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prettyfastcars · 5 months

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thunderstorms | Lewis x Reader

Summary: Your mom and his dad have been in a serious relationship for a little while, but you do everything to avoid interacting with Lewis. He’s everything you’ll never be. How could you compete with that amount of fame, glory, power and multiple world championships. So you kept your distance in order to avoid hearing your mom praise him endlessly, but that was until a mandatory family vacation. Living in the same house, under the same roof, you couldn’t avoid him anymore. Neither could either of you avoid the tension in between you.

Themes: smut, stepbrother!lewis, age gap (reader is in her early twenties), forbidden/taboo romance

The thunder sounded like it shook the entire cabin.

You froze on the wooden stairs, holding on to the handrail for dear life. You liked to think that you were a brave human. But thunderstorms scared the hell out of you. Especially right now given you and your ‘family’ were in some cabin in the middle of nowhere.

You could’ve been on a nice beach, soaking the warmth of the sun, swimming in the ocean, drinking all day, going on boat rides. But no, the golden son – your soon to be step brother – decided to take the family to a cabin, in the mountains where it is cold, humid and dark all the time. Where it rains incessantly.

He wanted to hike. And naturally his dad and your mom agreed. And naturally your opinion didn’t matter. Sometimes you thought, all of you didn’t matter whenever he was concerned. After all, you were nowhere near as accomplished as he was.

He had it all. He was loved by millions, admired, worshipped. People loved him, everyone wanted to be his friend, everyone wanted to be seen with him.

All you had was a boutique in Paris, that too it was gifted to you by one of your mom’s many ex husbands. It was your entire life now. But no matter how luxurious, elegant, sleek and modern a Parisian boutique is, it cannot compare to multiple motorsport world championships.

Hence, your suggestion of going on vacation somewhere warm was immediately ignored. As expected. And here you were now, still holding on to the handrail.

You finally let go of it, and wrapped your blanket tighter around you. You were on your way downstairs in search of something warm to drink. This whole cabin was freezing despite the multiple heaters.

“Damn him,” You whispered under your breath as you walked into the open kitchen, turning just one light on and leaving the rest of the kitchen in darkness. “Could be on a beach partying right now,” You muttered bitterly like an old woman as you gathered your things to make your hot chocolate. “But no,” You hissed as you put the kettle on. “His Majesty wanted to be in this damn forest,” You grabbed your mug and put your cocoa powder in, “We could be killed in here,” You kept muttering as you waited for the water to boil. “God knows what’s in these woods, wild life, serial killers,” You scoffed. “As if he doesn’t get enough adrenaline–,”

A smooth voice spoke up from one of the dark corners of the kitchen, “Still cursing my name I see?”

You gasped, turning around to face the dark corner immediately. There he was, the light from his phone allowing you to look at his ridiculously handsome face, and his ridiculously handsome smirk. His braids were out of his usual ponytail. It angered you almost that he looked even better this way.

You opened your mouth to say something, but ended up squealing instead as the loudest thunder ever shook the entire cabin once again.

You crouched in place, holding onto the kitchen counter. Meanwhile Lewis broke into chuckles, laughing at you right in your face.

“You are seriously scared of thunderstorms?” He laughed some more.

You frowned at him, your bravery coming out of hiding now the thunder had passed. “Oh shut up. Of all places you had to bring us here?” You shook your head and turned around to carry on making your hot chocolate.

You heard the chair screech as Lewis stood up from the small table, you heard him walk over to where you stood. Your body became hyper aware of each one of his moves.

The way he placed both of his hands on the counter, on either side of you, caging you in.

The way his torso pressed gently against your back.

The way he subtly nuzzled your neck from behind.

You froze. Lewis’ lips brushed against the back of your neck as he spoke. “Is that why you’re down here so late at night? Hmm?” He teased, “You needed your big brother to keep you safe from the thunderstorm?”

