#thread the needle oneshot

[the-kr8tor]

Autumn of '88

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 3.8k

Tags: Use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for her clothing), Hobie is mentioned taller than R, Reader and Hobie are 13/14 in this, Puppy love, TTN! Reader and Hobie, set in the TTN universe, best friends to lovers (prequel to TTN), CW food mentions, Fluff.

A/N: This is the last of the 1k celebration fics! Thank you all so much ❤️❤️❤️

Thread the Needle Masterlist

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Head on your palm, heavy eyes slowly closing with every dreary words that your biology teacher says, you fight a yawn from escaping since the last time someone yawned in front of Mrs. Weathers they got kicked out of class. But with the boring subject about symbiotic relationships in the wild, that you most definitely already know since you did the advanced reading, you're tempted to yawn loudly and widely just so you could escape from this biology hell.

The air is crisp, October air breezing through you from the open window to your left. Clad in your cardigan and yellow corduroy pants, the cold still seeps into the thick fabrics. It's a comfortable cold but with you sitting still for more than an hour without stretching your limbs has you freezing in your seat.

You risk getting called out by Mrs. Weathers if she notices you looking out of the window for even a second. But you are so bored out of your mind that you'd rather stare at the oak tree outside than continue to listen to her yapping about symbiosis. Having the brilliant idea to hide your wandering eyes from the teacher with your hand slightly covering your profile, now safe from her piercing gaze, you watch as the orange leaves dance with the breeze.

There's a pile of dead leaves at the bottom of its trunk, and you wish you could jump inside and never have to study biology ever again. It must be so warm and cozy inside, with the orange and yellow leaves as your sky and walls, you'll live like a tiny mouse queen ruling over your land. You think of all the stuff you'll bring inside your little leaf kingdom, your sketchbook is definitely a yes, and also your big pack of colorful markers and pencils is an absolute need. You'll need some snacks of course, some eggos and cheese balls would suffice. As for sleeping, you guess you'll never need to sleep when you have so much time to do anything you want in your leaf kingdom.

Yet, you think you'll be lonely inside. Sure you can bring your gameboy or your care bears, but they can't exactly talk and have the most riveting banter with you. With a smile, you plan to bring your best friend with you to your autumn kingdom. Hobie can be your bard or your right hand man. It's perfect, you think, a perfect place where it's just you and Hobie where there's no more school to attend, no more grades to keep up, just you and him having fun in the pile of leaves.

With a sigh, you blink slowly as your eyes get heavier and heavier with every daydream. Fighting the sandman from having his sandy grip on you, you pinch your cheek subtly. Opening your eyes, a familiar silhouette appears right next to the oak tree. Long arms waving in your direction, legs jumping to get your attention. Blinking rapidly, it's none other than Hobie who has the widest grin on his face when he notices that he finally has your attention.

He motions for you to go outside, beckoning you over dramatically. Miming that he'll cry if you don't go outside. You think otherwise, quietly giggling at his antics.

After the realization, you straighten in your seat, wondering why and how he got outside when he's supposed to be in maths.

A loud thwack slams against your desk, jumping awake, Mrs. Weathers shakes her head, tongue clicking in agitation.

“If you're not prepared to listen in class it's best that you should leave, miss L/N.” She says, gritting her fake teeth.

“Okay,” you stand up to collect your things, shoving your notebook and books inside your already full backpack. Your reply has Mrs. Weathers confused, since you are her best student.

“Wait—” you've never seen her flabbergasted, your classmates snicker silently in their seats, some even clap and cheer you on.

Giving them all a shrug, you exit the classroom before she grabs you back inside. With the door shutting close, you sprint towards the exit. Trainers squeaking on the linoleum, backpack heavy, you push the double doors open with your shoulder. Hobie greets you outside just as the fresh air whips at your cheeks.

He claps slowly but surely, face proud with a smug smile. “I've got to hand it to you, Pingu, I did not expect that. I have successfully made a rebel out of you.”

Hobie stands on the grass like he owns the entire school, hands tucked inside his jeans, thumbs tapping on his metal belts that clinks against each other when he moves. For once, he's dressed for the weather, the old worn leather jacket now fits him better than last year, it was bigger on his shoulders back then. Puberty works in mysterious ways, you think. A denim vest lays on top of the leather, handmade pins of his favourite things are all tacked securely on the denim. Its edges are frayed, but you know it was intentional since you're the one who helped him do it. The thrifted ‘Queen’ shirt you gave him on his birthday is the perfect size, but you know that he'll only be able to wear it for a couple of years at the rate he's growing.

No one would think you two are best friends judging by how different your styles are, or how different you are to him. Personality wise, likes, dislikes, it's all different, sometimes you wonder how you two get along. But you wouldn't have it any other way.

“How'd you get out of maths?”

“Climbed out of the window before Mr. Keery came in.”

You doubt his story. “Yeah, right, your classroom is on the third floor, Hobie.”

He feigns hurt, “my own best mate doubts my abilities?” You roll your eyes, but the heat in your cheeks says otherwise. “‘m great at climbing, I could climb down from that height.” You stay silent, looking at him with a raised brow and unblinking eyes. “...fine, I faked sleepin' by snorin’ loudly, happy?”

You touch his shoulder with a mischievous smile. “Hobie, you don't have to fake snore because you snore like an elephant giving birth.”

“You're very funny,” he takes your wrist to push your hands away. You now notice the new nail polish on his nails. “That doesn't even make bloody sense.”

You ignore him, mouth agape and shocked at his painted nails. “You finally coloured your nails?” You take his hand that has nail polish sloppily painted on. The paint even reaches to the edge of his nails, painting his skin with shadowy black. “You could've asked me for help, y’know.”

“It's part of the style” He shrugs, taking his hand away before you can feel his pulse pick up.

“Sure, even the bubbles are in style.” You tease with a playful smile. “So why'd you call me over here?”

“Got bored, then thought you're also bored so I went to your window so we could skip the rest of the day.” He purposely skips the part that he knows exactly where you always sit.

You gasp. “Wait, I thought we were just skipping class, not skipping the rest of the day!” Hands on your hips, you shake your head. “And here I thought there's like a really cool… stick or something.”

“A stick?” He chortles.

“Yeah, like the one you found a few days ago that actually looked like a sword.”

“Nah, I wanted to—” A high pitched whistle echoes out, startling you both. Finding the source of the sound, the school guard is currently running towards you. The hundreds of keys on his belt jingles, cheeks red from all the whistle blowing.

“Oi!” The yells, pointing accusingly at you two.

With wide eyes, Hobie takes your hand before sprinting away. He practically drags you along with him, bigger strides than you, he looks over his shoulder to check on you. Unsurprisingly enough, he has a huge grin on his lips, as if he planned all of it.

You follow his lead, dead leaves crunching under your shoes, backpack weighing you down. Yet, he doesn't leave you even though you're slowing him down. You appreciate him for not letting your hand go, but you don't like how your heart hammers against your chest when you look at your intertwined hands.

Finally reaching the metal fence, Hobie chucks his backpack over it. It's not that tall for him, he could easily jump over it with no problem, but with you still waiting on your growth spurt, it'll be a challenge for you. He knows it too, without asking he grabs your bag off your shoulders, he then quickly throws it over the other side before crouching down with his hands on top of the other.

“C’mon, Pingu, up you go!” Hobie flicks his eyes over to the guard, he's glad that the guard isn't exactly a track star. The whistling gets louder as the uniformed man gets closer. “Hurry—!”

Before he could finish saying the word, you shakily put your foot on his palm. With one strong push, and a jump from you, Hobie hoists you over the fence. You miraculously make it over, landing on your side with a groan. Hobie follows a second later, climbing like his life depended on it. Immediately grabbing each of your backpacks, then putting both on one arm, he lifts you up from the pavement with one hand just before the guard could even reach the fence; you two race off across the street, huffing and aching from the daring escape.

Going around a corner, Hobie leads you towards an alley. He skids off to a stop, heavy bags falling off his arms.

Hands on your knees, lungs burning, and face sweaty from the run, you check behind the corner if the guard is still after you.

“He won't follow us anymore. We're out!” Hobie exclaims, exhilarated, and grinning widely. He leans on the wall opposite of you, chest heaving, laughter echoing around the empty alleyway.

Copying his stance, cracking a smile, you laugh together with him. “You're a bad influence, Hobie Brown.”

“And you're a great influence, Y/N L/N.” His smile and his shining eyes says it all: we balance each other out. “Too bloody nice, that's what you are.”

You shake your head, chin resting on your clavicle to hide your lopsided smile. Heat on your cheeks, you seem to find yourself having the same expression lately whenever you're around him.

“Where to?” He asks once he caught his breath.

“My choice?” You ask, smile permanently etched on your lips.

“‘course,” Hobie says it like it's the most obvious thing. He was supposed to add to his sentence but he shuts his mouth before he could let the word escape.

You excitedly perk up. “The mall?”

He makes a face. “I'd rather stay in maths.”

“Arcade then?”

“They'd kick us out,” you knit your eyebrows in question. “Because we're skippin’ class, they put up that fuckin' sign a few weeks ago.”

“Oh right, I forgot. How about the record shop? Mike's cool, he might let us stay until classes are over.”

Hobie pushes himself off the wall, strutting over to you, your heart quickens for some reason. He pats shoulder with a smirk. “Your best idea yet,” taking both bags off the grimey floor, he puts them both on each shoulder. It's your turn to smirk at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” you say in a sing-song tone.

He clicks his tongue, avoiding your eyes. “C’mon then, before someone sees us here and thinks we're skippin' class.”

“Hobie, we are skipping class.”

“Not if we act like we're not.”

“...what?” You chuckle, blinking in confusion. “What would you do?”

“Nothin’, let's go.” He walks away from you.

“Oh come on, what will you do? Will you put on your best acting skills like how you faked being sick in front of the nurse? Because she was definitely convinced that you had chicken pox!” You giggle, following him, matching his longer strides.

“It worked, didn't it?” Hobie turns his head away from your playful glance.

“Yeah, because you had an actual fever. But sure, your drawn on chicken pox was very convincing.”

“I'm an artiste, Y/N.” He says, trying to do a french accent.

You snort, “sure, and I'm the queen of England.”

“Alright, your majesty.” He stops, “carry your own luggage,” your bag thuds on the pavement. “I don't want to help some parasite.” Smugly walking away, you feign hurt with your loud gasp.

“You…you doodoo head!” You yank your bag, wearing it properly on your back. Running after Hobie, he has a mischievous smile, one you're all too familiar with.

“Doodoo head? That the best you can come up with?” He says before bolting off, leaving you in the dust.

“Hey!” Running, you follow him with a laugh. “Asshole!”

—

Finally reaching the vinyl shop, the bells jingle as you two enter. The smell of plastic and cheap air freshener lingers in the air, the ancient shaggy carpet is soft under your trainers. Shelves upon shelves of records greet you as you roam your eyes around the different album covers. It's a slow day so the store is empty except for Mike the cashier who has headphones on.

Hobie sniffs dramatically, “home sweet home!”

Mike cracks an eye open, with a groan after seeing you and Hobie standing by the door, he chucks his headphones on the counter, looking disgruntled. The denim jacket with hundreds of patches and bottle cap pins is large on his lanky frame.

“Oh great, Hobie's here.” He says sarcastically, long straight hair flipped over his shoulder with one move from his head. “And he brought his little girlfriend. Hi, Y/N, you still hang out with this arse?” He points at Hobie who doesn't bother correcting him anymore. “Seriously, I thought you were smarter than that.”

“D’you finally have it, mate?” Hobie acts like he's the same age as Mike, even though the teenage cashier could be his older brother. Ignoring Mike's jab, he waits for his reply.

Wanting to quit his job is clearly seen on his face. Then he considers the fact that he needs to save for college. With a sigh, he points towards the end of the store, where you think ‘it’ is there.

Hobie punches the table with a thump, then he excitedly bounds over to where the cashier pointed. “Thanks, bruv.”

“Cyndi Lauper?” You ask, all wide eyed and shy. “It's not at the front anymore.”

“Over to the right, just across where your boyfriend is.”

“He's not my—nevermind, thanks.” Walking past all the display, Hobie guffaws when he finds what he was looking for. You smile at how happy he is.

He's so happy that he grabs you by your elbow, pointing at the new ‘Ramones’ album. The words “Ramones Mania” are printed in bright red.

“Finally! Look!”

“I see it, Hobs.” You chuckle, “didn't this release months ago though?”

“It did,” he sighs like he's recalling a bad memory. “But this place isn't making a lot of money from records like this, so Mike here!” He yells the last part to annoy the man. “Delayed ordering it. I had to come ‘ere every day just to remind him.”

You see Mike pressing the volume up on his walkman. Making sure that Hobie sees that he's not listening to him.

“You didn't tell me that.” You say, sounding a bit too hurt.

“Thought you wouldn't care.” Hobie shrugs, “‘sides, you don't listen to stuff like this.” He points at the album.

“I could listen to it, Hobs. I make you listen to my records and you seem to like it.”

Hobie's eyes soften. “You wanna listen to it together then? You might not like it.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “If I don't end up liking it then at least I gave it a try, right? If I do like it we have something new to talk about.”

He could only manage a smile and a curt nod. Taking the record to the listening booth that sits at the corner of the store, he leaves his bag outside whilst he opens the door for you. Placing your bag down more gently than he did, you enter the cramped booth.

Mike yells after you two, “you lot better not snog in there!” You and Hobie scrunch your faces at the man.

“We're fourteen, mate!” Hobie yells back, not agitated, just weirded out by Mike's comment.

“You're fourteen? How would I know? You look fuckin' sixteen, bruv! Tall motherfucker.” He whispers the last part, Hobie didn't hear it but you surely did.

“I thought he was cool.” You admit, shutting the booth door behind you.

