangups when it comes to both physical and verbal affection, most of the time preferring to passively sit by and let people bother him. case in point, your captain. instead of immediately setting sail for zou to meet up with everyone, luffy has taken it upon himself to convince the minister of flour that his presence is desperately needed on his crew. permanently.

and, if you're going to be polite about it: things aren't going well. you've watched for two days straight, luffy yelling either to the gentle giant's face (which is still quite a distance from the ground), or attempting to scale the walls of katakuri's home. neither of those particularly difficult for the rubber boy, considering the house slash castle itself seems to be basically falling apart.

you wait. nami often sits by your side, either grouching about the time, plotting your captain's demise, or napping on your shoulder. chopper and brook have taken to an almost betting ring of sorts, getting the remaining residents of komugi island to guess whether their leader will stay or go. so far, the odds aren't in luffy's favour. as usual, you might add.

at the end of their fourth extra night, luffy returns to the sunny. he looks a little downtrodden, yawning, but has somehow gotten a hold of a handful of mochi. "i think katakuri was trying to kill me again, but he lost. the food he makes is really yummy though, shishishi!"

with a sigh of your own, you offer, "let me talk to him, i have an idea."

"you do?" luffy replies, mouth full of sweets, "go ahead!"

"call if you need anything!" chopper chimes in.

nami only shakes her head. "if you don't come back, we'll assume you got trampled to death or something. so don't do that please."

"don't even worry about it, i'm basically a pro social hustler," you tell them, and begin the walk to the castle.

"so you are not a bard, or a songstress, or a very small jester. your presence here confuses me, you did not seem like someone who would ever become a pirate," katakuri tells you, his tone as solemn as ever.

"is this a roundabout way of saying i don't have any talents?" you mock-gasp with flair, "oh you wound me so!"

he stares at you wordlessly. okay, it looks like jokes are off the table.

"but you missed me right?" you try instead, putting on your biggest smile. "you missed me so bad, must be why you look so grumpy all the time."

"is your captain aware of..." he pauses, considers, "does the strawhat know of your past?"

"sort of?" you shrug your shoulders, shifting forward to adjust like you aren't already lying on one of his legs (truly the world's largest couch). "there was never exactly a good time to bring it up, ya know? like how was i supposed to say 'uh hey guys, i used to work here as the world's worst gardener before i got fired'."

"hm, that does seem difficult," katakuri nods. "i could not tell how much they knew, but you are lucky that none of my siblings happened to remember you well enough to say anything."

"small blessings for sure," you do your best to contain a laugh, however the echoing chambers of an empty castle only make it louder. "anyways, cut the bullshit. you're gonna come with me, right?"

his neutral expression shifts into something like a frown, and yet you can tell he isn't exactly angry at your presumptuousness either. "i would like to accompany you. but my duties to my... mother and the family take precedence."

"and if you left, she'd send the whole gang after you."

he sighs again. "yes, that is the most probable outcome. and i would not wish to put the strawhat crew in danger."

"that's charming," you reply, "but also really stupid. and i know you aren't a dummy, right? you've been hanging around this dreary archipelago for your whole life! don't you want to, i don't know, do something? go on an adventure?"

he doesn't respond immediately, but a large hand clumsily pats your head with his pointer finger. you grin, knowing victory must be in sight. "your totally evil mom doesn't even leave her place that often, so she won't even notice that you're gone! and tell me right now that you don't think luffy would be chomping at the bit to fight her again? be serious, mochi-mochi."

all of a sudden the ground shifts under you, and you make an embarrassing yelp as you're dragged up and up and up. katakuri holds your body by the back of your shirt, and you're only partially worried that he could drop you. death by splat on marble floor isn't appealing in the slightest. you're suspended by a shirt pinched between fingers as he squints slightly, as though looking for a secret in your expression.

"fine," he eventually says, "i will go. but if something goes wrong, do not say i didn't warn you."

"ah, you're bringing me back to old times!" you hum, making a familiar grabby hand motion for him to drop you on his shoulder. "except i think uh, the last time you warned me-"

"you got fired, yes," he says amicably, but acquiesces to your request. "left or right?"

"right! i wanna look like a really mean parrot, mr. pirate," you exclaim, laughing as he drops you gently where you'd asked. feeling mischievous, you press a kiss against his neck and watch as his face goes pink. "we should probably go make sure that you won't sink the sunny, though!"

"... and you somehow did not think to check something like that before?"

FIN (FOR NOW)

#one piece #one piece x reader #charlotte katakuri #charlotte katakuri x reader #gn!reader #requests open

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mysweetlixe · 8 months

Text

-Hybrid Hearts

Summary: Y/N works a clinic specifically for hybrids what happens when eight hybrids with very different personalities end up in her care

Words: 2.7k

Chapter 1: Lone Wolf

The bright morning light crept through your window curtains, signaling that it was time to begin your workday.

You groggily groaned picking up your phone from your bedside table. You quickly opened the messages to see that you have a few text messages from Luna.

Luna: We have a slight problem at the clinic you might want to get here fast.

You read the message and quickly realized that something unusual was happening. Your work always had unexpected turns, since you dealt with hybrids after all.

Hybrids weren't a new discovery they been around for the last 30 years , but they were still a mystery to most people. Half-human and half-animal, hybrids had unique physical and mental characteristics that often made them challenging to treat. As a veterinarian who specialized in hybrid care, you had seen it all, or so you thought.

You quickly got dressed and headed to the clinic, wondering what sort of problem Luna was talking about. When you arrived, you found Luna waiting for you outside the door.

"Thank god you're here," she said, sounding relieved. "We have a new hybrid patient and they're in pretty bad shape."

You followed her inside, where you could hear faint growling and snarling. As you approached the examination room, you could see that the door was slightly ajar, and a pair of glowing brown eyes shone through the crack.

Luna pushed the door open, revealing a large cage in the middle of the room. Inside, you could see a wolf hybrid lying on the ground, panting heavily.

"Do you know if he has a owner." You asked Luna.

Luna shook her head. "No, we found him wandering around the streets. He's not wearing any identification tags, and no one has come forward to claim him yet."

You nodded, understanding the situation. " It wasn't uncommon for hybrids to be abandoned or lost, especially if they were injured or sick.

"Let's take a look at him," you said, approaching the cage cautiously. The wolf hybrid growled at first, but then whimpered in pain as you examined his wounds. You noticed he had a bunch of cuts and bruises all over him. You need to know what happened to him.

"Would you mind sharing with me what happened?" You queried the wolf hybrid. His gaze met yours. "Why should I? All humans are the same; they treat us terribly," he spat out with disgust.

He's not wrong about that. Most people think of hybrids as being less than human, which is why so many end up in abusive homes or on the streets. The government is beginning to put laws in place to protect them, yet they have a long way to go.

You let out a deep sigh, understanding the wolf hybrid's viewpoint. You couldn't blame him for feeling the way he did. After all, hybrids had been mistreated and viewed as second-class citizens for far too long. You gently placed your hand on the hybrid's back trying to reassure him that you were there to help.

"I know that some humans have done terrible things to your kind, but not all of us are like that," you said softly. "I'm here to help you, and I won't let anyone hurt you."

The wolf hybrid looked you over carefully, his eyes darting around for any indication of treachery. He wasn't quite ready to trust you yet but he was still willing to tell you what happened. A slight sadness and fury tinged his words as he spoke. "I was scavenging near an alley when a group of teenagers ambled by. They saw me and started chucking stones at me, but that didn't satisfy them."

The wolf hybrid's voice trailed off, and he let out a low growl, his eyes glinting with anger. You could see the pain in his eyes and feel the rage in his voice, and it's clear to you that he had been hurt badly by those kids.

"Go on," you urged him gently. "What happened next?"

The wolf hybrid let out a deep sigh, his eyes closing briefly as if to block out the memory. "They cornered me and started hitting and kicking me . I tried to fight back, but there were too many of them. They beat me until I couldn't stand anymore."

You felt a wave of anger and disgust wash over you. How could anyone be so cruel to an innocent creature? It's beyond your comprehension, and it's something that you could never understand.

"Well Your safe now I'm here to help you." You grabbed your clipboard looking for an empty room to place him but turns out all the rooms were occupied.

You sighed getting Luna's attention " what's wrong Y/N"

"All the rooms are occupied," you explained. "We need to find a place to put him where he can rest and recover."

Luna thought for a moment before suggesting, "Well, I have an idea why not let him stay at your house." She said.

The idea of having a hybrid stay at your house scared you of course you knew a lot about them but having one in your own home felt like a whole new level of responsibility. You looked at him for a moment , taking in his wounded state and the fear in his eyes. You knew that you couldn't just leave him at the clinic, not after what he had been through.

"Okay," you said hesitantly. "I'll take him home with me." The wolf hybrid scoffed at the idea " I would rather die then go home with you."

The wolf had no desire to step into a home once more after his experience there, not wanting to be reminded of the pain he endured.

You understood his hesitation and nodded your head sympathetically. "I understand your reluctance, but you need a place to rest and recover, and unfortunately, there are no other options right now." You paused for a moment before adding, "Plus, no one will hurt you in my home. I promise you that."

The wolf hybrid looked at you skeptically before finally nodding his head in agreement. "great let me grab a few things then we get going ok." You left the room with Luna following behind you.

As you collected the essential materials, a sense of apprehension filled the air. It was unlike anything you had done before- incorporating a hybrid into your residence. "Y/N, this will be beneficial for you - considering you live alone, he could provide companionship as well as something to nurture."