“You’re not my fucking brother.” You gasped in surprise when you felt him purposely drag his lips up your neck. “Lewis…” You whispered, “What are you doing?” Your voice ended up sounding a lot more like a quiet moan.

You’d be lying if you said this was the first time the two of you were crossing lines which you knew you shouldn’t. The man was drop dead gorgeous, it was hard to resist him.

“What?” He acted oblivious even as he left soft, open mouth kisses all over your neck and slightly exposed shoulder. “I’m just helping you make hot chocolate before the water gets cold.” He said as one of his tattooed hands wrapped around your waist while the other grabbed the kettle and poured hot water into your mug.

The warm drink was the last thing on your mind as Lewis kept kissing up and down your neck. “Lewis…” You murmured again, “We shouldn’t.”

He didn’t stop. You didn’t want him to stop. He knew that.

He let go of you momentarily and gave you enough space to turn around and face him. Fuck, that was a mistake. In the dim, partially lit kitchen he looked too tempting. Big brown eyes, how could you resist those?

The blanket you had around yourself fell to the ground. Now you were left in tiny shorts and an almost see-through pj top. Lewis’ eyes roamed your body shamelessly. Your face burned when you admitted to yourself that you liked it.

“Look at you,” He murmured, as he placed his hand on your waist again. His other hand came up to grab your chin. He leaned in slightly, his scent acting like an aphrodisiac. “What am I supposed to do when you’re walking around half naked, little sis?” He accused in that dreamy voice. “Am I supposed to keep my hands to myself while you walk around looking like this?”

You couldn’t look away from his rich, dark brown eyes. Bottomless, warm, inviting. His eyes had an intensity that was hard to ignore.

You were aware of how his thumb drew lazy circles on your hip. You felt weak in your knees. Lewis just smirked. “You better stop looking at me with those fuck-me eyes if you don’t want me to bend you over this counter right here right now.” He whispered, leaning in even closer to kiss the corner of your mouth.

You were dragged back to reality once you broke eye contact. So you cleared your throat and pulled away from his embrace. The air felt immediately colder as you pulled away from him.

Lewis picked up your blanket and wrapped it around you again. You muttered a quick ‘thanks’ as you clutched the blanket under your chin, securely as if it would keep you safe from him. Then he handed you your mug and said, “Wanna watch a movie?”

You should’ve just gone to bed. You should’ve said no.

Seeing you were contemplating, Lewis added, “Unless of course you want to go upstairs and be all by yourself.”

Right then, another loud thunder echoed throughout the entire place. And your decision was made.

So you found yourself in the living area, on the same couch as Lewis while some horror movie played on TV. And with each loud boom from the sky, you scooted closer and closer to him. He chuckled each time you jumped due to the thunder, but he made no further comments.

After a while, and some more scooting he said, “Just come here, will you?” He patted the spot next to him and opened his arms.

Maybe it was the thunder. Or the fact that he looked so nice, warm and comfy in his sweatpants and sweater. Or maybe it was that you were subconsciously dying to be in his arms. Whatever the case, you slid right up to him and let him wrap his arms around you as you laid your head on his shoulder.

“There, see,” He said, “Isn’t it nice to let big brother take care of you?” He teased.

You scoffed, but remained in his arms. “You’re not my brother. I hate you and your big ass forehead.”

Lewis laughed. You smiled too, but hid it quickly.

“Can I have some of your hot chocolate?” He asked after a few silent seconds.

“I drank it all.” You said.

“Shame,” He murmured, “I really wanted a taste of it.” He sounded almost seductive as he said it.

There.

You could feel the shift in the air just then. That line, you were gonna cross it again.

You pulled away and looked right into his soft brown eyes. “Lewis…” You whispered.

“Come here, baby,” He whispered, cupping your face and leaning in for a kiss.

You melted instantly, kissing his warm and soft lips back immediately. You didn’t even hesitate before making your way to his lap, straddling him without breaking the kiss. You felt him smirk into the kiss, you did too.