“He's a wanker, just actin’ like he is. Thought you fancy him?”

“Ew.” He beams at your reaction.

You giggle, the sound bouncing off the padded walls of the booth. It's just a regular rectangular box with a shelf for the record player and a bench to sit on. It's quieter inside, the cars outside are muffled, the only clear thing you can hear is how your heartbeat gets faster and faster the longer you stay squished inside the booth with him. Sitting down, you leave enough space for him. Hands on top of the other, you roam your eyes around the cracking paint on the walls, mind making shapes from how the navy blue paint crumbles.

Hobie carefully takes the record out then places it on the record player. Sitting next to you, you can practically feel his excitement reverberating. He takes the headphones from its rack, turning each around so you and him could listen at the same time.

“Ready to shit your trousers?” He asks, eyes glinting from the single light bulb. He's so close to you that you can see yourself in the reflection in his eyes. And you can see every single strand of eyelashes that's perfectly blending in with his eyeliner.

“I don't want to poop on my trousers, I like this pair.” You joke, and you pat yourself on the back for making him laugh. “This is corduroy, Hobie.”

“Alright quiet time now.” He presses play as you hide your amused smile.

—

You bask in the sunset, eyes closed, you let the autumn air kiss your cheeks, your hands are behind you, propping you up. Despite the dusty pavement, and the looming problem of getting found out that you skipped school, you're perfectly content where you are right now. It would be perfect but you're missing something, or someone for that matter.

Cold air suddenly blows right behind you, the convenience doors close with a hiss and that's your cue to look up. Hobie appears upside down in your vision just like you thought, he tilts his head, you can see the cogs in his head turn. Placing the cup on your forehead, he laughs at your crossed eyes. Condensation rolls off from the plastic cup and into your skin.

Hobie takes it away before you could catch a cold. Sitting next to you, he hands you your bright slurpee. There's a mix of colours, red and blue melting into the orange and purple.

“They didn't have the brown one.” He says as he rips open a pack of Doritos. “There's no puddin’ pops either.”

“Aw,” you say slightly disappointed, but the sight of the box of nerds inside the plastic bag helps remedy your disappointment. “Ooh nerds!”

“Where?” As he says it, you see a grin slowly spreading on his face. “I only see one right here!” Chortling, grin wide, the orange hues of the sky paints him with its watercolour glow. You'd take this sight more than a day alone at the arcade.

“Ha ha.” You say flatly, sipping your drink too quickly, you wince loudly. Hobie guffaws into the barren space, save for the 711 behind you and the woods sitting quietly in front of you. His laugh echoes, even with his amusement, he still has the time to pat your back affectionately.

“Ow.” You rub your temple.

“What’d I tell you before? Drink it slowly, love.” The title slips out of his tongue. The second he realizes it, he hides behind his own cup, sipping wordlessly as he stares off into the woods.

Love, the simple freudian slip has you blinking at him slowly. He has never called you that before, he has, however, called you a bunch of nicknames that are either sweet or to purposely annoy you. But love? You've only heard older teenagers call each other that, and they usually have their hand inside their girlfriend’s or boyfriend’s back pockets when they do. You have no idea if Hobie has mistaken, because you're clearly not love, you're pingu, you're cheese, you're pebbles, hell, you're even lad, or his best mate. Never love, because that's reserved for someone you actually like, someone you truly care for.

Is he mistaken? Mimicking something he has heard around school?

“I should've told you about the album.” His voice wakes you to the present.

Do you care for him? Of course you do.

“What?” You breathlessly ask.

He's your best mate after Danny left, he was the only one who filled that lonely lonely gap he left. You think he's stuck with you forever, and he thinks you're stuck with him forever. Strangely enough, you both think it's perfect.

“Me pestering the shit out of Mike.” You knit your eyebrows at his words. He looks down at his boots, a small puddle at his feet reflects his own confused face. Is he apologizing? Why is he apologizing for? Weirdly enough, you both ask the same question.

You'd annoy Mike for him. You'd call the shop endlessly just so they would order his record. Even if you get in trouble for the telephone bill.

“You would've helped.” Hobie continues, eyes now looking into your own.

Care, it's a simple word, but you think it's not enough to describe how you feel about him, how you really feel about your best friend. It's much more than that.

“Yeah, I would've annoyed him too.” You softly smile at him.

“I know, love.” Because he knows you, and you know him too. Hobie utters the title more confidently, the word rolling off his tongue like butter. He makes it sound like he has been calling you that in his head for a long time. Maybe he has. “I know you would.”

He had the answer the whole time, it's not just you caring for him. It's love, it's love in its earliest state, it's love at its most innocent.

You love him, that revelation scares you, but it's better not knowing how you truly feel whenever he smiles at you and your heart skips a beat. Now you know, you'll tell him one day, one day when that feeling gnaws at your chest. But for now, you'll settle with drinking slurpees with him, you'll settle for skipping class so you could listen to records with him. For now you'll settle with loving him as his best mate, and for now, you're content just by being at his side.

#the kr8tor's creations #spider punk x reader #hobie brown x reader #atsv fanfic #atsv imagine #atsv x reader #atsv hobie #hobie fanfic #hobie fluff #hobie x reader #hobie brown x fem!reader #hobie brown x you #spider punk x fem!reader #spider punk x you #ttn #thread the needle #thread the needle oneshot #happy 1k! #cw food mention #ttn hobie and R #ttn au

[justalittlebluetiefling]

I think my top 3 CR intros are:

EXU Calamity

The Mighty Nein Intro (animated)

Candela Obscura

#i am rewatching the first needle & thread episode rn #instead of watching the mk oneshot for some reason lol #idk i need to get a refresher before next week

[jellinuy]

y/n teaching malleus how to crochet! :D

୨୧ ༉ ‧ ₊˚ ❝in cold weather, we stick crochet together!❞

★ synopsis. with the chill fast approaching, you, the ever-dependable prefect, take it upon yourself to prepare for the fall weather with a certain some-fae.

★ featuring. malleus draconia.

★ formatting. oneshot / short fic.

★ notes. established relationship, fluff, gn! reader, silly fae humor. reader is yuu in this scenario.

꒰— ๑ author’s note. HI VAYNE !! ♡ it’s so good to have u as my first official request. i hope this was good !! this feeds my soul, actually, and i'm so glad you requested this, because cozy fall fics are some of my favorites. i dont think i've ever actually written for you, have i ?? ꒱

Delicate. That’s the word.

Crocheting is a delicate hobby. Emerald eyes follow the tenderness of your fingers as you weave and you curl and you go in and out with that small needle and that one piece of yarn, and eventually, those eyes watch you begin to weave something resembling a... scarf.

The concept is endearing, but Malleus still feels out of place with something so delicate.

“Child of Man,” he pauses to start on another row, albeit slowly, “is this right?”

You look over, keeping your fingers in the same places within the tangle of yarn you plan to turn into a scarf, and purse your lips just slightly. He frowns when your eyebrows furrow, and assumes bad news.

“Not… quite.” And he watches again as you reach that tender, gentle finger out and point to a previous row that he messed up on, one he hadn't noticed prior, your needle bumping against his knuckles. “See that?”

The housewarden huffs, and you chuckle out loud as an angered puff of smoke breezes through his nostrils along with it. Now both determined and frustrated, Malleus sets his mind once again on completing the beanie he promised to make you mere hours ago. You had been so patient, guiding his hands, showing him where to hold the needle, where to thread, where to start new rows and different stitches (the magic circle in itself was a struggle), so he had to see it through.

Lilia had always complained about his ears going cold when the snowfall started. Silver had mentioned that having a new pair of gloves would be nice, and Sebek... well, unbeknownst to him, Sebek would appreciate a singular piece of yarn, had it come from Malleus's hands, but even still, he wanted to do something kind. And for you, he'd planned to make a hat. He remembered you had let it slip that you needed more winter clothes for the approaching holiday, too. You'd done enough and more for him: the least Tsunotaro could do was crochet a few garments.

"You'll get it, Mal, don't get pouty," you assured him, those same delicate fingers he so loved running up and down his back in soothing waves. "You've gotten better, y'know?" you offered. "Remember what you were like the first time you tried to do this? We had so much scrap yarn!" With that, came a sweet laugh.

It was true. The young prince had improved, but he didn't do it himself.

"Look. Are you having trouble with the shape?" Even as you spoke, your fingers never stopped working that yarn through the needle. Leaning over to support yourself on his broad shoulder, your squished cheek against his upper arm, you told him, "Keep your stitches loose, Mally, you don't need to be so tense."

He looked down at you just as you were telling him not to be so hard on himself. From an onlooker's perspective, anyone would be able to tell he loved everything about the predicament he was in, even from a single glance.

"You are a very good teacher."

Pausing, your head raises to meet his eyes. They flicker down every so often as you finish up your final stitches (goodness, you really had been working all that time?), finally giving your fingers (and poor needle) a break. A grin breaks across your pretty lips, stretching into your cheeks in that way your lover so adores. You hoist the muffler up just above his shoulders, wrapping it around Malleus's bare neck until only his plush top lip peeks out.

He takes in the green and black pattern of the new gift, careful not to tear the yarn with his nails. He had to be delicate with it, because now it was precious.

You open your mouth to answer, cheeks pressed against his shoulder once more.

"And you are a very good learner."

#moots. ★ #the title is cringe pls dont talk abt the title #THIS IS SO FERNECORE IM FANGIRLINF #malleyuu #twst #twst x reader #malleus x reader #malleus twst #can u tell idk crochet terminology #i at least know the magic circle because i tried to do it when i attempted crocheting and got upset and never did it again #꒰🪼꒱ jelly writes. #꩜ inbox. ✉️ #malleus draconia x reader #me next #tsunotaro me next make me smth too

[v4mpgutz]

Labyrinth, Simon "Ghost" Riley [ ONESHOT ]

— simon refuses to be left in anyone else's care but yours after he gets a stab wound to the gut :)))

simon "ghost" riley x nurse reader

note: this does use she/her pronouns !! also this is pretty much not proof-read at all so... yeah!

warnings ! — descriptive mentions of wounds + blood, reader stitches up a gash, petname (dove like once whoops)

you were tending to another soldier as per usual, administering pain killers and putting a cold cloth on his head to keep a fever down. you checked the soldier's heartbeat one more time before you nodded in satisfaction.

as you walked out of the curtains that separated the soldier's tiny room from the hallway, you heard a commotion near the entrance.

furrowing your brows in confusion, you walked towards where the noise was and heard a male medic speaking to a familiar voice.

"i told you already, sir!" the medic exclaimed, clearly growing irritated. "she's busy with another patient. you'll have to be taken care of by someone else."

you rounded the corner and saw simon standing there arguing with the medic. he was hunched over a little and clutching his lower stomach, still in his ops gear and mask.

"i'm not seein' anybody else, for fucks sake! it's her or no one!" he sneered at the medic who just rolled his eyes.

the medic turned around and saw you, his eyes widening as he beckoned you over. "thank goodness! lieutenant riley has been asking for you."

you blinked slowly and turned to look at simon, your eyes holding concern as you looked up and down his figure. blood was seeping through his fingers where his shirt was slightly rolled up just before the waistline of his pants.

"lieutenant, you're bleeding out! you should've got someone to see you," you scolded before grabbing his arm and pulling him towards an empty room.

he winced and you saw him roll his eyes behind his mask. "everyone else in this bloody place is incompetent." he scoffed before lowering his voice to a whisper, "and besides... i don't trust anyone else."

you chewed your bottom lip anxiously and sighed, reaching for a pair of medical scissors.

"okay," you mumbled. "move your fingers, i have to cut your shirt."

he obeyed your order and moved his hand away, he was hoping you wouldn't notice but it was definitely shaking. he was growing slightly clammy due to the blood loss as well.

you cut his shirt and peeled it back, examining the wound as your tongue poked your cheek. you hummed, dabbing a wet cloth against the skin around it to rid it of blood. you were quick to apologise when simon let out a wince and a mumbled 'fuck!'

"well, ghost—"

"simon." he corrected as he averted his eyes. "please, just... call me simon."

you smiled softly and nodded.

"well, simon, you're definitely going to need stitches." you told him, pinching his skin together to try and stop the blood from flowing out any more.

"bloody fuckin' hell.." he mumbled, looking down at you as you crouched slightly next to the bed. "get it over with then," he nodded slowly.

you seemed unsure for a moment as you readied the needle and thread.

"are you sure? you don't want lidocaine?" you asked him, hesitant to stitch the wound up without some sort of numbing agent.

"what the fuck is lidocaine?" he asked, his brows creased underneath his mask.

you laughed and showed him the needle, the shiny point reflecting light off of it dramatically. you watched simon swallow as he stared wide-eyed at the needle.

"it's a local anaesthetic," you explained. "it targets the nerves where injected to numb them in preparation for specific procedures."

he nodded with a nervous cough and shook his head, "i'm fine. i'm a soldier, i've suffered worse pain than a couple stitches."

you shrugged and put the anaesthetic back down on the medical cart, picking up the needle and thread. you cleaned the wound first, making sure there wasn't any blood where you needed to poke the needle through the skin.

you pinched the skin together and steadied the needle, looking up at ghost for approval; he nodded.

you pushed the needle through the first bit of skin, being as gentle as you could. you paused when you heard the man above you yelp — actually yelp — at the feeling.

"you okay, simon?" you asked with a frown and he let out a shaky breath and a grunt.

"just peachy."

you wanted to laugh but you held your tongue because you knew how bad stitches hurt — especially without an anaesthetic.

it took you about ten minutes to fully stitch the wound, dabbing away any excess blood when you were finished. you had him lift his hips a little, one hand supporting him in doing so as you bandaged up his waist.