You nodded, understanding what Luna was trying to say. It was true; living alone could get a little lonely sometimes. But you were still apprehensive about bringing a wild animal into your home. But you knew it was the right thing to do. Hybrids deserved to be treated with kindness and respect, just like any other creature.

After grabbing everything you needed, you headed back to the examination room where the wolf hybrid was waiting for you. You opened the cage door and gestured for him to come out. "Come on, let's get you out of here," you said softly.

The hybrid took a hesitant step forward, then another. You could see the apprehension in his eyes, but also a glimmer of hope and trust. Slowly, he made his way out of the cage, and you led him out of the clinic, Luna following behind.

The sun had disappeared behind a blanket of gray clouds and rain. The downpour started just as you looked at the hybrid. Most hybrids don't care for getting wet, apparently. When you reached out to stroke his fur, he growled and swatted your hand away. "Sorry," you apologized quickly. "I should have asked if it was okay to touch you first."

The wolf hybrid snorted dismissively, seemingly uninterested in your apology. You sighed, knowing that it would take time for him to trust you fully. For now, you needed to focus on getting him to your house safely.

You drove the short distance to your house in silence, the hybrid sitting quietly in the back seat. He watched the world fly by. It seemed he was lost in thought.

When you arrived at your house, the hybrid didn't move at first. He seemed unsure of what to do next, his eyes darting around the unfamiliar environment. You got out of the car and opened the back door, gesturing for him to come out. "Come on, let's get you inside," you said softly.

The hybrid hesitated for a moment before stepping out of the car. His eyes flickered around, taking in the surroundings. You could sense his fear and discomfort, and you knew that it would take time for him to adjust to this new environment.

You led him inside, showing him around and introducing him to the various rooms in the house. His eyes widened in curiosity as he took in the sights and smells, his nose twitching as he sniffed the air.

"Make yourself at home," you said, gesturing for him to sit down on the couch. "I'll go get you something to eat."

You went into the kitchen and prepared a mealfor the wolf hybrid, making sure to include all the nutrients he needed to recover from his injuries. As you cooked, you couldn't help but think about what had happened to him. It was clear that he had been through a lot, and you couldn't imagine what it must have been like to experience that kind of cruelty.

When you brought the food to the living room, the wolf hybrid was curled up on the couch, his eyes closed in what appeared to be a state of rest. You set the food down on the coffee table and sat down next to him, watching as he slowly opened his eyes and looked at you.

"Here you go," you said softly, pushing the bowl of food toward him. "I hope you like it."

The wolf hybrid sniffed the food briefly before taking a cautious lick. He seemed to like it, as he began to eat it eagerly, his eyes closing in pleasure. You watched him eat for a moment before sighing and looking away. It

was clear that he was still afraid of humans, and it would take time for him to trust you completely.

But you were determined to help him, to make him feel safe and loved. You knew that it wouldn't be easy, but you were willing to put in the effort. The wolf hybrid deserved a second chance at life, and you were going to make sure that he got it. So you sat there, watching him eat, a sense of determination filling your heart as you vowed to do everything in your power to help him heal.

"What should I call you?" You posed the question to the creature, feeling odd referring to him as 'wolf' or 'hybrid'. He shook his head softly in response, replying that he had never been given a name before.

You thought for a moment, considering the different names that you could give him. Suddenly, an idea came to mind. "How about... Chan?" you suggested tentatively.

The wolf hybrid looked at you, his eyes narrowing in thought. After a moment, he nodded his head in agreement. "I like that," he said softly.

A smile spread across your face as you heard him speak positively . It was a small victory, but it meant a lot. It showed that he was starting to trust you, to feel comfortable around you.

"Welcome to my home, Chan,". You glanced at the clock on the wall. It was time to turn in for the night. "It's getting late," you said. "Let me show you to your room."

Chan looked at you apprehensively, his eyes full of fear. You could sense his reluctance, and you knew that it would take time for him to feel comfortable enough to sleep in a room. "It's okay," you reassured him softly. "I promise that you'll be safe here."

With that, you led him down the hallway to a room that you had prepared for him. It was a cozy space, with a comfortable bed and soft blankets. You could tell that Chan was impressed, as he sniffed around the room, his eyes taking in every detail.

"Here you go," you said, gesturing for him to sit on the bed. "This is your room. You can sleep here tonight, and we can talk more in the morning."

Chan nodded his head, his eyes full of gratitude. You could see the exhaustion etched on his face, and you knew that he needed rest. So you left him to sleep, closing the door quietly behind you.

As you stepped outside of his room, you couldn't help but feel a sense of worry. You had never taken care of a hybrid before, and you knew that it would be a challenging task. But you were determined to do your best, to make sure that Chan had everything he needed to feel comfortable and safe.

You went to bed that night with a heavy heart, your thoughts consumed by the task ahead of you. But as you drifted off to sleep, you knew that you had made the right decision in bringing Chan into your home. And you vowed to do everything in your power to help him heal, to make him feel loved, and to give him the second chance at life that he deserved. Tomorrow was your day off maybe you'll take him shopping but for now, it was time to rest and prepare for the journey ahead.

#stray kids #stray kids imagine #stray kids x reader #hybrid stray kids #stray kids au #bang chan x reader #lee know x reader #changbin x reader #han jisung x reader #felix x reader #hyunjin x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader

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in1-nutshell · 5 months

Note

I'm gonna try again tfp team prime with a bot Buddy who has a concerning interest in poison. 😅 And now i'm beginning to annoy myself

Hello there! Don't worry about asking again, I'm just not well versed in some things that's all. Still glad you asked though! Since you did not specify which characters you wanted I will be selecting them at random.

Hope you enjoy!

Ratchet, Wheeljack, and Ultra Magnus reaction to Bot Buddy who is fascinated with poison

SFW, Platonic, talks of poison, Cybertronian/ Bot reader

TFP

Ratchet

Ratchet has known Buddy for a while. As in before the war started, before their interest in poison.

Buddy used to be a good doctor that helped him from time to time in his makeshift clinic. They were always experimenting with new forms of medicine to treat patients. It could have been medicine for a mesh wound to try to find a cure for the rust plague.

It was during the war that they had found an interest in poison.

Ratchet wouldn't see Buddy again until they crash landed on Earth. To say it was a pleasant surprise was an understatement.

"Ratchet? Ratchet is that you my friend?"--Buddy

"Buddy?! By the Allspark it's great to see you online."--Ratchet

"Likewise my friend. Now tell me, what do you need?"--Buddy

"Any help at this point would be nice, truly. "--Ratchet

"Well it's a good thing I brought my kits! Don't worry this war will be over in no time now!"--Buddy

"You still have the kits?! I thought they were destroyed in your lab back on Kimia."--Ratchet

"Kits? Ratchet what are they talking about?"--Bulkhead

"An explanation would be nice."--Arcee

"Buddy has a gift for medicine... And other things..."--Ratchet

"Oh Ratchet you make it sound like a bad thing. To answer your question, my dear Wrecker, I specialize in poisons and venoms of all sorts! Pretty exciting don't you think?"--Buddy

"... I'm just going to be over there..."--Bulkhead

While Ratchet isn't exactly thrilled with the idea of Buddy handling any type of poison, he has to admit that they do get the job done.

Buddy is often seen in their little corner of the base or near the consoles discussing things with Ratchet.

Wheeljack

Wheeljack knew Buddy from the Wrecker's. Like him, Buddy was a former scientist before the war started.

The two of them went together faster than a house on fire. One was never too far from the other, and if they were something was going to explode.

There was a huge explosion the day that the two had gotten separated.

Years later Buddy found a strange signal coming from a planet called Earth. They decided to go and check it out. Who knows if they would find more poisonous things for their kits?

They didn't find any poison yet, but they did find Ultra Magnus, Bulkhead, and Wheeljack.

"Wheeljack! Bulkhead! Ultra Magnus sir!"--Buddy

"Buddy?--Bulkhead

"Buddy?!"--Magnus

"Buddy!"--Wheeljack

"Wait how do we know if it's the real Buddy? We don't want another Makeshift problem."--Bulkhead

"Makeshift?"--Buddy

"True soldier. From what you told me we need to be on high alert in case this is a Decepticon."--Magnus

"Decepticon?"--Buddy

"It's Buddy I can tell."--Wheeljack

"How?"--Bulkhead

"There is only one bot crazy enough to carry that many kits labeled POISON like it's a collection of rocks."--Wheeljack

"Hey!"--Buddy

After the formal introductions are made, and Buddy gets to know Team Prime, they are once again attached to Wheeljack.

Wheeljack doesn't mind Buddy's fascination with poison. In fact he encourages it. The more Cons they can the better.

Ultra Magnus

Ultra Magnus knew Buddy as a new recruit for the Wrecker's medic.

How in the world they became friends?

Magnus doesn't have the right answer for that. It just happened.

He is well aware of Buddy's poisonous hobbies but he can't say they aren't benefiting from it. There have been multiple times where the Wrecker's would have been killed if not for Buddy's experiments.

Buddy had gotten separated from the Wrecker's during a rather gruesome battle. Magnus pushes his grief deep down so he could focus on leading his group.

Buddy gets reunited with Magnus when they literally crash into the IronWill.

"Identify yourself!"--Magnus

"Magnus? Ultra Magnus! I can tell how good it is to hear your voice my friend!"--Buddy

"Buddy?"--Magnus

"Sure is Commander! Might I say it again, it's good to hear your voice."--Buddy

Magnus gives Buddy the introduction to the team. He makes sure that Buddy doesn't feel isolated or left out. He knows how that feels.