Too late to turn back now, that’s what the smirks meant.

You only pulled away to take a breath, looking into his eyes to find him just as breathless as you. Neither one of you said anything. Not even when you whimpered as you felt his erection through the layers of clothing separating your bodies.

“Tell me you want this,” He whispered. His hands touching you wherever he could. Sliding across your now exposed thighs, up and down your sides and fingers caressing your skin, dangerously close to where you ached for him.

You didn’t say anything, but Lewis looked down and found your eager fingers toying with the waistband of his sweatpants. He smirked when he saw that, and looked up at you with a cocky look in his eyes.

“Is that what you want?” He asked, sounding just as cocky as he looked.

You nodded, heart racing at the thought of what you were about to do. But it was too late to turn back now. You held his heated stare as you lowered his sweatpants and wrapped your hand around him, slowly stroking his cock, making him throw his head back and groan under his breath.

You leaned in close to him again, “I want you,” you whispered against his lips and then pressed your mouth to his. He kissed you back immediately. “I want you inside of me.” You said, urgently and breathlessly.

You slipped your tongue past his lips and slowly stroked the top of his mouth. He groaned into your mouth, and you immediately bucked your hips against his, your clothed core rubbing against his cock and he grunted.

His hands rubbed up and down your sides, fingers sliding under your thin top until he could toy with your nipples.

“Take me,” He whispered against your mouth.

You pulled away from the kiss briefly, quickly removing your shorts before you lowered yourself down on his cock, earning quiet moans and groans out of both of you as you sank down on him.

Your body resisted just a little to fit him inside. Your face felt hot at the thought of him being too big to fit inside your wet cunt. Lewis felt it too, and an arrogant smirk formed on his gorgeous face.

His voice was cocky and laced with lust as he spoke, “I bet you’re regretting wasting all that time on your little French boys now, huh?”

You scoffed, deciding to mess with him. “Oh, trust me. They’re not little.”

His brain short circuited. For a moment he loathed every man who ever touched you like this.

Lewis glared at you for a moment, before he grabbed you by the hips thrust up into you. You gasped in surprise as you felt him fill you up. He was nice and snug inside you as he whispered, his voice filled with promises, “I’m gonna ruin every single man for you.”

Your lust-drunk brain was barely able to process his words. All you knew was that you wanted more. His cock throbbed against your pulsating walls, causing the tiniest bit of friction which drove you both insane. It felt like he was splitting you in half.

“Ah,” You whimpered, “Lewis, please…”

He grabbed you by the hips and guided you up and then back down on his cock. You whimpered as he groaned when the tip of his cock reached sensitive places you never knew existed.

“Does big brother’s cock feel good? Huh?” He taunted before leaning forward to wrap his lips around one of your clothed nipples. He gave it a hard enough suck to make you moan, then moved on to the other one.

Fuck. This was so wrong.

The forbidden nature of it gave you a warm rush. You just whimpered and nodded as you moved faster, impaling yourself down on his cock each time.

You felt him filling you up completely each time, feeling him reach deeper into you with each thrust. His hand slipped between the two of you and found your clit, he rubbed it lazily.

When he noticed that you were comfortable with the pace, he let go of your hip and wrapped his hand around your throat instead. “You look so good like this, little sis.” He teased. “Taking my cock like you’re made for it.”

You couldn’t help but lean down to kiss him, biting down and tugging at his plump, soft bottom lip while you sped up, and his cock stretched you out each time. Lewis pulled your warm body closer to his as you bounced on his cock moaning and whining, feeling him stretch you out as you stared into his dark eyes.

Lewis rhythmically thrust his hips up each time to match your movements. Brows furrowing and panting while you rode his cock, throwing his head back and moaning.

“Shh,” You whispered as you kissed along his bearded cheek, barely able to keep from moaning yourself.