"okay," you nodded with a soft smile. "all done. now, you will need to replace the bandages every three hours or so. i'm sure you're capable of doing that yourself but if you need help just come and see me."

simon looked you directly in the eyes as you rose from your position next to the bed.

"thanks, dove. it's much appreciated."

you felt heat rush to your cheeks and the tips of your ears, giggling nervously and turning around to pretend to write something on a clipboard.

"just— just doing my job, lieutenant!"

you turned around and watched as he got up, glancing back at you one last time with a wave as he walked back towards the entrance of the infirmary.

oh no, you're falling in love again.

giggling kicking my feet twirling my hair

@konigceo THIS ONE IS FOR U !! 🫵

#— river's sticky notes ✩˚｡⋆ #i love this silly british man #fanfic #writers on tumblr #x reader #call of duty #simon ghost riley x afab!reader #simon ghost riley mw2 #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #call of duty modern warfare #modern warfare 2 #simon riley fluff #simon riley imagine #simon riley #ghost mw2 #simon riley x you #spotify #taylor swift #taylor swift midnights

[eternal-honeyy]

Smallest Star; Unknown A Luminary Oneshot

Astarion Ancunin x f!Reader

Synopsis: In his dreams one evening, Astarion meets the most familiar stranger he has ever seen, and learns both of lives not yet lived and of history not yet buried.

Or, alternatively: All of the ways that resemblance can be uncanny, and that forgotten details can be remembered in 3,500 words or less.

Note: Hi there, welcome to my first ever Astarion fic! If you like this one, feel free to check out the others that take place in the Luminary storyline, all of which can be found here <3

Luminary Masterlist

Astarion had experienced many dreams (although, less than half as many as he had sleepless nights), but even so, he'd never experienced one quite like this.

He sits alone in a dark room lit only by candle light and oil lamps, his deft fingers tugging at dainty golden thread and sharpened needle until suddenly, he stops, as if having snapped himself out of a daze.

In a way, he supposes that he has, red eyes flitting from corner to corner of the room that he sits in, seeking out some form of familiarity that he soon finds either does not exist or does not wish to be found.

Noting no immediate threat nor a reason to fear for his safety, the elf looks down to his hands, where he finds that he has been sewing a name into the inside of a small dress, one with embroidery that rather closely resembles that of the shirt he had been wearing the day he'd met you.

Plunging the needle absentmindedly into the felt armrest of the chair he was sitting upon as if it were a pincushion, he reached down to feel the design with his pale fingertips, surprised to note that the stitch pattern was the very same.

Had he made this?

A brow rose as he pondered this question within his mind, and quickly, he moved his gaze up to where his currently uncut thread was still protruding.

'Ottilie A'

It read, the golden wisp of embroidery floss hanging off of the end of the A, which looked to be just a stitch away from finished.

Astarion looked down at this name for a while, a dull yet painful yearning building within his chest the longer he did so.

Questions flooded his mind the more that this feeling tugged at his heart, and soon his thoughts were abuzz with curiosities that gnawed at him almost as ceaselessly as the ache below his breast.

What was this place?

Why was he here?

And most importantly,

Who was Ottilie?

He wondered,

Did this dress belong to her? And if so, why then, did it seem as if he had made it? Why then, was he sitting alone in a dark room sewing her name into it for her?

These questions prattled on and on within the confines of his mind, until finally, the sound of a doorknob rattling loosely upon its hinges snapped him out of his reverie, and he watched with surprised and sharpened eyes as the ornate metal fixed upon the wood that had granted him privacy up until this very moment shifted slowly, moving back and forth as if the person on the other side had very little practice with using a device even as common and mundane as a doorknob.

Still, in spite of their seeming lack of practice, the person on the other end was clearly nothing if not persistent, because the rattling continued on and on until finally, the knob was turned just enough so that the hinge popped loose of its confines, and in came stumbling a little girl, her hand grasping the door for dear life as it swung inward with her in tow, clearly having forgotten to let go prior to placing all of her weight upon the wood to push it open.

Astarion blinked, his eyes widening slightly as he watched the little girl fall forward to her knees with a shriek, the door she still clung to hitting the wall rather noisily before it finally came to a stop, trapped between the child and the very same wall it had just abused so thoroughly.

The elf winced at the sight in spite of himself, his legs itching to move closer and his hands twitching at his sides as if some deep seeded and long buried part of him knew exactly what to do and struggled with being unable to do it.

Still, he remained rooted to the very spot he had "awoken" in, eyes trained on the little girl sitting several feet in front of him as she let out a quiet "oof!" just after impact, her small hands scrambling for better purchase upon the door before they seemed to give up on the subtly swinging object and instead moved to the far sturdier floor, where they helped her to push herself back up onto her (rather unsteady, at least where Astarion was concerned) feet.

She huffed for a moment, tugging at her dress to straighten out some of the now crumpled fabric, and as she did so, Astarion took a moment to look her over, curious eyes seeking any semblance of familiarity or hint that might tell him who this child was.

She was small, clearly no older than three or four at most, with pale and unruly curls that tumbled down to her shoulders and in front of her eyes no matter how many times she did her best to tuck them behind her pointy little ears.

'An elf'

He thought to himself, scarcely even making note of the fact that his hands had begun their work once more, adding one final stitch to the end of the A before they completed their work with a subtle knot to keep everything from unraveling. Then, as he had done one thousand times before, Astarion raised the extra embroidery floss to his mouth thoughtlessly before using a singular fang to cut it off with ease.

With that done, he slung his work across the arm of the chair and placed the remainder of his thread upon the floor beside the spool he had spotted there earlier.

Still, even as he did all of this, not once did he look away from the child standing in front of him, brows furrowed with confusion and curiosity alike until finally, she seemed satisfied with the status of her dress and turned to face him fully, a gleeful smile so contagious that it made his lips twitch resting upon her cheeks.

"Mama told me you would be all finished with my new dress after I woke up from my nap today."

She said cheerfully, her small bare feet padding on the wooden floor beneath her as she moved closer, clearly eager to see the dress that was now slung across the arm rest beside him.

Astarion, not quite knowing what to say, simply nodded, glancing toward the seemingly finished dress for a moment before the girl managed to capture his attention again as she moved ever closer, seemingly unperturbed by his appearance in the manner he would have expected her to be.

It had been two centuries of looking the way that he did, and one thing that the pale elf understood well was that his appearance deeply unsettled those who were not used to seeing creatures like vampires, and children in particular rather commonly cowered on the off occasion that they had seen him in the evenings, scouring the streets for his next victim.

'And they had every right to be afraid,'

He thought to himself, a frown tugging at the corners of his lips,

'Their untainted souls still knew monster from man.'

But even so, the girl continued her unbothered approach without a care in the world, until finally, she reached the very spot where the vampire's shoes met the floor, her hands finding his knees.

Astarion watched on, awestruck, and entirely unsure of what he was meant to do, as this little girl who he had only first seen moments ago scrambled into his lap, or rather, tried to, her little arms shaking with use as her face screwed up with effort.

It was then, as if spurned on by that same deep seeded and long buried part of him that he had felt before, that the elf reached forward, his hands finding the underside of her arms and his fingers folding gently against the fabric of the dress that she wore so he could lift her up with ease, thus allowing him to place the child upon her desired destination without nearly as much effort on her part.

Even still, the little girl huffed up at him in response to his kindness, her lips pinching into a pout that looked so incredibly familiar that it nearly dizzied the vampire in question, who felt his eyes widen in spite of himself.

He had seen that pout so very often as of late, and yet he could not quite place it, causing the gears within his mind to turn like mad in an effort to reach some sort of conclusion, to provide him with any sensible answer.

Still, even after a few rather long seconds of silent thought, nothing came, and Astarion was forced to give up as the child sitting upon his lap spoke once more.

"You promised you would stop helping me! I'm a big girl now!"

She shouted indignantly, crossing her small arms across her chest with yet another huff, which only served to amuse the man who was acting as audience.

Whoever this child was, she certainly had attitude.

'Oh, I like her.'

He thought with an internal chuckle, though he tried to hide his outward grin to the best of his ability in order to keep his surprise visitor from becoming even further angered by his actions.

"Apologies,"

Astarion spoke smoothly, his hands clasping together almost instinctively behind the small girl to ensure he would catch her if she happened to fall backwards,

"It just looked like you were in need of some... additional support. It was thoughtless of me to act without asking you first."

Upon his apology, the child seemed to calm slightly, though that pout remained even as the subject shifted.

Astarion watched as she reached into the pocket of her dress, which he could see now that she was closer also had markings of his stitching upon it, and pulled out a small wooden hairpin.

She held it out to him in a small yet steady palm, eyes almost entirely hidden behind those pale curls of hers as she spoke up once more,

"Fine, but can you put this back in for me? It came out while I was sleeping and Mama's been too busy to cut my hair."

Astarion chuckled under his breath as he took the clip from her hand and used it to expertly pin the hairs that framed her face to the back of her head with ease, his dexterous hands having long since grown accustomed to the act of pinning his own unruly curls back when he'd been forced to let them grow out for far too long.

He hummed softly as he used his fingers to brush her hair back gently, noting with surprise the similarities that it shared with his own.

"Your hair isn't much different from mine, you know."

He muttered thoughtlessly,

"I bet that I could give you a rather nice haircut if the situation called for it."

Much to his surprise, in response to his words the child sitting upon his lap giggled, the sound briefly causing his heart to swell and his lips to turn upward until her words distracted him from any previous reaction.

"You know that Mama won't let you, not after last time, and especially not before my first day of school."

She said cheerfully, her words cutting through any feigned sense of ease Astarion had managed prior.

Swallowing thickly, he quickly finished pinning her hair in place, speaking up just as he was beginning to pull away and shift his gaze back down toward her face.

"Last ti-"

He froze in the middle of his sentence, eyes widening and hands beginning to shake as he saw the eyes of the child sitting before him up close for the very first time.

And Gods, they were so familiar,

So achingly, painfully, and distantly familiar that it made tears build in the corners of his own eyes, that color a reminder of something, no, of someone, long forgotten but so dearly beloved, of hands so gentle that they hurt to imagine now, and of a voice so endlessly sweet and caring that it made him want to sob out of a loss long unmourned, loss that he had never had the chance to understand nor perceive for fear of losing what little sanity had remained during the harsh beginnings of his time with Cazador.

A loss he was meant to have had centuries before he had to face.

And as he sat there, awestruck by the heart wrenching combination of familiarity, grief, and yearning, the little girl, oblivious to Astarion's reaction to the color of her eyes, reached for the dress slung over the arm rest of the chair they sat upon.

And though he did not think to do so in any meaningful or coherent manner, the elf reached over to stop her, picking up the garment and placing it into her hands to ensure that she could not prick herself upon the needle that remained hidden underneath.

The movement was purely one of instinct, and if someone had asked him of it even mere moments later, he would be entirely unsure of what they were talking about.

He sat there in a daze for a few seconds longer, his eyes unfocused and his hands still shaking even as the little girl spoke up once more, her voice interrupting his rushing thoughts.

"Hey! You didn't finish my last name!"

She began, eyes glaring daggers into the fabric that she held between her fingers, her gaze trained upon the gold embroidery thread that spelled out her name.

Astarion hummed in response, mind still reeling and sight still slightly unfixed as he did his best to reply,

"Did I? And pray tell, little one, what's missing?"

The vampire knew that there was almost no sense in asking, not after he had seen the paleness of her hair, the unruliness of her curls, the sharpness of her ears, and the color of her eyes, but even so, he felt that he had to hear it, had to hear it to believe it, and had to hear it to either shatter or settle his hammering undead heart.

"Well, you only put an A."

The child reasoned,

"So that means you're missing the other six letters."

Astarion sighed shakily, his eyes brimming with unshed tears, though whether they were of yearning for his past or yearning for his future, he did not know.

But he needed to hear her say it.

"What six letters, Darling?"

He urged softly,

In response, the little girl, Ottilie, was very quick, in that very way that all children were when it came to their names, those memorized aspects of themselves that they learned so young and knew so well. She could spell her name with ease, and the speed with which she did so was meant to show it.

"N-C-U-N-I and N."

She said proudly, and Astarion let out a rattling breath of something almost like relief, though from what he did not know.

He deflated slightly against the chair, a short and almost entirely humorless laugh leaving him as he looked into Ottilie's eyes once more, finding someone there that made him wonder if this was what whatever version of himself that got to live this bliss saw when looking at her.

He was not sure if he could live like that, always seeing those eyes and remembering who had once loved him, who had likely ceaselessly mourned him since his untimely departure.

So, for his own sake, he hoped that Ottilie's sweet gaze had long since become her own in the eyes of the Astarion who had known its pull since her birth.

Though, whether that Astarion was some alternate and forever unknown version of himself, perhaps entirely untouched by Cazador and perhaps even death itself, or if this was some future he was mean to hope against hope for, he did not know.

But, he knew when he saw those eyes that this was no ordinary dream, for he had not known that color in so very long that it had left his mind entirely decades prior to him laying down to rest that evening.

No, what he was seeing was by design, that much he could tell, but beyond that he was unsure, mind unable to wrap around the intricacies of what he was seeing.

So, rather than fight it, he leaned into it one final time, just as the edges of his vision began to blur.

It was impossible to know if this was a reality he could ever truly hope to live in, so in that moment, he instead chose to see how it felt, even if for just the few seconds that time's restless grasp would allow for.

"And when you put it all together, what does that spell?"

He asked, his voice barely above a whisper as he spoke due to his fear that the tears he was scarcely managing to hold at bay might finally fall and interrupt his words.

"Ancunin."

The little girl sitting upon his lap, his daughter, said easily, her eyes alight with the challenge of proving the knowledge she had of her own name, the name that he, with the help of another, had presumably given her long before her birth, and perhaps long before her conception as well.

Back when she had been a mere thought.