It takes more time for the team to get used to the fact that Magnus has a best friend than Buddy playing around with poison.

#transformers #transformers x reader #maccadam #tfp x platonic reader #tfp x reader #tfp ultra magnus #tfp wheeljack #tfp ratchet #bot buddy

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yawnderu · 6 months

Text

She Wants Me Dead — Miguel O'Hara x Reader | Part III

1 2 3

"You have tits now." The sentence is so blunt it almost makes Miguel laugh for the first time ever since the incident.

"Pecs." Is all he can reply, barely even finding the energy to keep his eyes open. He has been working himself to the bone ever since he broke the canon and erased an entire dimension, looking for an explanation, a solution, anything.

"Mhm." Everything felt so cold ever since. 5 months in and you couldn't handle the pressure of dealing with Miguel, who was barely home and didn't even have the energy to do anything with you, spending all day in his office, planning with the AI you came to love, Lyla. You left him at his lowest, appearing only a year after the incident, once Miguel had it together, in a way. The Miguel you're looking at isn't the Miguel you fell in love with.

"I have nothing for you, so you might as well shock off." He dismisses you without even sparing a glance at you, his red eyes focused on the projection of his adoptive daughter— the life he wished he could have and got to experience for a short while before reality came crashing down in him, destroying any piece of what the old Miguel was like. Friendly, nice. He was now full of snark, sarcasm, and a moodiness that seemed to spread to everyone around him, infecting them like a virus.

"I just wanted to see you. See if I got lucky enough to be in your bed again." There's a playful pout on your lips, doing nothing to ease the tension. He wasn't expecting to see you ever since you dumped him, and he could feel his muscles tensing at your mere presence.

"Not happening. Not after what you did." He's stern, cold. His red eyes set on you for a second before returning to his monitor, both wounds still fresh in his soul.

"You're still mad about that? I said sorry." The charming smile you shoot his way is enough to make his blood boil. It's something he has seen far too many times during your toxic relationship, something that previously made him fold and submit to you, despite knowing you're both pure poison to each other.

"Sorry." He repeats with a scoff, hands on his hips as he finally looks down at you. He's much... bigger, in every way. The lanky guy you knew is now towering at 6'9, his body nothing short of pure muscle that could easily crush you like a bug.

"If you want back in, you're gonna have to try much harder. You can't just keep doing stuff like that, not anymore." He's a lot more mature now, even if only a year has passed. You know he suffers from great trauma— hell, you were there to see that for yourself, until you ran away.

"Fine. I'll do anything, Miggy." You reply with a sigh, hands gently tracing his waist before wrapping around it, bringing him in for the so dreaded hug. In reality, you don't feel much about it, but for him... it's like another punch to the gut. He has way too much on his plate, the last thing he needs is his ex-girlfriend, a villain, pretending to be sweet just to get forgiveness.

"Just... be there for me and don't piss me off." He says after hesitantly pushing your body away, being careful enough to not use a lot of force.

Four months in and you've broken that promise more times than he can count, yet the obsession and love cloud his judgement. You're the only thing he can cling on besides his obsession with the canon, and so when he needs a break... he knows you'll be there. Doesn't matter if he wants to talk, cuddle in silence, or fuck. You're always available, ready for anything he has in mind.

"Así, mi amor." He guided your hips up and down his cock, arms wrapped around you like a lifeline as he used your cunt to jerk himself off.

"Too much—" He shushes you with a kiss, bringing your body closer to his until he can thrust into you faster, your whiny moans doing nothing but become fuel to his already exhausted body. His kisses are sloppy, desperate, tongues wrapping around each other in a mess of saliva.

''Wanna prove how much you're sorry? For all the broken promises?'' You regret nodding your head, because now your body is now pinned down on a mating press as he fucks his stupidly big cock into you, pulling out only to slam himself back in, the lewd sounds of your squelching cunt and mixed moaning bouncing off the walls of his room in a melody that you both know too well.

''Want it inside?'' He already knows the answer, but he always asks just to confirm. His thumb rubs on your clit while he holds your thighs up with both hands, looking at the way his cock disappears into your cunt, barely managing to take him all the way. The new position allows him to see more of you in a vulnerable light, and he truly appreciates just how much power he holds over you in this moment, your much smaller body writhing underneath him as your second orgasm washes over you like a tidal wave, unable to focus on anything going on around you except just how good his cock feels. You manage to give him a desperate nod, too overwhelmed to even speak, only whiny moans being able to push past your lips.

''Good girl.'' He praises in a whisper, burying himself all the way inside as he climaxes, pearly white and thick cum filling your insides, painting them a pretty color in what he hopes will finally be the time he gets you pregnant. Hopes, because he knows you're on birth control, and he knows he'll get made fun of if he ever suggests starting a family with you.

He slowly pulls out of you, tired body collapsing right next to you, holding you in his arms like you're made of glass, plump lips planting gentle kisses on your forehead, a total contrast to the man fucking you earlier.

''I love you.'' He confesses softly, the weight of the three words crushing him down every single time they come out of his lips no matter how many times he says them. Despite the lack of energy, you tilt your head, a teasing smile on your lips as you look up at him. He know that look too well, rolling his eyes and groaning in annoyance. You're definitely going to make him grow gray hairs before he even reaches 40.

#miguel smut #miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel spiderverse #miguel spiderman #miguel x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel x fem!reader #miguel x you #miguel x y/n #miguel ohara smut #atsv x reader #atsv smut

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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 2 months

Text

Datura Pt 9

Summary: With the bargain in place, you'll have to learn to hide your powers while navigating a possibility of allies within Amarantha's court.

Content Warnings: Slight NSFW, suggestiveness, canon typical violence, allusions to assault.

Author's Note: As a little treat for the last chapter being so short, this one is loooooonnnngg. A couple familiar faces make an appearance here, as I decided I wanted to start combining the Hybern storyline with the UTM storyline.

Part 8 is here, rest of the series can be found here

----------------------------------------------------------------------

“Again.”

Breath rasps out of you, hands doubled over on your knees, sweat dripping off your forehead. The pounding in your skull intensifies with each labored breath, spots dancing across your vision as you shake your head. “I can’t!”

“You can.”

You raise your head enough to shoot the High Lord of the Night Court a glare. Easy for him to say, he’s not the one shifting forms over and over again. Do High Lord’s even have other forms, aside from Spring? You can’t recall anymore, your head hurts too much. Rhys had decided days ago--at least, you think it’s days, time has become irrelevant in this dark dungeon cell Amarantha has left you both in--that the best way for you to gain control of your powers to better hide them, is to learn how to control the shift. Yours is not quite a beast form, you’re not fully transforming into some sort of beast, but you can grow fangs and claws and shift your eyes into something other. There’s something deeper there you haven’t quite touched, the image of it reveals itself in your dreams, sometimes as this shapeless empty void, others with scales, but you’ll have to dig deeper for whatever that thing is. For now, it’s dampening your power and glamoring your bargain mark, and keeping a harness on the fangs and claws. It’s excruciating, letting them out and shoving them back in, you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve done it already. And Rhys just sits there in the corner, watching intently, giving instructions and being a general pain in the ass with each of them.

“Did you think it was going to be easy?” Rhys returns.

You massage your jaw, the throbbing from retracting your fangs making your whole face hurt. “Of course not asshole! I’m just saying a little compassion would be nice.”

Rhys smirks, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you wanted to be babied and treated like a doll.”

You snarl at him like an animal, eyes blazing and your fangs slide into place effortlessly, pricking your bottom lip.

Rhys stands with a grunt, body still recovering from the beating he’d received and the strain on his powers. “You’re so easy to rile up,” he croons, stalking closer. “You wear every emotion so plainly, it’s almost too easy to get you right into this position. And what happens when someone other than me sees, hm?”

He’s right and you hate it.

He stills when he’s only a hair breath away. “I know it’s hard,” he says more gently. “But consider the alternative.”

You don’t want to even think about the alternative. This bargain has to work, you have to make it work, no matter how much it hurts, no matter how long it takes. You can’t let her win.

Your eyes go to the marks still gouged into Rhys’s neck from the collar; his healing abilities have started to return slowly, but he still can’t get the chain off, the wounds still rubbed raw from any and every movement. You can’t let her keep doing this to him either.

“Fine,” you huff.

“Good girl.”

The remark gets him a nice flash of your middle finger before you go back through the steps he’d taught you. It is nice to have the banter between you as a distraction to the reality of your situation, to the cold and darkness that have become a constant companion here far beneath the Mountain. The lack of food and sleep from the elements and the sounds of things prowling around outside is hard enough to bear without the looming threat of Amarantha’s return. This easy thing between you takes the edge off.

You last maybe an hour more, before you slump against the wall, exhausted.

“You’re doing good,” Rhys affirms from his side of the cell. There’s barely enough room for the two of you to stretch your legs, knees brushing as you stretch your weary muscles.

You want to believe him, but you know the confinement is taking a toll on your body. Perhaps part of Amarantha’s plan is to let you go half mad in the dark of the dungeons for your insubordination. At least you had been let out of your room from time to time. Locked away like this, you’re tired more easily. With powers like yours you should be able to do this for longer, but it feels like you’re trying to move the Mountain one rock at a time.

You rub a hand over your face, smearing the filth on your hands from touching the floor across your face. “Don’t patronize me.”