He panted against your cheek, kissing the side of your face and gripping your jaw with his hand. “You feel so good,” He whispered.

“Damn you…” You didn’t slow down as you felt your orgasm wash over you, and he kept thrusting his hips up into you as your eyes rolled back and you moaned out loud as you came, hard, feeling your walls squeezing and clenching around him as you came undone.

You panted and leaned forward, pushing your face into his neck to catch your breath.

Lewis came right after you, his warm load spilling inside of you, as he wrapped his arms around you and pressed your trembling body closer to him. “Fuck…” He swore before saying, “I think I like thunderstorms even more now.”

You still sounded breathless as you said, "I still hate you."

---

here's part two if you want

#f1 #f1 imagine #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton smut #lh44

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brnesblogposts · 2 months

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Moon boys when you’re on your period!

pairing(s) gn!reader x steven grant, gn!reader x marc spector

warnings just fluff and comfort. mentions of everything a period entails.

a/n i didn’t write for Jake purely because i don’t know spanish and it’s 2am, this took a lot longer than i thought it would and it would take even more time to translate words into spanish to write his pov, BUT if you do want me to do a jake pov let me know and i will! when you know- it’s not the middle of the night :)

Steven

Steven was awoken by you stirring in your sleep, he leaned over to check the time on his phone, 4:14am. He didn’t want to wake you, knowing full well someone shaking you awake when you’re having a nightmare is not a pleasant experience nor does it make it any less scary.

He decided to take a gentle approach, without touching you he just started saying your name in a gentle tone.

Y/n”

“Y/n wake up love, it’s me, steven.” He saw your eyes stirring and continued to softly speak. “Love, you’re okay, you’re safe” Your eyes fluttered open “Steven?” He gently caressed your arm “I think you were having a nightmare” You looked perplexed, as if you didn’t recall a nightmare. “I don’t think I- OW, UGH” You started wincing all of a sudden, Steven’s eyebrow raised “Y/N? What’s wrong?!” A trace of concern in his voice.

“CRAMPS” You screeched out while balling yourself into a fetal position and taking deep breathes, “I must of been stirring because o- of my cramps” You were squeezing your eyes shut in sheer pain. “I’ll get your water bottle!” Steven rushed to get to the kitchen, but before he swiftly got out of bed he made sure to give you a kiss on your temple. He kept looking back at you while he waited for the kettle to boil, making sure you were okay despite the tremendous pain he knew you were in. Steven wished he could take it away, he’d rather have cramps then see you like this.

Steven quickly filled the bottle, wrapped a tea towel around it and made sure to grab two painkillers and some water on his way back. “Here you go, my darling” He spoke with the upmost sympathy as he placed the water bottle on your abdomen. “Thank you, my perfect boy” You replied and watched a tint of red takeover his face. “Sit up a bit for me, yeah?” You obliged and sat up as best you could while not inducing anymore pain, Steven handed you the tablets and you plopped them in your mouth. He held the glass up to your lips for you as you downed them then ever so gently pressed a loving and soft kiss that said “I’ve got you”.

Steven climbed back into bed and rubbed your back for about 45 minutes as you both waited for the meds and heat pack to kick in, and for the pain to subside. He heard your deep breathes turn into content sighs and took that as a sign that the pain was gone or at least mostly to a point where it was bearable. He wrapped his arm around you and pressed a kiss to your shoulder blade, “I love you my darling, Y/n” And with that, he too drifted off into a peaceful sleep, still of course keeping an ear out for you, his person.

Marc

Marc was out getting a few food bits in, he’d left you on the sofa where you were reading a book. He wasn’t out ten minutes before he received s text. Can you buy me some pads pls? Off he went to the sanitary towel isle, little did he know just how many options there were. Between all the different brands, sizes, wings or no wings, he was out of his depth.

Which kind do you need, baby? He sent back to you, and within a few seconds you responded with a brand name and size, making his job a whole lot easier. He decided to cut his shopping trip short knowing you’d need these ASAP.