Back in the life that he led without her in it.

"Ottilie Ancunin."

Astarion said gently, brushing a few stray hairs that had avoided his careful eye and precise fingers behind one of her pointy ears with a gentleness that he had hardly even known he possessed,

"I do quite like that name,"

He began,

"It reminds me of the one your grandmother planned to use had I been born her daughter..."

He trailed off a bit as he spoke, gaze finding that of his child and holding it as if committing the sight to memory. Perhaps he was though, for he had not seen those eyes in so very long, and dared not consider how long it might be before he saw them again.

He swallowed thickly, now scarcely able to speak around the choked up ball of tears growing deep in his throat,

"You have her eyes, you know,"

He said softly,

"She would be so very proud if only she knew."

And as he watched the newest light in his once so dim life smile at his words, her plump cheeks growing pink at the unexpected compliment, Astarion felt that familiar pull of wakefulness, and, as much as he wanted to fight it, knew from experience just how useless such an act would be, and instead chose to let it drag him up from the depths of slumber and back into the world he knew so well.

"Staaaarr!"

You called from outside of his tent, a level of annoyance to your tone that almost certainly meant that this was far from the first time you'd called for him.

The elf in question heard you sigh before swinging open the flap of his tent, allowing you to stand before him with your arms crossed over your chest as he laid upon his pillows, clearly awake.

"Seriously?"

You asked, scoffing as you took in the sight of him,

"You couldn't have just yelled back or something? You had to make me walk all the way over to find out if you were awake yet?"

The vampire in question shrugged, that familiar smirk finding its way to his lips with perhaps a twinge more effort than usual.

"Apologies, Darling, but how else was I supposed to ensure that I could get an eyeful of you before getting up for the day? It seems such a luxury is in rather short supply as of late."

He teased, watching as your lips formed a pout in response, your eyes rolling in spite of the fact that your warming cheeks betrayed your true feelings about the elf's teasing words.

"Oh come on, Astarion, you cannot be serious."

You started,

"I've only fallen asleep in your tent like four times ever, would you please come off it and stop acting like its the norm to embarrass me?! I apologized ike ten times already!"

And with that, you started your tangent about how annoying it was that your vampire companion seemed to try and humiliate you in front of your other camp mates whenever possible, though Astarion wouldn't really know, because almost no part of his mind was paying any attention to the words coming out of your mouth, nor had it been for quite some time.

Because much to his surprise, he'd just been reminded of where he had seen Ottilie's pout before,

And that fact required a lot of careful consideration, indeed.

#astarion x female reader #astarion x you #astarion scenario #astarion x f!tav #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x f!reader #astarion x female tav #astarion x mc #dadstarion

[z00oo1]

Joel Miller Recs

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She’s a Gun @cowgurrrl

Somebody didn’t give the new guy a heads up about talking about Joel Miller’s family

Big Fan Big Fan II @atinylittlepain

Joel is smitten. But he's having a hard time figuring out when she's being real and when she's just acting.

Feeling You @peterparkersnose

Y/N confesses something to Joel she shouldn’t have when she saw him awake for the first time in weeks after his accident

Unexpected Expecting @atinylittlepain

Joel Miller x pregnant!f!reader

From Love and Life @bubbles-for-all-of-us

you're heavily pregnant but your medical assistant is needed in a close by town. 

We Bleed Together @bubbles-for-all-of-us

What if instead of loosing Sarah, Joel lost you - the mother of his two children and the person who had built him up to a better man.

If the door was open series @heartpascal

months of travelling with joel and ellie come crashing down on you, the fear is suffocating.

Something is rotten @heartpascal

arriving in jackson brings painful feelings, and even worse conversations.

All my faith @heartpascal

Joel finding a little girl after the outbreak (before Ellie),

to do the right thing @pedgeitopascal

When you find out that you’re pregnant, getting rid of it seems to be the only option you have but when it doesn't go as planned, you think of another solution.

oneshot @firsttimewriter92

Joel's time being taken up by another woman

Survive @alloftheimagines

Ellie stays back to keep an eye on Joel so reader gets kidnapped

pieces of our path @atinylittlepain

Joel request please!Reader collects keychains from the different states/places she travels

i’m yours baby @youlightmeupfinn

you can't help but feel inferior when two women throw themselves at joel upon you moving to jackson.

I never stopped loving you I never stopped loving you II @musings-of-a-rose

The disciple @floralsandthesauce

y/n and Ellie have been taken by David and his loyal company.

Man I hate Golf @j0elmill3r

Oneshot @forever-rogue

reader gets hurt protecting Ellie

Needle and thread @uhlunaro

You picked on someone twice your size, and Joel begrudgingly patches you up.

The cure @alloftheimaginess

reader swaps places with Ellie and reader is the one Joel rescues.

Your Bear Your Bear II @rrickgrrimes8

Joel Miller doesn’t just lose Sarah that night but his other daughter too

Oneshot @secondsistershelby

Healing You @astrid-sorensen

A long 12 years after Sarah’s death, Joel can’t seem to open up to you again. But you’re never gonna stop trying.

Code Red @softlyspector

Joel finds out that its the reader's turn to go on patrol. And he is not okay

Settled @softlyspector

Joel and Ellie are finally mostly settled in Jackson. Joel just wants to take care of you, but you find it hard to let some things go.

Too Late @alloftheimagines

in which joel makes the decision to stay in jackson out of fear,

Oneshot @forever-rogue

Joel teaching reader how to swim

Slice of Paradise @bubbles-for-all-of-us

Joel dream of having a farmhouse comes true.

Butterfly @bubbles-for-all-of-us

When Joel thinks that his life is over his little butterfly sends him a new reason to stay alive.

Darling Don’t You Cry @pagesfromthevoid

In an Instant @mishasminion360

Happy birthday, Joel Miller.

Clouded Judgement @bluebeary-jay

it was a long time since Joel had felt a maddening rage

Apothecary @atinylittlepain

joel becomes curious about the woman running the medicine shop

Secret Garden @hevstlouera

As you were well aware, your parents work was something you should never be involved in

White Lies @poeticbarnes

Joel would do anything for you. He does anything for you. And he makes sure you don't know a thing.

Old Soul @softlyspector

You're never quite sure of your place in Joel's life. Everyone else seems to know exactly what it is.

Don't Let Me Drown @alloftheimagines

in which the reader falls into the river of death, and it's joel's job to save you and find shelter.

No Time To Die @davosmymaster

With your life now hanging by a thread, Joel is determined to get you to safety, but the clock is ticking faster than he can run.

Don't Let Me Drown @alloftheimagines

in which the reader falls into the river of death, and it's joel's job to save you and find shelter

Old Soul @softlyspector

You're never quite sure of your place in Joel's life. Everyone else seems to know exactly what it is.

White Lies @poeticbarnes

Joel would do anything for you. He does anything for you. And he makes sure you don't know a thing.

Untitled @forever-rogue

Protective!Joel

A Long Time Coming @criminalamnesia

You go on patrol with Joel, unknowingly sealing your fate.

All Yours @punkshort

Tommy and Maria want to meet a group from another community to establish a trading relationship. One man comes onto you a little too strong, sparking a reaction from Joel.

Edge Of Darkness @hyzer34

After being placed in a tiny apartment for 5 months with a man who rarely talks. you both decide to leave the QZ.

Wattpad

Cowboy Like Me by JOELM1LLER

Till Death Do We Part by Bloodlvstflims

A husband and wife find themselves in a unique situation when a fungal virus infects the city surrounding them, where they're forced to make tough choices for the sake of living.

Ao3

Like Knives by Aerith123

Joel and Ellie come across an unlikely ally

Surrender by Ezrasbirdie

Weeks after the events in Kansas City, Joel and Ellie stumble across a woman lost in the Nebraska wilderness. With her knack for foraging and unending patience for Ellie's ceaseless questions, Daisy quickly becomes an asset on their journey.

Crack Shot by TomeOfTheForgotten

You must choose to leave behind the safety of Lincoln to bring Ellie to the terrorist group you swore you would never seek out again. It's been years since your last smuggling run, but you always were the best sniper the Fireflies ever had. With Joel at your side, you're ready for anything the open road could throw at you.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller x daughter!reader #the last of us #tlou #joel miller #joel miller x oc

[regretisstoredintheme]

Rise Raph x crush reader who loves to hand make plushies and one day makes one of Raph they often cuddle with when he’s away and one day Raph finds the plush cuz Reader had left it behind by accident?

Wowowowowowowowowoooooo—- AAAAYOO????? 

A Request???

*snatches paper* 

“Soradragon asked: Rise Raph x crush reader who loves to hand make plushies and one day makes one of Raph they often cuddle with when he’s away and one day Raph finds the plush cuz Reader had left it behind by accident?”

A/N: you, m’dear, are very bright. I may have taken just a smidge of creative liberty with this, but here it is all the same :))

- Teddy bear (A Oneshot) -

Warm light filtered into the windows of your room, bringing the gentle warmth that often reminded you of your favorite turtle. Your bandaged fingers brushed against your sheets, a reminder of how hard you worked. Every day you mended, created, and thought up new stuffed animals. It brought you both joy and pain- but you were always thankful for it. Making little dolls for people was your favorite thing, so when you had met Raph, the sweetest plush of all, you couldn’t help but stay up a few nights — making what you hoped was a realistic adaptation of the turtle. This plush you were going to keep for yourself, unlike all the others. Your very own teddy bear, because you had a sinking feeling you would never be able to cuddle the real thing. 

Last night was a bit of a blur—  you had been working on another commission, tirelessly threading your needle through the fabric. You had invited Raph to hang out since his family had all left the lair— something about a surprise — and he didn’t want to be alone.

Throughout the hours, the red-clad turtle had helped every now and then— but eventually, you felt his gentle hand rest on your shoulder. In curiosity, you met his eyes, which held nothing but kindness. “isn’t it a little— late, (Y/N)?” He smiled, yet his brows held worry— what time was it again? You couldn’t remember. “I should get this finished by tomorrow, Raph..” you mirrored his smile, only to pause as he chuckled, a hand pointing to your clock. 

“It already is tomorrow, (Y/N).”

Why that memory in particular was so clear, you couldn’t tell, all you knew was at some point he had coaxed you to sleep despite your protests. You had sleepily told him he could find some blankets in your closet, and that he was welcome to spend the night, but the last thing you could remember was a hand gently sweeping your hair out of your face. Then— there was nothing.

Your eyes fluttered open, hands gently accustoming to the feeling of the Raph plush in your arms- which- last you checked, had been hiding under your blankets. Apparently at some point in the night you had found it again, clinging to the soft fabric with your life. 

“Sorry— did I wake you?” A soft voice asked, and as you looked towards the door, your gaze met the one of your favorite turtle. You sleepily sat up, muttering something about how glad you were it was the weekend. Before you could say any more, a tray was placed on your lap - filled with an arrangement of cut fruits, syrup, and a bowl of oatmeal. “I.. didn’t know how you liked it..” Raph admitted shyly, before his eyes lifted, landing on the plushie you currently held in your lap. 

His mouth held agape for a moment, and he shook his head slightly, as if trying to snap himself out of it. His eyes dilated, and reality struck as he realized he was not, in fact, imagining it. When he didn’t respond to your many thanks, you looked up from your food, and followed his eyes.. to mini Raph. 

You could swear you felt your heart drop into your stomach.

How were you going to explain this one? Say that you were bored? Say that you were going to make the others as well? You knew you weren’t— but you would have to if you said that! How would you explain how dearly you held him it? How would he react? 

“Is that— me?” Raph questioned, swallowing the bit of excitement that crawled up his throat. You felt heat rush to your face, the words escaping you as you avoided his gaze. He crouched next to your bed, leaning closer to the plushie, “Does he have a name?” His arm tentatively reached out, letting the stuffed animal’s hand perch on his finger. 

“Well—“ you thought for a moment, trying to recover from the shock that he wasn’t upset with you. “Uhm, I haven’t really thought of a name other than Raph..” your chin rested on the plush’s head, fiddling with the edges of its shell. 

At the sight, Raph could feel his heart explode. He never thought he could feel jealous of a plushie! Not that he didn’t love the doll, it was just a reminder of where he wanted to be— but maybe this meant he had a chance..? His eyes scanned your face gently, a content smile on his face. “Well, if you wanna just stick with Raph, I suppose I’ll have to let it slide.” He chuckled, nodding over to your tray. 

“Now cmon. Your oatmeal’s getting cold.” 

Right on time, you felt your stomach start to burn, begging for sustenance of any kind. Ignoring how embarrassed you felt, you leaned forward, taking the spoon from the tray as well as a few fruits. The oatmeal was warm and delicious, melting in your mouth as you smiled into the meal. Raph gave a small excited noise at the look on your face, delighted that you seemed to enjoy it. 

A while of comfortable silence fell over the two of you, Raph trying his best to suppress the want to hug the absolute crap out of you. He could feel his tail gently wagging as he watched you, entirely content to sit there the entire rest of the day if you wanted. 

“Soo..” he said after a while, an ‘eldest brother’ look on his face, “was there a reason you chose to make me?” He tried to hide the hopeful edge in his voice, ultimately failing when you looked at him— a slight starry look in your eye. You bit your lip, considering whether or not this was a good time to spill about the warmth Raph brought you every day. “You.. well..” taking a gander outside your window, you observed that the sun was making a once-in-a-blue-moon appearance, glistening against the hues of NYC, and you thought.. maybe today was as good a day as any. 

“You may or may not be..” you started, feeling a lump in your throat at his expectant expression, “my favorite— person.. to be around..” hiding your face in your plushie, you tried to stim out your panic, “I— missed having you around..” your fingers fiddled with the soft hands of the creature, snuggling into it’s head. Raph paused, a look of pure joy on his face, his hand lifted, squeezing where his heart fluttered. Your favorite person? Really? Him? His cheeks hurt from how much he was smiling, and suddenly he couldn’t contain himself. His arms reached out, pulling you from where you perched on your bed into a rib crushing hug. He nuzzled into your hair, grinning from ear to ear as you let out a surprised squeak. 