“You can be doing good and still need a lot of work,” he replies. “I thought you wanted me to be sympathetic?”

“Yeah well it means less if I had to force you to say it,” you retort.

He moves so he can come sit next to you. If he had any plans to say anything, it’s halted as the lock on the door slides out of place and it creaks open.

You instinctively reach for his hand, breath caught in your throat, waiting to hear that ominous click of heels on the stone floor. But it’s merely one of her red skinned guards, pushing a single tray across the floor before slamming the door shut again.

Rhys gives your hand a reassuring squeeze before leaning around you to grab the tray, a single, burnt loaf of bread and a cup of water between the two of you.

“I want to go home,” you whisper, more to yourself than to him.

He rips the bread in half. “Don’t get all mushy on me now.”

You take the half he offers, stomach rumbling, but you can’t bring yourself to eat it. What’s the point?

“Tell me about it,” he says after a beat. “What’s so special about your little farmhouse in Spring.”

You bring your knees to your chest. “It had a lot of sunlight, for starters.” You miss being able to curl up by the windows with your books and a cup of tea, miss going out into the fields to check the mares and their calves, miss finding an excuse to go into town to listen to the minstrels play in the square.

“I miss my bed and that old quilt I bought off a seamstress on the side of the road,” you continue, tears welling in your eyes. “And my books.”

“What do you like to read?”

“Anything,” you reply. “Everything. Never really mattered to me. Unless it was about math. I hate math.”

Rhys huffs a laugh. “What did math do to you?”

“It’s evil and stupid and who fucking puts letters in with numbers?” It’s such a stupid statement you can’t help but laugh as the words come out. “But I’d read nothing but books about numbers for the rest of my life if it meant we got out of here.”

“Well, I guess I’ll have to pull some from my library for you,” he teases.

You turn to look at him. “How have you survived this long, Rhys?”

He washes down the rest of his food with a bit of the water in your shared cup, violet eyes looking anywhere in the cell but your face. “One day at a time,” he says like it’s something he’s said every day. “And… and when it gets bad I think about my friends, my family. I make a list of their names and I recite it in my head until I don’t feel so lonely.”

You take his hand again, because what else are you supposed to do? You cannot magically make this all end right here and now. It will take time. Maybe that’s what hurts most, because this is the first time in weeks you’ve felt like you understand how your powers work, how you can use them, and yet there’s nowhere to direct them. It’s all a waiting game, moving pieces into the right places until you can finally put all this to use. And cauldron is the waiting game grating on your last nerve, but it’s only been a few days. Rhys has been here for fifty. Your heart aches for him.

“But I think,” he finally turns to look at you, and his violet eyes are damp. “I think I’ve forgotten what they look like.”

You give his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Some days I want to just lay down and quit,” he whispers. “But I can’t. I won’t. Then she wins and everything I’ve set out to do, to protect, was for nothing. I can’t let it be for nothing.”

You lean your head against his shoulder. “It won’t be for nothing.” You won’t let it either, you just need to rest for a bit, then you can get back to it.

He leans his head against yours. “We’ll get you back to your books and your quilt.”

“We’ll get out,” you whisper. Maybe if you tell yourself it enough it’ll be true.

“We’ll get out,” he echos.

After sitting like that for a few moments, collecting yourself, you choke down the stale and mostly ruined bread and little bit of ice cold water you’ll get for the day. It gives you enough energy to get back on your feet at least. Your head still throbs from the strain, but you brace yourself against the wall and will it to pass.

“Let’s try those glamors again.”

“That’s my girl,” Rhys praises.

You focus your attention on the thing that lives in your chest, hoping his position on the floor keeps him from seeing the blush that creeps its way up your neck under the possessiveness in his tone. The banter between you is one thing, but anything else is dangerous territory, and you can’t risk any more danger in your life than you already have.

---

Time passes mostly the same after that, with a little more banter as the tension of being locked up builds between the two of you and a little less vulnerability, granted, but the training regime is the same, until your headaches become less frequent and his jabs at you make you feel less and less like a reason to bring out your claws. The shift becomes a little more bearable over time, and glamoring the bargain ink across your chest becomes the next focus. It takes all your attention for what feels like days, but it’s anyone’s guess.

The progress should make you feel more comfortable, and it does in some ways, but makes you jumpier in others. Every noise outside the door has you checking to make sure a glamor is in place, has you running your tongue over your teeth to ensure your fangs are hidden. Its been steadily getting colder in the cell, the only true indicator that time is passing, and if you can manage to sleep around the shaking of your body, your dreams have started to become less of a call of your powers and more of nightmare of clicking heels and bright red hair and rooms with black vials full of terrible potions. Rhys isn’t any better. Sometimes he wakes screaming, a bit of night chilled darkness seeping from his flushed skin. Some nights you find him staring dutifully at the door, unable to sleep at all.

You’re not sure how much more of this either of you can take before one of you starts bashing against the door again. Between the two of you, perhaps the damage he’d already done would be enough to get it open for real, but what would you do from there? It wasn’t like you could escape. Even if you managed to get out of this cell, she’d just throw you in another.

So you do your best to endure a little longer, even if that means coming up with new ways to cope with it. Cuddling with the High Lord of the Night Court hadn’t really been an option you’d considered until one night it had become so unbearably cold that you could see the clouds of your breath in the air and there wasn’t a full set of clothes between the two of you. Trying to conserve body heat, you’d rolled right into his bare chest and he’d greedily buried his freezing nose into the crook of your neck, teeth chattering against your skin. He’d mumbled something about conserving body heat and that had been all that you were willing to talk about it. From that point on, if you were tired, you’d just lay down next to his large body and let him wrap his arms around you for however long your body could manage to rest in these conditions.

It wasn’t that it felt wrong, it was that it felt right. You could see yourself tangled up like this, in a nice bed, with some warm blankets and fluffy pillows, sunlight streaming through a window above your heads, finally free and out of this terrible place. You try not to let your imagination go too far with that thought, but sometimes it’s the only reason you keep getting up and training; even if it isn’t going to happen for real, at least there’s something to imagine waiting for you at the end of this. You just make sure your shields are up when the thought runs away with you, lest he see them as his powers start to return.

“Your nose is cold,” Rhys says by way of greeting. You can only assume it’s morning, assume that your internal clock still works and that you are, in fact, still on some sort of sleep schedule, but it’s anyone’s guess really.

You crack an eye open to see what he’s talking about, grumbling about it being too early. At some point, you’d nestled quite snuggly into his chest, face buried in the crook of his neck, despite the collar.

“So are your hands,” you retort, closing your eyes again.

He drags one up your back, where the tattered remains of your dress bare your newly scarred skin, in retaliation.

“Bastard,” you snarl but you don’t pull away. Pulling away means waking up; means counting the cracks in the ceiling again, pacing until you feel some warmth in your body again. Pulling away means you have to face another day in this cell and you’re not sure you can do it without bashing your fists into the door Rhys had nearly ruined already.

“You like having my hands on you,” he returns.

“Do I?”

“You were practically begging me to touch you on Calanmai,” he says huskily, warm breath ghosting over your ear.

Your stomach does a little flip at the memory of his hands on you on Calanmai, at the hunger and want that had been so plain on his face you could almost taste it. Things had been so simple then, you didn’t need to worry about letting your own want show. Not like now. “Oh yes, because a night of magic induced horniness is the indicator for what I want.”

But you do want it. Cauldron boil you do you want it. Every drag of his calloused palms across your bare skin makes you want to arch further into his touch, let him explore and taste and claim every bit of you. It’s becoming unbearable. Calanmai was nothing compared to this.

“So what do you want then?” Rhys asks as his hands draw shapes in your skin, near the base of your neck. You swear you hear a hint of vulnerability there, like there might actually be more than banter in this question.

“To sleep,” you reply, because you can’t allow anything more to happen. Amarantha already knows you care enough about him to surrender your powers, if she knew it was anything more, she’d kill him just to spite you.

Rhys hums like he’s thinking about it, but eventually says, “We should train more. Your glamours need more work.”

“Bite me,” you grumble. Training has become even more exhausting. It’s useful stuff for sure, but holding onto your power for too long, then stuffing it back down is starting to feel suffocating. Your powers beg to be unleashed, free and unrestrained from the boundaries you are drawing out for them. No, you can’t allow yourself to think about what you want to happen with the High Lord, but you can’t bring yourself to get up, so here you remain, in limbo between the two. Maybe if he lets you drift back to sleep you’ll never have to make a decision between the two.

He brushes his lips over the shell of your ear, “Ask nicely.”

Your treacherous heart skips a beat at the huskiness of his tone, heat flaring in the pit of your stomach. “Make me, High Lord.”

A laugh rumbles in his chest. “Darling,” he purrs, “don’t start games you can’t finish.”

You have two options here: You can leave it be and get up, leave the line you have made between the two of you right where it is and not have to worry about it; or you can hold your ground and risk stepping right over that boundary line. You know you’re teetering on the knife’s edge here.

“Why wouldn’t I finish?” You turn your head enough to look him in the eyes, batting your eyelashes in feign innocence, even though you know damn well what you’re doing.

He moves so quickly you don't have time to realize it’s happening before he’s rolling you over onto your back, the solid, heavy weight of him pressing you into the floor. All rational thought eddies from your mind as his hips shift against your own.

“You have a lot of attitude for someone so set on going back to bed,” he says and you can’t help but note how dilated his eyes are, the violet almost wholly consumed by his pupils.