“You’re my favorite person, too.” He cheesed, loosening his grip a little so you could actually breathe. “Can I have one of you, too?” Letting you some space so you could look at him, he caught a glimpse of the cherry blush on your face. “You okay?” He cupped your face with his hand, brushing your cheek with his thumb. You gave a sheepish smile, leaning into his touch. “Yes to… both questions.” 

You had no idea how to capture your own likeness, but you were sure Raph wouldn’t mind helping you out. 

—

A/N: It didn’t turn out exactly how I wanted it, but considering the grin I had on my face while writing parts of it — I’d say it was worth it 😤 I’m so glad I finally finished this, it’s been on the backburner for TOO long, especially with how sweet of an idea it is!!! (And that it may have been requested by one of my favorite ppl)

#raph tmnt #rise Raph x reader #raphael x reader #Tmnt Raph x reader #tmnt #ROTTMNT #ROTTMNT Raph x reader #HE WOULD MAKE YOU BREAKFAST IN BED DONT TELL ME HE WOULDNT #regrettable writing #Damn two writings in one day?? #I am on FIRE #2018 Raph x reader

[bloodlustngore]

I am mad! - Maggie

I know I promised a JJ oneshot next but I have completely lost motivation to write for her or Emily right now so the best I can do is bring a oneshot out of my favourite walking dead woman Maggie, anyway enjoy ;)

Can it be classed as a oneshot its almost 800 words long?

This is a Maggie x fem!reader

Warnings: talk of injury/being stabbed but not too detailed, (is that enough for a warning).

Y/n, Maggie and Negan had been split up due to a small horde of walkers, whilst out in the city. During the whole ordeal, Maggie had been injured, a wound on her stomach, it was quite deep but Maggie being herself, she was stubborn about it. Not wanting to waste any time.

Luckily Y/n, Maggie' girlfriend had medical supplies, but of course Maggie only insisted on her cleaning it and wrapping a bandage around it.

They had to settle down for the night, no sight of Negan but both women knew he would catch up eventually to them. They held up for the night in a run down apartment building, clearing out walkers on the floor they decided to stay on, blocking the door in case any walkers decided to pay them a visit.

Maggie winced from the pain of the wound, it wasn't anything walker related, luckily. They had gotten into a bit of a fight with two other humans...who really didn't seem human anymore, and one of them had managed to practically stab Maggie in the process of fighting. Y/n sighed, hesitant to bring up the wound knowing Maggie would be stubborn. The brunette hated seeming vunerable, hated standing still for too long and she hated showing that she was in any pain. But Y/n was the only one with her right now that she would show this vunerability.

"Maggie, it needs stitches. You and I both know." Y/n mentioned. Her girlfriend rolled her eyes at her. "I'm fine. Its just a scratch." Maggie replied.

"No, you're not fine. You have almost passed out twice from losing blood. I know that bandage has soaked up half of it, but it really needs to be closed." Y/n mentioned. Y/n was by no means a nurse or doctor, but being in an apocalypse teaches people a few things. So stitching up a wound was a cake walk. Y/n sat in front of her girlfriend, with her back pack beside her "lift up your shirt" Y/n ordered.

All Maggie did was sit back on her hands, a smirk plastered on her face. "Don't give me that look, I'm being serious." Y/n added.

Maggie laughed at her girlfriends response "I wasn't thinking anything" she bit her lip, and that was an instant tell. "Mhm." Yep Maggie was busted.

"Lift. Up. Your. Shirt." Y/n repeated, she sounded mad and Maggie knew that there wasn't time for her to be stubborn. So she lifts up her shirt, revealing the blood stained bandage on her abdomen.

"Thank you" Y/n replied, very annoyed. She carefully removes the bandage, getting some stuff from her backpack. A clean patch, needle & thread that they found in a hospital used for stitching a wound shut.

Maggie moved her hand and put her index finger underneath Y/n' chin, making her girlfriend look in her eyes. "Are you mad?" Magpies asked.

"I am mad! You don't need to pretend around me Maggie, I know you hate being vulnerable, but you need to stop being so stubborn because I care about you and it upsets me when you have no regard for yourself." Y/n mentions.

Maggie gives Y/n a sad smile, she was about to lean in to kiss her girlfriend but Y/n went back to the task of patching her up. Using a piece of clean fabric and putting some disinfectant on it, Y/n presses it lightly on her girlfriends wound. Maggie winced, she knew it would sting.

"I'm sorry if this hurts you, Maggie" Y/n apologised beforehand. As she got the needle and thread ready to stitch up the wound. "It's okay, I'm used to it." Maggie added.

After what seemed like forever, Y/n had stitched the wound on her girlfriend and patched it up. "Please don't pop any stitches." Y/n mentioned but it would be difficult to not do so, and both women knew that.

Y/n leaned down to Maggie' patched up wound kissing above it gently. Before looking back in her girlfriends eyes, inching closer to her as they sat on the floor. Maggie smirked again, putting her shirt back down and taking Y/n by surprise as she moves her onto her lap in one swift motion.

"Maggie your stitches!" Y/n warned. "I'm sorry, Y/n." Maggie added. "I just can't help myself" Maggie chuckled. Pulling Y/n into a kiss, attempting to not pop the stitches she just gave her.

#the walking dead #twd x reader #maggie rhee #maggie greene #Maggie rhee x fem!reader #maggie rhee x reader #y/n

[glimmeringtwilight]

Can you write a Part 2 of the pantalone and dottore oneshot where dottore finds the reader and brings them back?

Oh boy CAN I. This isn't super well edited because I've taken much longer than anticipated writing this, but it's 4k words and editing it properly would take maybe another 1-2 days fhjghjkghjkg also excuse any inaccuracies with the Harlow's monkey experiment, I'm rolling mostly off my recollection and a quick skim of a wiki page.

Cut Me Open, Bleed Me Dry

Continuation to Gilded Cage, which can be read here.

Pairing(s): Dottore/Reader, Pantalone/Reader(implied)

Word Count: 4.2k

CW: NSFW, torture, mild gore, drugging, kidnapping/captivity, yandere themes, threats of mutilation, noncon, implied somnophilia, AFAB READER (I know I usually do gn but being nondescript didn't fit the writing this time, sorry!)

It’s cold. 

That’s the first thing your mind registers when you come to. The second, is the throbbing and insistent pain behind your temples as consciousness slowly comes back to you. 

There’s a sour taste in your mouth. Your tongue feels like cotton, your fingers tingle with pins and needles as numbness slowly fades from them, and you immediately know you’ve been drugged. Even with the fog of sleep and the drug still clinging to your mind; even as your thoughts are waterlogged and you’re treading water just to piece them together, you know where you are.

Dottore always did like to use the same drug every time he sedated you. 

There’s a blindfold covering your eyes, pressing uncomfortably against your lashes when you try to open them, but there’s no gag to accompany it. That must mean he wants you to talk. 

You decide to stall. If you thrash, beg, or scream, he’ll know you’re awake. And you’ll be subjected to whatever it is he’s going to do to you a lot sooner. So… you don’t do that. Instead, you keep your breathing steady, holding still against the cold metal table you’re strapped to. 

Sure, it’s only just delaying the inevitable, but you’ve gotten good at drifting away whenever you wake up on his operating table. It’s the only thing you can do to cling to the frayed threads left of your sanity. 

In a way, the blindfold helps. Dottore usually doesn’t blindfold you, but Pantalone… 

You close your eyes, focusing on the pressure of the fabric covering your eyes to distract yourself from the bite of cold metal against bare skin, and you drift. 

You’re in bed. It’s warm, if only under the sheets. You’re not… home, but if you’re being honest with yourself (you rarely are, these days), you don’t really remember what home was like, anymore. So you settle for the empty imitations of it; the dreary and beautiful halls of Pantalone’s mansions– he had to move you around, a few times, but never told you why, when you’d asked. You know now. 

You’re… in bed. It’s cold. You’re shivering. You can hear Pantalone across the room; he’s saying something, but you can’t– you can’t hear him. Why can’t you…?

You’re in bed, and you feel gloved hands tracing up your arms, fingers pausing to tap playfully against your pulse, and then your head is being lifted so deft fingers can untie the knot holding the blindfold. 

The fabric is pulled away, and red eyes meet your own. 

You’re not in bed. You’re with Dottore, strapped to an operating table. Reality crashes into you like a bucket of icewater, and your trembling increases tenfold. 

“Enjoy your rest?” He asks, monotone. He’s not smiling, and it’s the first time, you realize, that he hasn’t smiled when he’s had you on his exam table. 

You don’t respond, and Dottore’s face stays carefully blank as he regards you. “...Hm.” 

The Doctor steps away, out of sight, but you don’t try to follow him with your gaze, listening instead to his receding footsteps. 

It still doesn’t feel real. Undoubtedly, part of you knew that, as tightly as Pantalone held on, it was only a matter of time before Dottore sunk his claws into you once more. 

But part of you wanted to hope that it wouldn’t happen, that Pantalone would be able to shield you from him forever. Because though Pantalone treated you more like a beloved pet than a person, it was still better than this: pinned under the microscope and picked apart piece by sinewy piece by Dottore. 

Dottore returns to your side, and you count ceiling tiles, willing the ground to open up and swallow you into the abyss. Or better yet, to swallow him, so he can be surrounded by darkness as deep as the pitch of his soul. 

You’d pray if there were any gods to hear you. But you know better. The prick of a needle, chased by the burn of whatever he’s injecting into you, and you know that the gods– or perhaps just the blasphemous parody of gods that had sunk their teeth into Teyvat long ago– had abandoned you. 

Gloved fingers trace a slow path down your sternum, pausing just below your diaphragm and pressing down until you wince in discomfort, stopping when you do but not yet easing up. 

“Comfortable?”

“No,” Comes your hoarse whisper. Your eyes stay pinned on the ceiling tiles overhead. There’s specks of blood you can barely see from where you lie. You wonder how much of it is yours. 

“Pity.” 

The hands continue their slow descent over bare skin, raising goosebumps in their wake. He pauses again once he reaches your pelvic bone, drumming his fingers there before pulling away entirely. Glass clinks against glass when he steps away again, and you feel a hand grabbing your chin before the narrow mouth of a test tube is pressed against your lips. 

“Open,” He says, grip tightening on your chin, and you do. You know better by now than to fight him.

The liquid inside of the tube sloshes out as he pours it a little too quickly, and the rest of it burns the whole way down your throat, sickly-sweet. Dottore pulls the tube away when he’s sure you’ve swallowed it all, wiping the excess dribbling down your chin with his thumb before dipping into your mouth to smear it against your tongue. 

It doesn’t take long for you to figure out what it was he gave you. You think he injected you with a muscle relaxant– you realize too late when your fingers stop responding to your attempts to twitch them (not that you could do much to struggle otherwise. The straps pinning you to the table hold firm).

As for what he poured down your throat… 

Dottore is across the room washing his hands when you begin to sweat. You can hear the sound of running water, and while you’re sure it’s only for a minute, it feels like an eternity as the chill of the room begins to hurt, turning sharp and biting. 

He comes back over when you whimper, with a fresh set of gloves and a scalpel. You regret looking, forcing your gaze back to the ceiling and breathing through your teeth. You try to count the blood specks on the ceiling, the cracks, the tiles– anything and everything to distract yourself. 

The blade of his scalpel grazes your wrist, leaving what you’re sure is no bigger than a papercut, but it burns so much more than it should, ripping a muted whine from your throat. 

Dottore hushes you, continuing to cut through the straps. You know he could just undo them, instead of ruining them by cutting through the leather, but he wants to see you squirm. 

He doesn’t nick you again, but it doesn’t matter. The pain of the cut on your wrist stings so insistently you can’t manage to drift, to distance yourself, away from him and from what he’s doing to you. 

When he finishes with the last strap, he sets the scalpel down on a tray beside the table– one you refuse to look at, not wanting to see the tools laid out there; to see what he intends to do to you. Ignorance is bliss. Ignorance is bliss, you tell yourself, and you try to believe it. 

You’re lifted and positioned so you’re lying on your stomach now on the table, and he has the barest amount of mercy left in him to turn your head to the side so your nose doesn’t smash against the metal surface. 

“Now, this is going to sting a bit, dear,” He starts, once you’re positioned how he wants you, “But you’ve suffered worse, hm? Bear with it.”

It’s detached, the way he speaks to you; so unlike the usual underlying excitement that drips from his voice whenever he’s laid you out on this table in the past. It’s.. horrifying. The safety net of his obsession that’s saved you from worse in the past no longer feels safe, anymore. If ever it did. 

Cool metal ghosts over your spine, the flat of the scalpel dragging over skin before stopping to rest below your shoulder blade. He pulls away and you hope that’s it, that he’s just going to toy with the threat of hurting you instead of actually doing so, but then cold metal returns and it’s the only warning you get before sharp pain bursts from just below your shoulder blade as he begins to cut. 

It hurts. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, and you can’t focus on anything but the white-hot pain as it spreads from the tip of your scapula to the tail. 

It hurts. You think you must be sobbing something similar, but if your cries are coherent, Dottore doesn’t pay them any mind. There’s a ringing in your ears that drowns everything out, your vision blurs, and you’re still reeling from the pain of the first incision when Dottore moves to your other shoulder.

You taste copper and you realize you must have bitten your tongue at some point, but the pain doesn’t compare to the sensation of fire lapping at your back– to the nerves firing off, overloading your senses with undiluted agony. 

Something is forced between your teeth and you bite down immediately out of instinct. He’s saying something to you, now, but his voice is muffled, like your head is underwater. You’re drowning. You can’t breathe, swallowed up by the capsizing waves of sensation.

Pain traces a blazing trail down your spine. Your head is swimming, black spots dancing in your vision, and you close your eyes to succumb to the mercy of unconsciousness.

You’re not granted that mercy. 

Instead, the sensation of ice chases away the heat, the fiery agony dimming as a freezing numbness settles in. 

A voice cuts through the fog. “Open your eyes before I decide to remove them.”

You open your eyes, looking back towards Dottore through the film of tears over your eyes, the blur of pain. Dimly, you can feel his hand gripping your jaw again, but the feeling is distant, disjointed. 

“Good.” Red eyes scan over your form, less cold, this time, as he appraises his work. “I’d like you present for this.”

You mumble a slurred “Where elsh would I be?” around the gag stuffed in your mouth.

“This-” There’s a harsh pinch to your arm that you can hardly muster a wince for, too exhausted from the pain he’d already put you through. From the corner of your eye you can see the glint of amusement in his eyes fade at your lack of reaction, “-is here. But this-” Gloved fingers tap at your temple, “-is not. Stay present. I’m being gentle with you.”

He’s not. He’s really not, but you know he could be doing so much worse, so you nod and make him a promise you can’t keep, like you’ve done a thousand times before. 

Dottore stares at you for a long moment, and you resist the urge to let your eyes glaze over, to stare off into the distance. You level your unsteady gaze at him instead, forcing yourself to maintain eye contact. Your efforts are rewarded with a dispassionate simper, and Dottore picks back up the knife. 

You stop looking. 

The pain ignites anew, duller now, no longer white-hot. It’s still insistent, inescapable, and you wish you could crawl out of your own skin.

A line drawn down your back with the knife, like your body is a canvas, your blood the ink, and Dottore the persevering composer. 

There’s a study that comes to mind. You remember reading about it, one rainy afternoon as you took shelter from the rain in a quaint library in Sumeru, procrastinating your own studies. Before everything… before this. 

The study was done on monkeys. They were separated from their mothers young, placed in cages with a wire mother, which provided milk, and a cloth mother, which provided nothing but comfort. 

Survival or comfort. That was the study. The monkeys chose comfort, only going to the cloth mother for food when they were hungry and spending the rest of their time with the cloth mother. 

You’d always wondered, then, what you would choose. As Dottore pushes something into one of the incisions, gloves slick with your own blood, you think you know. 

Dottore stops. “Say again?”

It’s hard to get the words out around the gag, but Dottore seems to understand you regardless. 

“Oh. Poor thing,” It’s a cold comfort, the blood-slicked hand that pats your head. His voice is flat, not condescending or patronizing like when Pantalone simpers at you. But you can hear the amusement creeping into his tone, and it’s enough. “We’re almost done. I’ll give you something for the pain in a moment.”

Something for the pain, he says, as though he hadn’t already given you something, turning the low burning flame of shallow incisions into a raging inferno. 

There’s a cut to your arm, this time, deeper than the rest. It burns, but it’s overshadowed still by the throbbing and insistent agony in your back. Something else is pressed into your arm, and Dottore finally sets down the knife.

The room is spinning. 

A hand returns to pet your head once more, matting it further with your own blood. You slowly become aware of just how cold the room is, heightened by the sheen of sweat covering your bare skin. You want to go home. …You’re not sure where home is, anymore. 

There’s another needle, a sharp sting and then a dull ache settling in like a bruise at your nape. It doesn’t take long for the pain to dull, and you fight the wave of exhaustion that chases on the heels of relief, not wanting to aggravate him further by slipping into unconsciousness before he lets you. 

You try to stay awake. You really do. But with your heartbeat echoing in your ears, the warm hand resting atop your head, and the pain dulling, unhooking its claws from your consciousness, you drift. 

When you wake, you’re still in the nightmare. You’ve been moved to a stiff, sterile bed, lying on your stomach to not agitate the wounds on your back. It feels like Dottore must have cleaned and bandaged you up already– a small comfort.

The injuries ache dully, but more concerning is the feeling of fingers digging into your hips.

“Glad to see you’re finally awake, my dear.” A pause, then a lewd squelch as he pulls his other hand out from between your thighs. “I was starting to get bored.”

Dottore thumbs at the edge of the bandages encircling your back, humming. “That spoiled brat thought he could hide you from me forever.” He leans down, pressing his nose against the nape of your neck and causing the skin to prickle with goosebumps. You shiver at the contact and he smiles against your skin. 

“Oh, but don’t worry.” You cringe when his hand, still wet, taps you on the cheek. “I’ve already made something to keep him busy. You don’t mind that I took a bone and tissue sample while you slept, do you?”

It’s a rhetorical question– one that you don’t bother to answer and that he doesn’t care to hear the answer to, regardless. Instead, Dottore seems to be interested in the space between your legs once more, hand running down to smear the arousal he’d coaxed out of you in your sleep against your inner thighs. 

“Pity that you’ll have to be on your stomach for this,” He muses, chuckling quietly at the way you flinch when he slides two fingers back into you, “I do so love seeing your reactions.”

You bite your lip to stifle a groan when he curls his fingers against your walls, grinding his thumb against your clit. It aches, just a little bit. Like you’re sore. Like he’s been doing this for a while.

It’s almost mortifying, actually, how well he knows your body. The building pleasure drowns out the lingering ache of your injuries, and it’s hard to focus on the shame coiling in your gut when there’s something else coiling faster and brighter than the shame. 

“Mm, faster than I’d expected.” Dottore mutters from behind you, increasing the pace of his fingers as his other hand slips beneath you to press down on your stomach, right over where his fingers curl against your walls. 

Your thighs spasm, trying to close around his wrist, and he tsks, moving his other hand to hold one thigh against the bed as he presses a third finger around you. Your vision whites out, and Dottore doesn’t stop pumping his fingers inside you until you’re whimpering and twitching from overstimulation. 

“There. Good.” 

There’s a wet pat to your thigh, and you hear him walk off to grab something from the other end of the room. He returns with a jar of… something pink, some kind of salve, and dips his clean hand inside the jar to scoop out a generous amount of it. 

He applies it between your legs, over your clit, pressing some of it inside you and deliberately rubbing his fingers against your g-spot, eyes crinkling in delight at the oversensitive spasm that runs through you. It doesn’t take long for you to figure out what it does. 

It burns. Not in the same way as the pain did when you’d woken up on the operating table, but suddenly it feels like your cunt is on fire, all of your attention forced to the way Dottore’s hands feel as he rubs the excess off against your labia. 

You barely register the sound of Dottore unzipping his pants, but you do register the sheer, overwhelming relief you feel when he immediately presses inside of you, the head of his cock dragging against your walls before coming to a halt just below your cervix. 

He begins to thrust, mercifully not commenting on the keen you let out the second he starts moving. 

Dottore sets a brutal pace, snapping his hips against yours, grabbing one of your thighs and lifting it higher on the bed to get better leverage. You can feel his balls slap against your clit with each snap of his hips, the sound of it drowned out by your hiccuping moans. 

Your second orgasm is ripped out of you suddenly, embarrassingly fast. You choke on a moan and tighten around him, distantly hearing the doctor laugh as he fucks you through it. It’s getting hard to think, to focus on anything but his cock hammering into you. 

Unfortunately, Dottore seems keen to talk, while you’re still coherent enough to listen.  

“You know,” he begins conversationally, gloved fingers pressing against the inside of your thigh as he slows his pace to a slow, maddening grind inside you, “The femoral artery is right about-” he fumbles for a second, then his fingers are digging bruisingly into the flesh, “-here. If I were to cut you here,” You feel him lean down to breathe against the shell of your ear, “It would take about… Oh, I don’t know, three, four minutes for you to bleed out.”

You go still beneath him, holding your breath and he slows to a stop, relishing the way terror makes you tighten around him. It’s hard to focus, to think through the fog of lust, but the sudden, blatant threat still manages to cut through the haze like a knife. 

“I won’t, of course,” He tells you after a beat, laughing cruelly at the tentative sigh of relief you let out. “Not to you, that is. You’re my favorite test subject, after all.”

Dottore resumes his pace, loosening his grip on your leg and letting it drop limply back against the table. 

You think that’s the end of it, until he speaks up again, halting his thrusts briefly to tuck your legs under you and cant your hips up higher. “What wouldn’t kill you, however…”

One hand finds its way to your stomach again, tracing light circles around your navel. “I could remove most of your small intestine, and you would survive.”

“N-” You begin to protest, but another harsh thrust cuts you off.

“Not comfortably, of course, depending on how much I remove.” His hand floats down, pressing harshly against your clit and forcing another sudden orgasm from you. He waits for you to come back down before he speaks again. “If I take too much, we’d need to adjust your diet. But…” 

His breathing is picking up now, getting more labored. “I could, hah-” He leans down, breathing hotly against your neck and trapping you against the bed with his body. The movement drags against the bandages, agitating your injuries. “I could… Take just a little bit. A few feet.”

“No-” 

“Quiet.” He snaps his hips harder against yours and you bite your tongue, drawing blood again, to stifle the sob that bubbles up. “I could take a few feet, make a leather collar out of it… Make you wear it, sew it to your skin if I must-”

His fingers continue circling your clit and you blink back overstimulated and terrified tears, his hand on your hip tightening painfully. You can feel the next high approaching and you desperately hold it back. It’s hard to think. In the back of your mind you know you need to say something, do something to stop his train of thought before he decides to act on it-

Dottore growls against your shoulder. You can feel his scowl as he presses his weight harder against you, but it twists into a smile at your responding pained gasp when the bandages drag against the incisions. “Ah- hah, I won’t, of course,” He pants, nipping at your throat, “I could do that to just any test subject of mine, my dear, but you’re more than that now, aren’t you? Just tell me, again, that you love me.”

Again? 

“You’ve already said it before. Once more won’t kill you.”

It takes you several long moments, not helped at all by Dottore continuing to rut into you distractingly, but you remember. He’s right. When he was cutting into you, when you were desperate and delirious from the pain, you’d choked out the three damning words around the gag. 

It was done out of desperation. You’d wanted the pain to stop, and it had. Dottore had stopped after you’d said it, taking pity on you instead. 

One more time couldn’t hurt, right? It’s such a small price to pay, a white lie so he doesn’t hurt you further. 

“I- ah, nnnm-” He doesn’t slow down his pace for you to get the words out without stuttering, but you’re too exhausted to feel ashamed of the way that your voice cracks with pleasure. “I love- love you.”

“Yes,” Dottore’s cock twitches inside of you, and he snarls against your neck. “Good. You don’t have to mean it, yet. But you will. You will.”

It’s spoken like a promise; one you’re unable to dread as your mind starts to blank, focus drifting to your next orgasm as Dottore’s thrusts become wild, desperate.

The head of his cock batters against your g-spot with every stroke, pleasure and overstimulated pain lancing through you. Your thoughts are fuzzy from lust, unable to focus on anything but the heaving breaths against the shell of your ear, the wet slap of skin-on-skin, the hiccuping moans and noises of pleasure he pulls from your throat. 

Teeth sink into your shoulder at the same time Dottore pinches your clit, and your eyes roll back as white-hot pleasure lances through your veins. . 

He growls, the sound vibrating against your shoulder, and you shudder when you feel him cum after you, cock twitching as he shoots his load deep inside your cunt. 

The world comes back to you slowly, in jagged pieces. When you crack your eyes open once more, you’ve been moved so your legs are no longer tucked up under you, lying comfortably flat on your stomach once more. 

Dottore comes back from the other side of the room with a vial, and your face scrunches in revulsion as he presses it to your abused hole, collecting the cum that oozes out. A gloved hand pats your head affectionately before he pulls away. 

“Get some rest. I have something that I need to… attend to.” Sleep. You can do that, certainly.

He waves his hand, and you vaguely hear him speaking to the clone that immediately comes into view– who was probably stationed in the corner the whole time, taking notes or something. You wouldn’t put it past him, and from the way some of them stare at you a little too long, a little too intensely, you’re sure many of his clones would like to do a little bit more to you than just watch and take notes.

As Dottore leaves, and his clone wipes you down with a rag, knuckles brushing against the inside of your thighs a little too deliberately to be innocuous, you’re reminded of the cloth monkeys again. 

The clone moves to rest his hand atop your limp one once he’s sure Dottore has left, and you curl your fingers around his own. His hands are cold without the gloves, just like his progenitor’s. 

You choose comfort too.

#yandere #dottore #il dottore #dottore/reader #il dottore/reader #dottore x reader #il dottore x reader #yandere dottore #yandere il dottore #yandere dottore/reader #genshin #genshin impact #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #dead dove do not eat #cw: noncon #cw: drugging #cw: torture #i'm so sad the childe fic vanished from my top posts and the zhongli modern au was buried #it's JUST DOTTORE #LITERALLY NOTHING BUT HIM #WAAAGH #what have i become.... i have lost sight of myself.... of my noble journey..... #my writing #one day i'll format these prettily. not today though. i'm lazy #enjoy the meal xoxo #smut #not sfw

[mxdarling]

["You’re so pretty when you smile." / "We’re stuck together now, I’ll make sure of it."]

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅• •❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

ೃ⁀➷: summary: shu is making pretty outfits for his lovely model, aka you / you finally have a lover, mika isn't too thrilled about it.

ೃ⁀➷: Word count: 1469

ೃ⁀➷: Reference/Inspiration: N/A

ೃ⁀➷: Event: [200 followers event]

ೃ⁀➷: ERA: !!

[note:] If there is anything else triggering here that I didn’t list in the warnings section, please tell me. I don’t condone this type of behavior, this is merely just for entertaining purposes and some sort of coping mechanism for me. If you continue to read beyond this point, ignoring my warnings, I am not responsible for your actions from here on out.