This somehow feels more intimate than what you had been doing on Calanmai, despite the fact that his hands were firmly planted next to your head instead of roving over your skin. Gods you hope the filth of the cell covers the scent of your budding arousal because this--him--you want, need, more of it.

“I can be more than one thing at a time,” you reply. It’s taking all your restraint to not reach your hands out and touch the muscles that ripple across his tattooed chest from holding himself up above you. Even after a few days locked away, you can’t stop thinking about how it would taste to run your tongue over those dark swirls of ink.

His eyes narrow as if he can hear your thoughts, and shit, you realize too late that your shields have been down this whole time because you’d thought, since he was still recovering, those daemati powers would be the last to come back. There’s not time to throw your shields up before his lips are crashing into yours.

You’d thought Calanmai was as desperate for something as you’d ever feel, but it’s nothing in comparison to the hunger that consumes you as those full lips settle against your own. There’s no stopping the groan that tears itself from you as he slides a hand under your head, fingers tangling in your matted hair as he slips his tongue behind your teeth.

You see stars, taste citrus and jasmine. He invades all your senses so thoroughly that the very cell feels like it falls away until nothing exists in the world but the two of you.

Calanmai had been feverish, an itch that needed to be scratched, but this is like finding air after being underwater too long. You can’t help but feel dizzy and greedy for more as you drag a hand up the sharp contours of his back.

He hisses softly into your mouth when your fingers accidentally brush the collar and you pull back, finally coming up for air. “Shit, shit I’m sorry-”

But he chases back after you like a man starved anyway. “It’s ok,” in between more kisses, each hungrier than the last, “it’s ok.” You’ve never heard a male’s voice get so low, the sound of it making your whole body turn molten.

Still, you’re conscious of where you put your hands, and sensing your hesitation, he drags them over to his chest, inviting you to touch, to trace his tattoos just as you were thinking about doing the first time you’d seen them. Gods there isn’t a part of him you don’t want to explore; to map out and learn every scare and curve across his bronze skin.

You would have too, if the lock on the door didn’t suddenly click out of place. The resounding echo is like ice water being dumped on your head.

Rhys slides the hand under your head down your back and around your waist, yanking you up off the floor with him while he stands. You’re still trying to get your bearings when he places one last, gentle kiss on your lips. “Remember what we practiced.”

Your head is spinning, legs shaky. Nothing makes any sense. Why is he stopping?

The door opens and more of Amarantha’s guards step in, but there’s no tray of food this time, just a single, metal collar. The sight of it is like having water dumped on your head, all thoughts of Rhys’s body on yours drifting away as reality crashes back into you.

“Her Highness requests your presence,” says one of the two.

Only two. If they were here for Rhys there would be, at least, four, after the stunts he’d been pulling. He has to know that too, but he steps forward anyway, shrugging like it doesn’t bother him, like the smell of you isn’t all over him for anyone to scent.

One of the guards gets a hand on his chest and pushes him back into the wall. “Not you.”

Your mouth feels like it’s made of sandpaper; hands trembling at your sides. You can’t do this, you can’t do this, you can’t.

There’s a tug beneath your ribs, where the bargain ink lies, some sort of invisible thread going taught as Rhys says, “Breathe. Just like we practiced,” into your mind.

You want to duck behind him and hide, but you do as you’re told, drawing one breath, then another as the second guard steps forward and clamps the collar around your throat. It’s not the same, strange metal that used to dampen your power before, but why would it be when Amarantha thinks she has all your powers? As much as you hated the feeling of it, you kind of wished they’d used it instead, just as an extra barrier to keep your powers at bay.

What little bit of Rhys’s power has returned fills the cell, night chilled mist making the already dark room even harder to see in, save for a slight tint of stardust in his irises. “She’s done everything she was asked,” he snarls. “That collar isn’t necessary.”

“Her Highness says it is.”

You risk a glance at him, needing to steady yourself, dreading the fact that he’s somehow become so important to you that the thought of being taken out of this cell makes you want to start shredding things apart. How had you so quickly dug this hole for yourself.

“I’ll be right here. You can do this.”

They don’t waste any more time, dragging you out by the chain attached to the collar, like you’re some sort of wild animal. It’s degrading; makes you feel less and less like a person and more like a pet the longer time drags on. The guards are quick on their feet too, not giving you time to adjust to your surroundings or the blaring torchlights that make you squeeze your eyes shut as you pass. Cauldron, how long have you been in that cell?

You have just enough presence of mind to ensure your glamor is in place around your chest, before they’re dragging you through the open throne room doors. Another one of Amarantha’s nightly parties is in full swing, dancers in skimpy clothes spinning across the room; servants with pitchers of fae wine weave through the crowd, stopping at tables to refill the cups of several High Fae and someone you think might be the High Lord of Winter. It must be nice to have curied enough favor with the Queen that he was allowed to wander freely, instead of a cell, or, like the High Lord of Spring, chained to her throne. Tamlin’s golden hair is messy, undone around his face. The Mountain has stolen some of the color from his skin, though you suppose you look equally as pale now too. He wears his own, glittering collar, the golden chain draped over the bare expanse of his chest. Amarantha has inked her sigil over his heart, staking her claim over her mate. The High Lord’s eyes are so glassy from what you can only assume is the combination of mirthroot and fae wine that you doubt he’s even aware of where he is. It might be a small mercy, in the end.

The guards drag you through the crowd, where you earn more than a few snickers and stares. You’ve never been more aware of how much dirt clings to your skin until this moment. Gods you were making out with a High Lord looking like this? Could he taste the dirt on you?

You’re led right to the dias, where Amarantha wears a glittering, ruby red crown, her hair unbound and falling in soft waves around her pale face. She might have been pretty once, but the cruelty in her dark gaze was enough to sour it if you looked too long. She watches with amusement as her guards drag you over, eyes glinting with barely restrained glee. Her new little pet here to entertain.

They finally quit dragging you once you’re at the foot of the dias and the crowd goes quiet behind you.

“Have you had enough time to think about what you’ve done?” She croons like you’re a misbehaving child in need of a time out.

Your cheeks flush, but you focus your attention on keeping the damper on your power. You can’t let her rile you up so easily, that’s exactly what she wants. “Yes,” you grind out through your teeth.

She taps a pointed nail against her chin, as if thinking. “And yet you do not bow in my presence, or acknowledge me as your queen?”

A tingling feeling in your upper jaw is the indication that your fangs want to come out and play and you force yourself to take a breath, then another. Still, you have to grit your teeth and stare at the floor to give her a little curtsey, as best you can in your ruined dress anyway. “My apologies.”

“Again,” she says with a grin. “Like you mean it, pet.”

There’s a couple snickers from the crowd behind you.

You’re gritting your teeth so hard you’re sure they might just crack on you, but you take your skirts in hand and curtsey a little deeper this time. The only way you get through it is to picture all the ways you’ll make her pay for this when the time is right.

“No, that’s not right,” she frowns. “You should be lower. In fact, you should be on your knees, thanking me for the mercy I have shown you after you so violently attacked me. Most people don’t live to see the next morning after such things.” The eye on her ring swivels in a motion that makes you think it’s nodding in agreement.

You risk a glance around, searching for any sympathy, and support, but there is none to be found in the leering faces of the crowd.

“Go on,” she orders. “Beg for my forgiveness.”

Mother knows what she’ll do to you, or Rhys if you don’t, and you need to be in one piece to fulfill your bargain. Still, the move is so demeaning, your very nature thrashing against it that it’s an effort not to cry as you lower yourself onto your knees at the foot of her throne.

When you open your mouth to spew whatever bullshit you think will appease her, she cuts you off, “Lower.”

Your whole face is red with shame as you lean forward until your forehead touches the floor.

“Better,” she croons. “Now beg, pet.”

“Please,” the word sticks in your throat like it’s a rock. “Please forgive my violent outburst. It won’t happen again.”

She clears her throat, waiting for you to say it.

“It won’t happen again, Your Highness.”

“Try again.”

The crowd is laughing in earnest now and the tears are flowing down your cheeks. You hate this, you hate her, you want to rip her fucking throat out and make that dreadful, grating voice vanish from the face of the world.

“It won’t happen again, My Queen.”

“Much better,” she says, taking another sip of wine. “I told you I’d get her in line.”

You raise your head off the floor enough to see who she was talking to with that last bit, and your heart lurches into your stomach at the sight of the two figures standing to the side of the dias, staring intently at you. Twins, bearing the same dark hair, swept back out of their faces, their eyes the same slate gray. They both wear armor, finely polished over matching black tunics and pants, a bit of silver lining in the stitches of their well pressed clothes. But it’s the sigil, over the heart on their armor, that marks them as Hybern’s.

The female stalks over to where you’re still kneeling and yanks you up by the hair to have a better look at you. Gloved fingers poke at your lips, trying to get a look at your teeth and you wonder if maybe you really have been turned into some sort of animal.

“No fangs,” she muses, her voice like gravel, nothing pretty or feminine about it. “No claws either,” her hands move from your face to your nail beds, poking like you would at a cat’s paws to get their claws to come out.

You bite the inside of your cheek until you taste blood.

“You’ve tested to make sure you took all of her powers?” The male asks Amarantha and your blood turns to ice in your veins. If she tries to use your powers now then you’re doomed before you even get started.

“I’d be happy to demonstrate,” Amarantha says flippantly, but there’s an edge under it that makes you think even she is trying not to squirm. “But my formula has never failed me.”