[Warnings:] bad oneshot, lowercase, maybe ooc shu and mika, yandere behavior, implied reader could be in love with shu, reader gets called darling (ma chérie), reader is being treated like a doll (shu's part), reader has a lover (mika's part), reader friendzones mika, implied murder, mentions of getting rid of a body, mentions of stabbing.

[GN reader]

SHU ITSUKI had quite the hobby of stitching up new outfits whether it be for a valkyrie performance or not. most of the time you'd find him in his office spending upon hours and hours designing and stitching up an outfit from scratch. sometimes you'd see band-aids wrapped around his fingers from when he'd accidentally poke himself with the sharp needles, or how some of the threads will be attached to his clothes when he finally leaves his office.

you're often left curious what goes on in the process of making these distinctive and compelling outfits. what deductions does shu do to make a decisive decision on every part of the outfit? where does his creativity flow come from? such questions were left bitterly unanswered yet you didn't have the heart to ask him. you couldn't bear to disturb the peace while he makes these clothes. so, you've slowly accepted just watching from afar.

a few months have passed and nothing out of the ordinary has happened during the day. completing your usual routine, helping mika with his idol work, and...slightly admiring shu from a distance. that's how it always went—just a simple unrequited love. nothing more, nothing less. till that simple yet crafted planned out routine was crashed all by a unexpected encounter.

"do not be mistaken, for it was not I who have made such a demand, but mademoiselle who persistently kept requesting your presence in my office."

without hesitation, of course you said 'yes'. he spoke in his usual harsh tone and wordings, yet, just for a split second, there was a slight fondness in his eyes. perhaps you were just imagining it but it wouldn't hurt to believe in it, right?

since then you've starting spending your time in his office, modeling till morning to dawn, sometimes late evening depending how satisfied he is with the final product on you. being of service to shu thrilled you, so much more when he began to seek you out more frequently. you finally got to see the whole process of his creations, the amount of beta designs one outfit goes through. the motion of his hands sewing the fabric together, you could finally see all of them in front of your eyes.

as time went by, you started to grow more and more concern. you're still thrilled to be able to spend time with shu, don't be mistaken, but it felt like you were spending more and more time in his office than doing anything else.. it wasn't often that shu would disturb you during your morning tasks, he'd wait until later afternoon or early evening to start. soon morning tasks were moved to the afternoon as you were preoccupied with modelling for shu. slowly but surely you've started to abandon almost your duties in favor of wanting to spend more time helping shu with model his outfits.

to be honest, you felt bad for leaving all your work to mika.. poor lad must be struggling in pressure and stress from how much he has to do in a day and next the following days. though mika has reassured time and time again that this is no problem for him. ("helpin' producer is what i want to do!"). although you've demanded to aid mika have never truly died down, they are met with the same verdict repeatedly and again.

"please don't make such a dejected expression, ma chérie. it will ruin the appeal of the overall creation of my hard work."

shu successfully hushes your protests from slipping out your mouth, opting in keeping your mouth shut, knowing your words won't change his mind. standing up from his desk in favor of walking towards you. he takes slow and steady steps, sound of echoes of his shoes bounces off the walls sends a elegant yet eerie vibe, goosebumps rising in your arms and legs. for the first time since you've been with shu, you feel unsafe.

"there, smiling suits you best, don't you know? smile for me, alright? you’re so pretty when you smile, ma chérie.."

MIKA KAGEHIRA was a sweetheart to you. it was hard to find it in yourself to dislike him. even if he messed up one of his tasks, you could tell he was trying his best to learn and adapt. plus, you were there right by his side to help him! help guide him when he looked lost and needed your help! often you praise him for his hard work when doing his tasks—even if it ends up a little wonky, it was hard work nonetheless.

you took note of how happy he gets, and how much wider his smile gets when you praise him. he seems more motivated and more determined to finish when you do so as well. to you it was a very cute sight to see and witness on a daily, it reminded you of good puppy doing tasks for its owner to try and win their praise. of course this giving of praise wasn't one-sided, no no no, not at all. in fact, he probably does it way more than you do!

you two were like two peas in a pod, inseparable. attached to each other's hip and always right by each other's side. if the other goes, the other follows. lots of people have observed that and would comment on how close you and mika were. even shu (plus mademoiselle) has made such comments about the two of you. it became more and more of a common sight to see the both of you doing something together. whether that be sewing outfits to show to teach, collecting stuff toys, making (forcing) mika eat a proper meal, going shopping, everything.

naturally people around would often say how nice you two look together, how it was adorable you two were matching bracelets, how you two look like an actually couple. couple, you and mika? you never really thought about how people would view your very close friendship with mika, neither did you ever thought of really dating him. the idea wasn't unwelcomed, but it wasn't something you desired either. you couldn't really find yourself actually dating mika and being in a romantic relationship with him. it just didn't felt right to you, so you'd end up telling people you and mika are just friends multiple times as the assumptions about you being a couple continued to grow.

with that in mind it was safe to say that you weren't surprised when people jaw dropped the moment you announced that you had a lover and it wasn't mika. so many people expected you'd two were gonna become a real thing, listen to the people's assumptions, you guessed. introducing your lover to mika was... awkward. mika kept acting 'weird' in your lover's words, knowing mika longer and more personal than they have, you know that's just mika being nervous. still he was odd when describing how he felt about your lover, all the muttering and whispers weren't normal, nor was his oddly empty and dark gaze.

it was even more odd to find your lover not in your shared apartment that night, yet it all made sense when you find your lover dead on the ground, and the culprit was none other than your best friend, mika.

your lover lay flat on the ground, most likely already dead by how dry the blood on the floor is. their clothes were a bloody mess, you can see the stab wounds through the clothes they wore. worse of all, a knife stabbed right through their fucking skull. you wanna throw up, your stomach feels sick just by looking at this scene alone. you turn your head towards mika, who you caught just before he was about to get rid of the body.

your eyes showed disbelief, he was your best friend after all. his eyes looked guilty, almost like you weren't supposed to seem him like this.

"waah... please don' cry..! I'll cry too! I.. I did a good job, right...?"

mika points out your crying you were unaware of. he soften his gaze and walks towards you, opening his arms to signal he's gonna hug you as an act of comfort. (perhaps he should dispose of the dead body in the alley. if he did, it removed your source of discomfort, or so he thinks.) putting your comfort above his 'task' he tries to give you into a (not) comforting hug. he knew you were scared. you were trembling, seeing blood and a dead body isn't good for your untantained eyes. out of fear and instinct you step away from him, hitting the alley wall as a result—trapping you with mika blocking your only exist.

"no! please don' leave me! we’re stuck together now, I’ll make sure of it!"

•❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅• •❅───✧❅✦❅✧───❅•

[a/n; ohhh boy.. this was long LOLL mostly because this just wasn't one character. this took way too long for me to write i'm so sorry. though i definitely had a lot of fun writing this, especially shu's part. in all honesty i sort of did rushed mika's part but i think it was still good lmaoo. anyways, thank you for requesting shu with dialogue #7 and mika with dialogue #22! i hope you still like this despite it being a few months late! again so sorry for not being active! its really hard to be active here without any interactions with followers! pls i encourage asks about anything really! i wanna talk to you guys i swear i'm really nice🥺🥺]

#event💌 #200 followers💌 #200 followers event💌 #Yandere event💌 #200 followers yandere event💌 #Yandere ensemble stars #Yandere enstars #Ensemble stars #Enstars #Yandere ensemble stars x reader #Yandere enstars x reader #Ensemble stars x reader #Enstars x reader #Shu Itsuki #Mika Kagehira #Ensemble stars Shu Itsuki #Ensemble stars Mika Kagehira #Yandere ensemble stars Shu Itsuki #Yandere ensemble stars Mika Kagehira #Enstars Shu Itsuki #Enstars Mika Kagehira #Yandere enstars Shu Itsuki #Yandere enstars Mika Kagehira #┊ ˚➶ ｡˚ Yandere #⭒❃.✮:▹One-shot #gender neutral reader

[the-kr8tor]

Hi! I love your TTN series so much.

I was wondering if you could write a bit more about them, like, reader meets Gwen or Miles (because Hobie already knows them) and maybe reader helps them with their suits or helps them by making something for them. It's okay if you decline this, I didn't know if this counted as a normal request or fluffy friday request, sorry. I really admire your writing, you're really talented.

Take care, you're amazing 🤍

Thank you, lovely! You're too kind 💛 hope u like this one!

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Tags: use of Y/N sparingly, no specific physical description of the reader, cw food mention. TTN! Hobie, TTN! Reader. FLUFF

Thread the Needle Masterlist

TTN oneshots Masterlist

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

“Oh those are so based, dude!” Gwen exclaims from the floor, her sentence a bit muffled by the chips she's currently munching.

You look up from Miles’ suit that you're currently mending, the spandex slippery to touch. Sitting on the settee with Hobie sitting in-between your legs, you lock eyes with him who's equally confused as you. His head on your lap, eyebrow cocked up in question.

The four of them are sitting in a circle, snacks and sugary sweet drinks in hand. Miles lounges on the foot of the sofa, wearing an outfit you've designed once upon a time in college. You wouldn't let him wear Hobie's clothes, because, well, he looked like he was being eaten by just his shirt, his pants pooling on the floor. After almost tripping and landing smack on his face, you insisted on giving him a Y/N exclusive outfit. A one of one design.

You mentally take note to design clothes for the three of them that perfectly encapsulates their tastes.

Pavitr— who definitely didn't express how jealous he was of Miles’ new outfit, is sitting beside Hobie who is currently taping an ice pack to Pav's head with duct tape (that will definitely have consequences). He got annoyed that the ice pack kept slipping from his friend’s head, landing on his crisps, smooshing its contents.

“Ah, Gwen? What does ‘based’ even mean?” you ask, closing up the last seam.

All three teenagers look at you, then the other two stares at Gwen, waiting and snickering. Hobie leans against you, hand absentmindedly curled around your ankle.

“I keep forgetting you're from the 90s” Gwen cleans her hands with a napkin. “It means, uh, to carry yourself with swagger, yeah! I think…”

Miles and Pavitr guffaw loudly, Miles' soda spilling over the can. The houseboat shakes a bit on the water. You murmur out a ‘swagger?’ still scratching your head for an answer to your previous question.

“Oi! You're spilling everywhere!” Hobie throws a chip at Miles. It hits him on the forehead, leaving sour cream dust on his skin.

“Ack!” Miles mumbles while wiping his forehead. “You used to be cool, man”

“It's our house. I'd like to see you be cool when somebody spills sticky crap on your hardwood floors”

Our house. Even after all these years, Hobie still finds a way to make your heart sing.

You lean forward, placing a chaste kiss on his temple. Fingers kneading the muscles on his shoulder. “It's alright, Hobs. Miles didn't mean it, right Miles?” Hobie visibly relaxes, body melding close to yours.

The spider kids share a knowing look, triple smirks on their lips. Hobie doesn't notice, too busy getting lost in your eyes. You look at him like he's the stars in the sky.

Pavitr sighs, hand on his chin, mumbling about missing someone.

“Yeah, Hobs, I didn't mean it” Miles chuckles throughout the sentence, almost unintelligible with his laughter. Gwen scrunches her nose at her friend.

Meanwhile, you and Hobie are inside your own little bubble. The bubble bursts when the door to the houseboat bursts open with Ned heaving, clutching a stack of papers.

“Hobie! I figured it out—” he stops in his tracks, everyone looks at him, you stop with your barrage of massages. Pavitr pauses mid bite. Ned stares at the room, eyes swimming with questions.

“Who are these children?”

#request done #ttn one shot #thread the needle #hobie brown x reader #spider punk x reader #hobie brown #the kr8tor's creations #x reader #atsv fanfiction #spider punk #spider man across the spider verse #ttn! hobie and reader #cw food mention #hobie fluff #hobie brown x fem!reader #hobie brown x you #spider punk x fem!reader #spider punk x you #hobie x reader #atsv fanfic #atsv x reader #atsv hobie

[heliads]

ooh what about a narnia oneshot where lucy introduces her girlfriend to her family (while they're still kings and queens) but they're both scared that the pevensies won't be accepting? but then there's just a lot of fluff and happiness at the end. thank you!

masterlist

A little bit before dawn, Lucy Pevensie decides that the truth must be told after all. It is dark out still, but she knows what she knows and she cannot guess at what she doesn’t, so any mysteries must wait out there still, disguised from her in that empty blackness.

They can’t hide forever. The needle of her fast-fading crescent moon has begun to pierce through the dark veil of night, threading through the pitch blackness with newer strands of light. Soon, the brightness of a fresh sun will fall upon her land, her Narnia, and no longer will she be able to keep a certain secret from her siblings any longer.

Lucy tells you not a few hours after she wakes. She waits until you’re up to, kind enough to let you sleep while you can, but her mind is most certainly made up by the time you’re conscious enough to realize it. This can’t wait any longer, she says. If they haven’t guessed at it already, you’re both running out of time before they do.

It’s not like you haven’t seen this coming. From the moment you fell in love with Lucy and she with you, from the moment you started courting each other in secret, you knew that you would have to tell the rest of the Pevensies at some point. They stick to each other like hot wax, terribly afraid of anything splitting each other apart. They’ve only had themselves for so long, you know that, you know that their hesitancy about letting outsiders into their inner circle isn’t unfounded, but it doesn’t make your task any easier.

After all, you’re the stranger in this circumstance, the foreigner attempting to intrude on their easy balance of four by falling in love with their youngest sibling. They aren’t opposed to you in any way, or at least not now while they’re still unaware that you’re dating Lucy. Who knows what might happen later, but now is good.

You’re still a friend of the family at the moment. You were one of the first people they met upon taking to the Narnian thrones; a friend of necessity, of circumstance, then of similar disposition. You won over all of them in turn through tact and bravery and kindness, but Lucy– well, you never had to fight to make Lucy like you. You never had to fight her at all. She took you by surprise the first time you saw her and then you were gone, gone for good.

That’s the thing about falling for a queen, after all. You’re not supposed to, and most people manage to keep it to themselves or at least squash the feeling down in the pits of their stomachs until it dies forever, but you never managed any of that. You loved Lucy and you never stopped. You never could.

She made it impossible to stop. For as long as you loved Lucy, she loved you too. She loves the world and it follows her wherever she goes, breath caught in anticipation to see what she will do next. You were a part of that uncontrollable crowd, so how could you turn your affection to any other person?

Especially not when she fell in love with you, too, and more than just a familiar love to be bestowed to anyone with a good heart. Lucy’s first love was you, and if her late night and early morning promises are to be believed, you’ll be her last one, too. It will begin and end with you.

You do believe her; you always do. You believe her when she looks you in the eyes and says that you must tell the rest of the Pevensies, no dallying about it any longer. You trust her when she tells you this is the right choice, when she promises that she’ll stick with you no matter what. You ask her what she’ll do if they threaten to send you away forever or something and she laughs; says fine, then, we’ll take to the countryside together, and you know you’ll be okay.

And that’s– well, that’s Lucy Pevensie for you, you suppose. Ferocious, sweet, braver than anything Lucy Pevensie. Lucy, whom you met in the middle of the woods when neither of you were supposed to be there, Lucy, who immediately pulled you by the hand as she ran even further inside the twisted masses of green, Lucy, whose feet were so fast that she accidentally tugged both of you down into the current of the river as you attempted to navigate a precarious bridge of stepping stones.

Lucy, who laughed with you as your gowns grew sodden with cold water. Lucy, who kept trying to offer you her cloak even weeks after the incident on the off chance that you might still be cold. Lucy, who has loved you more fiercely than anyone in this world or the next could hope to be loved in all of their wildest dreams, and still has enough space in her heart to worry about her siblings. 

That is the Lucy you love, and the one you wouldn’t dream of leaving behind in the slightest. Not even the demands of High Kings and Queens could rid Lucy of her place in your heart, even if they were to physically separate you by exiling you or some worse fate. She would still be there, still yours, but only in your mind. It would allow you to keep some part of her, though, so it could not be the most terrible fate in the land.

With all your fears thus assuaged, the only thing left to do is to tell the three royals of Narnia as of yet blissfully unaware of the courtship situation of their youngest relation. They’re sitting together in the garden as they do most mornings, breathing in the fresh air and recollecting memories of a world utterly foreign to you. They smile as you approach, but their air is questioning; usually mornings in the garden are for Pevensies only, yet here you are anyway.

High King Peter looks up when the two of you draw close enough to speak. “Good morning, both of you. Did you sleep well?”

Common courtesy is easiest at a moment like this, and you curtsy quickly and murmur that you did, then thank him for asking. Lucy clears her throat, clearly rallying herself for this, then speaks at last. “I would like to introduce Lady Y/N to all of you.”

Queen Susan frowns, placing a bookmark back in the pages of the text she holds close. “We already know Y/N, Luce.”

Lucy sighs, briefly annoyed. “I know that. I am introducing her to you as my girlfriend.”

Silence descends upon the garden. For a moment, no one says anything at all, and you and Lucy breathe in and out slowly in shared paranoia until Edmund crows in victory and turns to Susan with a delighted grin.

“I told you they were dating! You owe me three gold coins.”

Lucy’s jaw drops with horror. “You two had a bet on me dating Y/N? You’re horrific, both of you.”

Peter manages to turn his laugh into a cough. “That’s terrible, both of you. Apologize to your sister.”

Edmund rolls his eyes. “You’re just bitter because you didn’t see this coming. I told you it was a thing.”

Lucy looks as if she’d like to settle this with a well-placed punch to the nose, but you quickly intercede before any fights can break out, verbal or otherwise. “Does this mean that you’re alright with it? Me courting Lucy, I mean.”

Susan’s smile grows kind instead of merely mirthful. “Of course we’re fine with it, Y/N. You’ve been wonderful since the day we met you. If there was anyone in this whole castle, or in all of Narnia, for that matter, that we’d want with Lucy, you would have to be at the top of our list.”

“She already was at the top of my list,” Edmund mutters under his breath, “Need I remind you again that I totally called this?”

Peter swats Edmund, then turns back to you with a wry grin. “See, the only problem is that you now have to put up with the lot of us even more than before. Earlier, we had to be on our best behavior because we were kings and queens and all that, but now that you’re dating Lucy, we can be properly frightful in front of you.”

You laugh. “I’m perfectly alright with that.”

And why wouldn’t you be alright with it, after all? You have Lucy’s love guaranteed, and you love her just as much as she adores you. The Pevensies aren’t just accepting of you and Lucy seeing each other, they’re firmly in favor of it. You are beginning a new day in a castle, you have a queen holding your hand, and you could not be happier if you tried. You have Lucy; what need do you have for anything else?

requested by @redbirdbluebird, i hope you enjoy!

narnia tag list: empty for now!

#lucy pevensie #lucy pevensie imagines #lucy pevensie x reader #lucy pevensie oneshot #narnia #narnia imagines #narnia x reader #narnia oneshot #narnia lucy #narnia lucy imagines #narnia lucy x reader #narnia lucy oneshot

[groggygrogu]

do you have any joel/reader fics you’d recommend or find are your favorite?

hi!! so joel/male reader is thin on the ground to say the least but i have some here <33

Grumpy Old Man on ao3 rated G. GN reader, oneshot, just fluffy and cute

needle and thread on ao3 rated T. another one shot with a GN reader :)

I'm goin' to Jackson on ao3 rated G. GN reader. this one made me laugh and its adorable.

Find you (wip) on ao3 rated E. trans male reader. this one's a longfic and i adore it.

then some blogs to definitely check out if you haven't already.

@huntershex

@garhannasteve

@ihugpedro

and many more but my brain is mush

tysm for the ask <3

#joel miller #tlou #joel miller x male reader #fanfic #ao3 #fic rec

[trashcatsnark]

Ngl, despite how absolutely fluffy my oneshot was and how eventually soft they will be- I cannot help but make Petra (my tav) and Gale's dynamic like 20-30 percent more hostile and bickering than canon, because A) I love hostile bickering couples and B) I think larian really fucking missed out on the dynamic of having the tav/durge custom pc be a rogue and non-magic user and being gale's like opposite Like, they did a great job leaning into the variation in dynamic with him if they're a different kind of spell caster- sorcerer, bard, and fellow wizard, but like in the dev notes about Gale griping everytime you make him sneak, steal, or do any rogueish behavior- it literally states he thinks those things are beneath him. Like it's not even just about his old man knees, he genuinely is like *really petty crime??? that's what you're reducing me to?* and we're shown over and over that Gale can be petty and patronizing why wouldn't he have a few more snide remarks for a rogue pc early on, let Gale be meaner to me.

And then if we could have more flavor text and options to rp a character who isn't really into magic, not actively hostile or mean but instead of a non-spellcaster being played as a complete blank slate wide-eyed over it- a character who just doesn't find much need for it, sees it as impractical, is more of a who needs a healing spell when you have a needle and thread sort of person- with Gale??? Ah, the banter, the bickering, playful ribbing and jabbing insults, snarking to each other about it- "Oh, did you wound not heal well? Ah, if only there had been someway to properly remend the flesh without suture, perhaps as if by magic..."

A part of Gale kind of being hurt because so much of his worth and value is defined by magic, so a part of him feels if someone can't see the value in magic- they can't see value in him, but then they do want him around, they do keep him around, and even let him show them some magic and he thinks he's worn them down, they're starting to see the value of the weave and by extension him. Not quite clocking that it's the other way around. That they're taking an interest and doing his magic lessons because- it's clearly something he's passionate about, he loves, and that gives it more value to them. And the idea that the weave's worth could be seen as secondary to his instead of the reverse is just- insane to him.

And as the romance progresses and he reveals more and more his ideas of how his worth is connected to his utility, his talent, the promises of "I could do more, I can be more, don't you need me to be more" because of course they want more, everyone does, he's not enough- he needs to be more powerful, more talented, more magical, more capable, more useful, and they know now what he can do, what he used to be able to do, and if he makes the right choices- how much more he could. And they let him know in no uncertain terms, they fell for him before they ever did his magic, that the things he conjures and casts are beautiful and they love them but only because they are done by his hand, and he's what gives that magic it's meaning- not the other way around. And if he never conjured stars to the sky again, that's okay- they return every night all on their own and all they wish is to see them with him.

This is so long and rambly, but I just- ugh, the opposites attract angle feels soooo slept on in game and out and I get why but god I wish we had more options to rp a pc who just wasn't super into magic unless it's through the filter of someone they love and their love for it and what that'd do to Gale's everything

#bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #petra of nowhere in particular #see the key point here is a love an even soft enemies to lovers and i love opposites attracting #and i just think petra and gale should bicker and pine and then she shows a genuine interest in his interests and they're both like oh... o

[mafuluzx]

AHHH I love your Wattpad FICS they bring so much joy 💖💖

Idk if your still doing request or not but can I request jay x male reader where the readers comforting jay after he got hurt during a battle ( reader is also a ninja please)

And I'll probs ask one for kai later if you don't mind

Have a lovely day/night

AHH THAT'S SO NICE TO HEAR!!!! I PUT ALL THE FLUFF IN MY HEART TO THIS!!! I think I succeeded. :3 It's a little short, but I believe quality > quantity, so this is it for now. I'm also very sorry I posted this so late, I have no good explanation, my dumb brain just forgot tumblr existed or something! I'm so sorry!

WARNING! Needles, I know people who can't handle needles so I'll put a warning about it here!

Jay x male reader oneshot!

Takes place in some of the newer seasons.

Comfort

"...It hurts... Am I going to die...?" Jay let out weakly as he laid his head on (y/n)'s lap.

"No you aren't, silly." (y/n) answered with a calm voice and a comforting smile as he brushed through Jay's hair with his fingers.

"...Am I going to-"

"Jay, ask the same question ONE MORE TIME, and I'm leaving." Kai scoffed as Jay glared at him with tears in his eyes.

"But it hurts!!!" Shouted at Kai before recoiling in pain. (y/n) placed a hand on Jay's cheek comfortingly before trying to soothe the blue ninja with a small "There, there..." Kai rolled his eyes before continuing to sanitize the stab wound on Jay's stomach. Three hours ago, the team were actually worried if Jay would die or not, but thankfully the lightning ninja was tougher than the spear that had pierced through his body a few hours ago.

"It'll only hurt for a bit." (y/n) said as Kai pulled out a needle and thread, ready to stitch Jay's wound closed. Upon noticing the small and sharp object, Jay tensed up and looked up at (y/n).

"Why is Kai helping me?! By the time he stitches this wound up I'll have ten more on me!" Jay raised his voice as Kai glared at him.

"I can still hear you. Ugh, I don't know why i'm here either." Kai said before gently pushing the needle through Jay's skin. Jay gripped your hand tight as you squeezed his hand back just as tightly. Jay looked like he was about to die any second now, tears of pain gathering in the corners of his eyes, so (y/n) couldn't help but feel really bad for him.

"...I'm done." Kai finally said as Jay let out the biggest sigh in existence.

"Thank you, Kai. I didn't trust my own skills enough to treat to a wound this big, I'm glad you did it for me." (y/n) thanked Kai in Jay's stead. Kai rubbed his neck bashfully and nodded before hurrying to leave. He had to get back to the deck to talk about the teams next move, but Jay had to rest under the deck due to his wound, and he had forced (y/n) to stay with him. There was a long silence as (y/n) pet Jay's hair, and the blue ninja laid perfectly still and accepted the treatment.

"...I love you." Jay suddenly said as (y/n) chuckled a bit.

"I love you too." He said back as Jay smiled hopefully.

"Can you make me something to eat?" Jay asked as (y/n) chuckled again, before pinching Jay's cheek.

"Ahaha, don't get ahead of yourself. I'm only babying you because you got hurt. And you are in no condition to sit up, much less eat anything."

"You're so cold!" Jay sniffled as (y/n) sighed and continued brushing through his hair.

"I thought you loved me?" (y/n) questioned Jay.

"I do, but you know what I mean!" Jay said and tried to stretch his body, but it only ended up sending a shot of pain through him, and he dug his nails into his arms to relieve the pain. (y/n) quickly swatted the hand away.

"...I'll cook you something tomorrow, how about that?" (y/n) offered after a small silence. Jay's eyes lit up, but he didn't move.

"Really?! Yay!" Jay celebrated before continuing.

"Can you bake a cake?" He asked as (y/n) chuckled.

"Cole can bake a better cake than I." They both knew what level Cole's cooking was on, so Jay gave up the idea almost instantly. He frowned and sunk his head into (y/n)'s lap.

"Come on now, don't sulk." (y/n) said, but got no answer from Jay. (y/n) rolled his eyes before speaking once again.

"How about egg rolls? With any fillings you'd like." Jay turned his head just a little so he was looking into (y/n)'s eyes, before burying himself back in his boyfriend's lap with a:

"Yes, please."

#ninjago x reader #x male reader #ninjago #x male y/n #jay x reader #jay x male reader #oneshot

[turtleducknewton]

Finally listening to candela (Needle & Thread) and I’m absolutely in love with the way Spencer is introducing the characters.

Describing a situation and letting people choose who’s in it is genius, I might try it next time I’m running a oneshot.

#it cuts out a lot of the awkward slow intro piece #but still gives the players agency #i love starting in medias res but it can be so hard with ttrpgs #candela obscura #the circle of needle and thread