“Yours?” The female sneers. “You’d be wise to remember who taught you how to make those potions, General.”

Hybern made Amarantha, Rhys had said, it only made sense that all these little tricks had been part of her training.

Amarantha takes another swig of wine and waves the disrespect off like a fly. “I’ll happily throw her into the Pit again if you are both so desperate to waste your own time with a demonstration.”

They stare at each other, having some sort of silent conversation. The female finally releases your hair and the ground rises up to meet you as you nearly fall back onto your face.

“No,” the male brushes a gloved hand over a speck of dirt clinging to his otherwise spotless armor. “I suppose that would be a waste of our time. We have other things to attend to while we’re here.”

It’s honestly a relief. Going back down into the Pit to fight more monsters without being able to summon any of your powers sounds like a complete nightmare, you’re honestly not sure you’re strong enough not to slip up and make a mistake.

“But we can still check,” the female purrs and that’s when you feel a mental claw raking across your mind. It is not like Rhys’s, not gentle or even teasing, it’s a slash, like someone is trying to cleave through your shields with a knife, and you instantly reach your hands for your head as if it’ll be any sort of protection at all.

You don’t dare call out to Rhys, or even think about what mental hoops you need to do to hide the bargain mark, the glamor should hold for a bit on its own while you put all your energy into tightening your shields against their onslaught. Rhys had been right about your cousins’ daemati powers, they were nothing like his own.

They keep clawing and poking, taking turns trying to tear your mind to shreds. It’s not gentle either, their presence making you whimper and writhe on the throne room floor, regardless of the embarrassment from the still watching crowd.

“Well there’s been some training here,” the female says.

“Be careful, Brannagh,” Amarantha hisses. “If you turn her mind to soup she’ll be of no use to us.”

You lock every door and throw up every barrier you can muster, even as they throw themselves against each one, testing for weaknesses. They’re an excellent tag team, every time you think Brannagh might give up, her brother steps into her place and tries again. You’re seeing spots by the time they release you.

The male’s boots come into view as he stops in front of your face. “If you’re so beaten, why won’t you show us how powerless you are, hm?”

It feels like someone’s taking a hammer to your skull, you pinch your eyes shut against the wave of nausea that makes the room spin. “Maybe I just don’t like you,” you hiss.

He too grabs you by the hair, twisting you so your neck moves at an awkward angle to be able to see exactly how badly the remark had hit him.

“Dagdan,” his sister warns. “Play nice. Our King wants her alive, remember?”

“They said your mother was this untamed too,” he hisses. “Before they broke her.”

You swallow the rage that rises up in your throat, clamp down on everything threatening to bubble to the surface and overflow, ruining all your plans. You have made it this far, you cannot let their presence get the best of you. There will be time to process all this later, when you’re back in your cell. Strangely, the thought of going back to Rhys soothes you, helps you settle.

“Are you done messing with my things?” Amarantha asks.

“She’s only yours until Hybern arrives to lay claim to Prythian, as is his right,” Brannagh says loud enough for the whole room to hear her. If there was any partying still happening in the corners of the room, it has ceased now, all eyes on the twins.

Amarantha is standing, wine glass clattering to the floor, splattering Tamlin, who doesn’t even look at it. “That’s enough! You will mind your mouths in my Court!”

Dagdan chuckles at that. “Did your Queen not tell you the truth?” Having found a new victim to play with, he finally releases your hair.

“I said enough!” Amarantha booms, both fire and ice flying from her fingertips. The Mountain trembles beneath her as the powers she’s stolen skitter uncontrollably from her. One eye blazes like a forest fire, the other has gone black and empty, a bit of Rhys’s stolen power flaring. “In my Throne Room you answer to me, regardless of who you serve.”

With the way she jerks back you think the twins might have reached for her mind to silence her, but you can’t be sure.

“You answer to Hybern, same as everyone else!” Brannagh challenges. “You were nothing more than an experiment, to test and see if Prythian was once again fertile ground for our empire. Did you really think Hybern would just let you walk in here and steal what is rightfully his?”

The crowd begins to whisper amongst themselves, apparently having not heard the news until now. You risk a glance around looking for the other High Lords, hoping some of them, perhaps the ones who had sides against Hybern in the War would be more inclined to fight. If you could gain allies, perhaps this would be over quicker.

There are many unrecognizable faces in the crowd, some High Fae, some lower, some concealed by the masks of Tamlin’s former court, some fully clothed in their servants’ garb. It is hard to discern between the glittering chandeliers and flickering torches who belongs to what court, and you have only vaguely glimpsed the High Lords themselves. Out of most of the faces, none even look your way, save for one red headed male, off to the side of a group of fire dancers. Golden eyes lock on yours for the briefest of moments before they dart away. If only you had your own daemati powers, perhaps this would be easier. You’ll have to talk to Rhys later about who your potential allies can be here.

“I was promised my part of the land and I will fucking have it,” Amarantha growls, turning your attention away from the crowd.

“You will take what you are given,” Dagdan returns. “And if you cooperate, maybe you will be allowed to keep this dingy little cave of yours.”

Amarantha bristles and sparks fly off her shoulders.

“You will do your part for the new empire,” Brannagh continues. “Lend us the Lord of Spring to lead us to the Wall. We’ll consider it proof of your undying allegiance and let your outburst slide.”

Amarantha glances down at where Tamlin remains staring at the wall, hands tightening into fists. “Absolutely not!”

“We can take him by force,” Dagdan says with a shrug.

She grabs the chain around her mate’s neck and yanks, dragging him to his feet. “I want him back by morning.”

Brannagh steps over you to get to him, gloved hands running appreciatively over the High Lord’s bare chest. “Maybe I’ll keep him.”

The wrong thing to say. Amarantha erupts in a wave of fire that has everyone throwing themselves out of the way. You roll backwards, away from it, slipping into the crowd. You think they might start fighting--they’re definitely screaming you can tell that much--when a set of hands settles on your shoulders, in what would look like to onlookers was a stranger helping you up, but those hands don’t lift, they hold you in place.

“Whatever Rhys is planning with you,” warm breath frames your face as the stranger puts his lips to your ear. “Tell him to move quickly. My father will side with Hybern and surrender up whatever army we have left at the earliest chance. He’ll want to get ahead of this. Summer and Winter do not have the strength to fight. Tell him Hellion is with us.”

Us. You risk a glance at him, at the auburn hair falling into your eyes. Not the High Lord of Autumn, but one of his sons.

“I’ll tell him,” you say softly, praying no one hears.

The male helps you to your feet. “Be careful. We might only get one chance.” And then he’s gone, disappearing into the crowd as the two females on the dias finally start to calm.

Amarantha is bleeding from a gash across her forehead, but Brannagh is laughing as she lets the blood from her nose drip freely down her face. “Mating bond chafing?”

Dagdan has managed to shield Tamlin, sparing him, of no kindness of his own, he is as inclined to look at the High Lord like he’d be his next meal as his sister.

“Get out,” Amarantha snarls.

Dagdan twirls Tamlin’s chain around his fingers. “We want proof the girl will be loyal when the time comes.”

“If a hair is harmed on my mate’s head,” Amarantha snarls in return. “I’ll pin you to my fucking wall.”

“Scratch our back, we’ll scratch yours. Otherwise, I’ll bring you back his head and I’ll take the girl and her powers back to Hybern, where we train in breaking goddesses.”

A few people in the crowd glance your way.

Shit, that’s what Rhys had been trying to tell you with that book he’d sent in your first couple of days here. Hybern had found a way to breed death gods. Your name would be on that list he’d made in the margins.

A guard finally comes to collect you as the twins drag Tamlin out of the throne room. Amarantha is apparently not done with her tantrum, as she begins throwing anything in reach, stolen powers swirling around her like a whirlwind. The crowd begins to slip away, fearing her wrath if they stay. For now, you’ve managed to keep your bargain and your powers secret, but your cousin’s words hang over you like a ticking clock. It’s only a matter of time before she realizes she has to test you.

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Tag List: @mariahoedt , @lovelydove , @twsssmlmaa , @sleepylunarwolf , @judig92 , @willowpains , @daughterofthemoons-stuff , @annnaaaaaa88 , @myheartfollower , @uniquecolorwizard , @eternallyelvish , @waytoomanyteenagefeels , @lovemesomevesey , @localfangirl09 , @isa1b2h3 , @starswholistenanddreamsanswered , @slytherintaco , @iluvewman-blog, @thebeautifulmysteriesoflife

#rhysand x reader #rhys x reader #acotar rhysand #acotar x reader #rhysand x reader smut #rhysand x reader angst #UTM!rhys #acotar fic #acotar fanfic #my writings #my fic #acotar series

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they-call-me-emmy · 6 months

Text

The Past Is The Past

Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Summary: Tara was faced with her 3 ghostface, and this time got so seriously injured she was in a coma. When she wakes up, she has no memory of the past 3 years...including you, her girlfriend.

Notes: Imagine this as our gals scream 7...since Jenna apparently quit and left me fucking DYING

Warnings: Uh, injury, violence, blood, our boy ghostyface with knives. Coma and memory loss if thats even a warning. Swearing. Uhm. Shitty 7th grade writing.

This may become a multi-part story. Not sure. If we hit 250 notes maybe I'll make it a series.

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Tara plopped down on the small couch, burnt out. She'd just been released from the hospital. She was home. At least, that's where she thinks she is. It didn't look much like the home she remembered.

Sam had taken her home, which was weird to begin with, because she hadn't seen Sam since they were kids.

She had a stab wound in her side. That too was weird. She had hundreds of scars littering her torso and one that seemingly went through her hand. That's a curious scar. She'll have to ask Sam about that one.

She knew she had lost her memory. The doctors had told her. Her last memory was from 2020. She has seen Sam's face. She'd been worried, definitely worried. But she looked almost..relieved? Like something had happened in the past 3 years that they all wanted to forget.

She had friends still. The same ones she'd had for years before. Mindy and Chad. They told her that Wes and Liv had moved away. They didn't mention Amber.

That was weird.

Amber is her best friend.

There's a new girl, too. Her name is Y/N. Tara has no memory of the girl, but weirdly enough, Y/N seemed the most hurt by Tara's memory loss. Maybe it was because they'd met during the lost time, and she was the only person that Tara didn't remember.

Y/N kept her distance from Tara, too. She never made eye-contact with her. Always stayed far away. Never even said her name out loud, always referring to her by nodding in her direction. They'd never had a one-on-one conversation, not in the many weeks she'd come to visit Tara.

Why was this girl, this girl Tara didn't even know, so weird around her?

She's quite pretty too, with her (Your hair color) hair, and those pretty (Color) eyes. She's a sweetheart, from what Tara's seen with her interactions with the others.

Maybe they had history. Bad history. The kind of history that makes people hate each other even after they apologize and make up. Maybe they were close, and she wasn't sure how to begin the relationship again.

Tara wasn't sure. And she wasn't about to ask, either. Everyone was so...touchy with the topic. They wouldn't even allow her to know where Wes and Liv had moved, or even their phone numbers. Amber's name was avoided like some sort of plague. Y/N might be here, solid and alive in front of her, but somehow, that seemed like an even more dangerous zone to travel into.

This whole memory loss thing was giving Tara a headache.

But she just had to know.

Who is Y/N?

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Yay or nay my hoes?

#jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #tara carpenter #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x female reader #scream #scream franchise #scream movies #scream 5 #Scream 6 #sam carpenter #samantha carpenter x reader #wes hicks #chad meeks martin #mindy meeks martin #y/n #amber freeman

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boneblushed · 6 months

Text

But on a Wednesday, in a cafe

muggle!au, James x fem!reader, I’m going through a really tough break up right now so writing this = therapy

I’ve been spending the last eight months / Thinking all love ever does / Is break, and burn, and end

Perhaps you should be used to it by now, this never-ending chasm of pain that begins and ends at the base of your ribcage.

It’s a deep, aching hurt, the kind that promises to linger until you’re forced to surrender. A draught of cool air pulls through your chest, alerting you to the tired heart squeezed within it. Every time you think about him—about the life you shared—it breaks and splinters, rocketing another of its shards into the surrounding structures. A dreadful pang.

Who knew love could hurt this much?

It’s taken a while for your heart to look the way it does. A few weeks ago, it was held within your shaking palms, wrung through with desperation as you begged him to return. Here… take it, please? It belongs to you… it’ll always be yours.

Prior to that, when the aching wounds were still fresh, you wove bandages from hopeful ignorance, fastened them with blind faith. No, love couldn’t possibly be as fickle as he was making it out to be; you couldn’t let yourself believe it was, you’d simply have to bide your time until he came to his senses.

Until he told you how wrong he was, how much he didn’t mean any of it. Of course I didn’t fall out of love with you, of course that can’t just happen; I love you, I’m sorry, forgive me?

And pathetic as your broken heart is, you would be ready to do so, no matter the stakes.

It makes you stomach roil as you think back on it now — the power he had over you, how callously he wielded it every time you spoke. Has. Present tense. The fissure deepens.

It’s terrifying, how quickly your world can shrink into nothingness. Once upon a time, you’d considered him your soul-mate—your person—and now it’s as though the pair of you are strangers, even less than.

It’s true what they say, indifference pierces deeper than hatred. After all that you’ve been through with him, all that you’ve shared, how are you supposed to simply move on and find love elsewhere?

The cobblestone path you walk along is well versed with your rumination. A quilt of autumn foliage crunches underfoot, a petrichor rich scent present in the air. Every shop window you pass boasts Thanksgiving deals that you ‘just don’t want to miss!’; it’s nauseating as much as it is heart-breaking, having to do the holidays without him for the first time in six years.

It’s probably pity more than it is fate that leads you to the new cafe in Godric’s Hollow — you’ve shed far too many tears for the Universe to bear, plagued with motion sickness from how quickly your sadness turns yearning again.

You miss him. It’s right there in your eyes, how much you miss him. James’ on barista duty whilst his colleague Remus mans the register; the latter may discern the melancholy in your features, but it’s James who recognises the exact significance of it.

He’s been through it before, you see, with Lily Evans. His gaze softens, dappled brown eyes falling over you in paces, and he wracks his brains for things he’d have wanted when he was going through the worst of it.

Except, the one thing he wanted no one could realistically give him — Lily. Who’s your mystery boy? Is it truly as over as your eyes say it is?

“Uh, hey,” you greet. Your voice doesn’t crack as much as it’s barely loud enough to register.

“Hey,” Remus responds, sending you a small smile. Playing it cool whilst his knee nudges James’ under the counter. “What can I get for you?”

“Just an iced latte please,” you answer. “With oat milk, if you have it.”

Remus punches in your order as you reach for your wallet. The cappuccino James’ making overflows.

“Shit!” He curses, jerking back his hand hastily, the skin scalded. Droplets of burnt coffee fly onto the machine as he shakes them off.

You startle, turning to look at him. “You alright?”

“Coffee’s on us,” James replies, reaching over Remus to cancel the order. His peripheral vision catches the incredulous look he sends him, but he thinks it a disservice to look away from you in this moment. The melancholy in your eyes ebbs a little. James’ heart soars.

“Really?” You ask, your voice a little louder now.

“Oh yeah,” James responds, faux-serious. “You’re our fiftieth customer today.”

“You’re lying,” you say, a flicker of a smile on your face.

James shrugs, grinning handsomely. “D’you want the free coffee or not, oat milk?”

You raise your eyebrows in response, pretending to zip your lips and throw away the key. James nods approvingly.

He discards the dregs of the cappuccino he was making, starting anew with his gaze flitting over to you intermittently. You watch the trees sway through the high windows to the left of you as you wait, your hands clasped in front of you, one wrist held in a palm. He knows, as he watches you, that you have to go feel all of the pain to see a way out of it.

So he keeps his mouth shut for now, and hopes this cafe will become a regular haunt.

Weeks, a month, two passes. He takes it slow. He thinks your dreadfully pretty but that’s besides the point right now; when he was grieving his relationship with Lily, all he wanted to do was mope and be left alone. No number of Sirius’ “friends” could quell that deep, overwhelming hankering in his chest.

“Hey,” you greet one day, resolute.

James raises his eyebrows at you. Remus is off sick. “Hey?”

“I’m paying today.”

James snorts, shaking his head. “No way.”

“I’m tipping heavily,” you warn.

“Wow,” James sighs sadly. “Like you would any other employee, huh? And here I thought we were friends.”

“Shut up.” You scowl. Not really; it baffles James, how your features can still look so sweet when they’re contorted all angrily. “You’re right. You don’t even need this job.”

The thing about James is, his family owns half the establishments in town square. He’s one of those enigmatic personalities that you’ve always known to rule your hometown; around when you are, dancing around the corners of your gaze, kind and ever-present but never very important. Until now.

He grins handsomely, dropping into a curtesy. He oozes fondness and it makes you forget things often. “Nepo baby at your service, sweetheart.”

“That’s what I don’t get about all this,” you say. “You don’t… why’re you wasting your time here? Is this gig just a way for you to pick up chics?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“James.”

He grins wider, raising his arms in surrender. “Full disclosure?”

You cock your head to one side, intrigued. “I’m listening.”

“Well… it actually started as a way to fill my time,” he answers, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “I went through a pretty tough break up last year, and I couldn’t bear to be sat at home hurting over the same shit over and over.

“So dad got me this gig. I didn’t even get paid in the start, honest. I barely did anything; made like, one coffee over eight hours. But I was around people, and that helped. I don’t know.”

You swallow. It sounds far too familiar to your own circumstances, and a distant ache rings through your chest — a reminder. “I know the feeling.”

“And then I met Rems, and introduced him to my mate Sirius,” he continues, raising his eyebrows. “Turns out they’re fucking mad for each other, who’d have thought it? And it just reminded me… I don’t know, that there’s still hope.”

Another pause. You know what he means, but you want him to say it anyway, for your own sake.

Your lashes flutter closed. “Hope?”

“To love again. Eventually.”

His rough timbre reverberates through your insides. You nod, slowly, and when you open your eyes, unshed tears darken your lashes. James frowns, but he doesn’t intervene. He knows this feeling; his own heart mourns its melody.

He hands you your coffee soundlessly.

“Thanks,” you says, your voice cracks.

When you turn around, you know you’ll be back tomorrow. And then the next day, a few days after.

You aren’t sure when you start believing it too. But slowly, slowly, without even knowing you are, you begin smiling more. Ruminating less. No one’s ever given you this many free coffees in the past. James’ tally surpasses your ex-boyfriend’s by week four; the small talk’s more about you than about him, and he learns your quirks with this startling sincerity that you didn’t think you’d ever experience again.

The more you see of James, the more you recognise how much love your past relationship lacked. Strangers, friends, more than. All you did was blink.

Though of course, you’d be lying if you said the melancholy didn’t wax and wane, flow through you in waves that make your entire being crash ashore.

James knows this. He still feels the odd pang of heartache at the thought of Evans.

On Christmas Eve, the air feels different. The melted snow in your hair glistens in the warm light of the cafe, and for the first time since he met you, James sees it reflected in your gaze.

“The usual?” Remus asks in lieu of greeting.

“Times two, if possible Rem,” you say. You turn to James. “Coffee?”

James startles for a moment before he regains his composure, his wide, brown eyes falling over your in paces. You’ve always been breathtakingly beautiful, but something about your features seems different now, better.

Softer. Healed.

“You’re paying though, right?” James asks, faux-serious.

“I see,” you reply, folding your arms across your chest. “As long as it’s not a date, you have no problem paying for things?”

“Shit,” James wolf-whistles approvingly, jumping over the counter so he’s standing right in front of you. You gaze tilts, messing with your centre of gravity. “This is a date, huh?”

You raise your eyebrows. “Do you want it to be?”

James raises his in tandem. “If that’d make you happy.”

A pause. “You know,” you say quietly, breaking eye contact. “After my break up, I didn’t think anything’d make me happy ever again.”

James’ features soften. He reaches forward and cups your jaw, returning your gaze to his. “And now?”

“Can’t you see it in my face, James Potter?” You smile poignantly. “Yes is the answer to your question, by the way. It’d make me very happy.”

Behind you, Remus begins to clap. James groans and drops his head to your shoulder, deftly flipping him off. “Don’t fucking start, Moons.”

“Are you kidding? Coffee’s are on me, by the way. Pads is going to fucking die when he finds out.”

But on a Wednesday in a cafe / I watched it begin again

#james potter x you #james potter x reader #james potter x y/n #james potter imagine #james potter oneshot #james potter fanfiction #James potter

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lassieposting · 6 months

Text

So in the wake of my post on Astarion and cptsd, have another concept I've been thinking about lately:

Tav/Durge (or an origin character, but I'm gonna use Tav because there are so many potential ships) using magic on him - with his permission, of course, they're not a complete monster - to help him cope with the symptoms.

I feel like there's a lot of potential here? But I haven't really seen anyone using it in fics, so. Here are some ideas I've been turning over.

Spells Tav Can Use On Astarion:

Calm Emotions: magically subdue intense emotions.

So.

I have a fond headcanon that while Astarion is still in survival mode during the game - the worst symptoms of his cptsd are on lockdown and he's mostly able to keep it together well enough to be functional and clear-headed - there is an incident where Tav sees him have a panic attack.

Like. Maybe they're attempting to sneak around patrolling guards in enemy territory, or edging around hostile wildlife in the Underdark. They're alone, the party split into two pairs with different tasks, and some threat is headed their way. They don't want to raise any alarms, so Tav drags Astarion back into a narrow crevice in the rock, or a chest loaded onto a supply wagon, or something, to hide until the threat has passed by.

And. Astarion has never mentioned that he's claustrophobic. He doesn't show weakness unless he's forced to, and at this point, he hasn't told Tav about being sealed in a tomb for a whole year. So the first they know of it is when they're crushed up against him in a cramped hiding spot and they realise he's shaking. They try to calm him, but his eyes have gone unfocused and glassy and he's starting to hyperventilate, a wounded animal noise brewing in his chest.

And Tav has to make a split second decision, because he's going to get them noticed. So they try to comfort him and instinctively cast Calm Emotions - and it works. It cuts the panic attack off, and once the threat is audibly moving away from them, they're able to emerge and carry on undetected.

He's angry, on and off for a while, that Tav used magic on him without his consent, even once he understands what they did and why. But the thing is, it did work. It helped him get his fear under control. So down the line, as they get closer, and he begins to really trust Tav, he agrees to them using that one on him when he really needs it, when he's crippled with the panic of 200 years' worth of obediently withstood torture sessions, when he feels like dying is the only way to escape the fear. They're both aware though that Calm Emotions is a deferral, not a cure - it won't help him work through the panic attacks, and it won't stop him having them.

Heroism: instill the caster or an ally with courage

I like to think Tav uses this one on him a few times as the group approaches the city, when he's fretting about being back within Cazador's reach. They're not ✨sleeping together✨, but they are sleeping together - he has an open invitation to share Tav's tent at night, just to cuddle and rest a little easier with someone he trusts close by to watch over him. They know he's scared, and they know he doubts the group's ability to protect him if Cazador tries to take him back. Heroism here is essentially a stand-in for anti-anxiety medication - it stops him ruminating on what-if scenarios the group is determined not to ever let happen.

Enthrall: capture the attention of a creature, making it look at you

Another one that could be useful in a panic attack situation, though it's far too similar to Cazador's control to ever use on him spontaneously - it would need to be something suggested, discussed and agreed upon while he was clearheaded, to see if it was useful for him. Making him focus on Tav stops him focusing on whatever is causing him to nosedive. It's the, "Astarion, hey, look at me, just focus on me, breathe with me," spiel taken to a level that actually yanks him out of his fear spiral when just their voice won't do it.

Dancing Lights: creates magical orbs of light that brighten an area

Sometimes, Astarion struggles to switch off and unwind at bedtime. The "trying to get to sleep" gap can be a fucking horror show when you have a condition like cptsd - everything goes quiet in preparation for sleep, so it's the perfect time for all your intrusive thoughts and ruminations and spiralling to dogpile you, the way it struggles to do when you're compulsively keeping busy in the daytime.

A Tav who can create Dancing Lights is essentially giving him Candy Crush. A mindless, no-complex-thought-required distraction that shuts up all those bad thoughts long enough for his eyes to start closing.

Light: makes an object shed light in a small area

He's not afraid of the dark. The dark is a vampire's natural habitat, after all. But he is, in the early days, sometimes afraid of what might be in the dark - he has nightmares of Cazador lurking around the outskirts of the camp, waiting to snatch him up. Shifting shadows against tent fabric can warp and twist into horrors to a groggy, fresh-from-a-nightmare mind. He would rather die again than ever ask Tav to magic him a nightlight. But if an object bespelled to cast a soft, grounding glow inside his tent happened to be left beside his bedroll, well, finders keepers and all that. Of course he uses the damn thing, darling, if he leaves it off for one night Gale will probably eat it.

Detect Thoughts: telepathically link to unprotected minds and hear the thoughts of targeted creatures while talking to them.

I like to think this mostly happens when he's struggling to express something and getting frustrated.

Sometimes, it's a vocabulary issue. Faerûn is a medieval-esque setting - Astarion doesn't have terms like "trigger" or "dissociation" or "flashback" to express what's going on in his head. He has to cobble together not-quite-right-but-close-enough explanations out of the words he does have, and that shit is hard.

Other times, it's because he's trying to recount a memory that gets stuck in his throat or between his teeth. Because he can't bear to voice the humiliation, or the dehumanization, or the violence that goes with it. Putting it to words makes it real in a way that he can't deal with anymore. He wants Tav to know what's distressing him, but he just...can't say it. He can't.

And once upon a time, he would've just shown them through the tadpole, but that's no longer an option, so Detect Thoughts it is. Tav can either hear him, or he can visualise the memory and show it to them - or flashes of it, anyway. And it can be a quiet understanding between them - no stumbling over his words, no tears, no shaking voice.

Hold Person: hold a target humanoid in place.

Paralyzing Ray: paralyzes the target.

Otiluke's Resilient Sphere: enclose a target in a sphere of shimmering force...blocking all incoming and outgoing damage

These wouldn't really come into play until months or even years postgame, once Astarion is safe and settled and finally processing all the horrors he's been through - if he has an era where the flashbacks are so vivid, he might not recognise Tav, or might even mistake them for Cazador or Godey. The era where, sometimes, through no fault of his own, he might be a danger to himself and others, Tav included. What's a fantasy protagonist to do with him, when he's beyond reason? Pop him in the rage cage - where he can't hurt himself or anyone else - until he comes back to himself.

Spells Tav Has Tried And Failed To Use On Astarion:

Cure Wounds: heal wounds through touch

Probably the first spell they ever try on him, and one he could've sorely benefited from. The extra impetus to start associating touch with pain relief instead of pain itself would've done him a lot of good. But, according to the wiki, undead are immune to virtually all healing spells, which is a deeply angsty bummer.

Sleep: make a conscious creature fall into a deep slumber

As a high elf, he's immune to sleep magic, but he gets the elven equivalent of night terrors, and days on end of broken rest will leave anyone drained and exhausted. Tav has absolutely offered to try and put him to "proper" sleep, a deep sleep, so he won't dream. I've never actually played dnd, so I don't know how much leeway there is here for creative interpretation of immunity, there are certainly ways you could be creative with it - maybe his fey ancestry protects him from being put to sleep specifically in an attack context, or from being put to sleep unexpectedly, or by unfamiliar and potentially hostile magic. Maybe, if he knows it's happening and his innate magic recognises the magic of the caster, he's able to lean into it. Like the difference between being shot from behind with a tranquilizer gun and popping an ambien before bedtime.

Also! These could even be scrolls! It amuses me to think of Tav popping over to the pharmacist Gale's tower in Waterdeep to get Astarion's monthly anxiety prescription scrolls of Calm Emotions

#bg3 #bg3 headcanons #astarion x tav #astarion x durge #actually could also be relevant for #halstarion #wyllstarion #and #bloodweave #depending on what spells you give them #oh and #astarion x shadowheart #astarion ancunin

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