Marc arrived home and walked in to see you that you were nowhere to be seen, “IN HERE!” He followed the sound of your voice to find you in the bathroom. He handed off the pads and decided to surprise you, while you cleaned yourself up in which he had noticed you decided to go for a shower. Marc made you a hot water bottle, a cup of tea and was currently making you a plate of your favourite treats. He set them on a tray on the bed just as you stepped out the bathroom.

“Baby, how are you feeling?” His eyes showed how deeply he meant that, wanting to do everything he could to make you feel comfortable. “My cramps aren’t too bad yet, I have a little headache coming on and am craving sugar.” He could tell you were trying to downplay it, not wanting him to be too worried about you, he could see through you though.

“Oh Marc this is perfect!” You said as you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him, “I was just about to say I feel like today is a bed day” You smiled, his favourite smile. He helped you settle into the bed, making sure your pillows were fluffed to your liking and set the tray over your lap and the water bottle on your abdomen. As he went to sit on the sofa you called after him “Baby? Can you stay with me? I just want to be with you” He didn’t hesitate a second and was next to you, feeding you grapes quite literally.

After a few minutes he noticed you tearing up “Marc, my sweet, perfect, most handsome boyfriend. What did I do to deserve you?” By this point tears started streaming down your cheeks. “You’re just so perfect, always making sure I feel loved and seen, listening to me ramble about things I know you don’t care about or when I come home from work and I’m in a bad mood you give me my space and don’t question it if I snap at you. I really don’t deserve you” You were in hysterics. Marc looked at you, upset that you’d ever question if you deserved him. Of course you did, you were the most amazing person he’d ever met, the most accepting, loving, caring person. You made sure him and his alters felt safe and if he was having a nightmare you were there to pull him out of it and calm him down.

He kissed your tear stained cheeks, no words spoken but the actions spoke louder, telling you that you did deserve him. Nothing was going to change that. He wrapped his arms around you and you tucked your head into his neck, after a couple minutes you’d seemed to calm down but he still held you, not letting go. Not until you wanted him to. Another 10 minutes passed and you still hadn’t peeled away, and that’s when he noticed you were asleep. Your eyelashes resting softly and your mouth parted. He kissed the top of your head and held you and never let go.

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dilatorywriting · 1 year

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Monster Mayhem: Donkeys & Dragons [PART 3]

Gender Neutral Reader x Malleus Draconia Word Count: 3.3k

Summary: It turns out that befriending a dragon is not as terrible or difficult as you would have thought. But people, unsurprisingly, will always still be awful.

[PART 1] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [EPILOGUE]

The first week of your internment flew by shockingly fast.

Maybe because you were always at War—a perpetual cycle of making some demand or other (that usually centered around a desire for the barest levels of personal space or agency) only to be met persistently with the ancient, all-powerful, dragon equivolent of >:(

The clothes and toilet situation were already a lost cause. You knew this.

But there were so many other little things. And big things too, sure. But you can never fully realize how much you’re truly under someone’s thumb until you want to head off to do something utterly insignificant and cannot.

For example, your first morning in captivity you’d tried to boil a pot of water. It was nothing fancy, just a small kettle kit you kept in your travel bags for making warm drinks and reheating rations into something vaguely edible. You’d collected some bits of wood from the heaps of debris lying all over the place and gone about lighting a fire. You’d only just barely managed to get the little sticks smoking when a horrific screech sounded from overhead.

And then, WHUMP!

The spiked end of a black tail came crashing down, obliterating your little fire and sending bits of wood flying in all directions.

“What the fuck, man!”

Tsunotarou curled around you to hiss at the flattened sparks like some unholy snake.

“It’s just for my tea! My tea!” you howled. “I wasn’t going to burn your stupid house down!”

He’s shifted into his human form again not long after, and he looked down his nose at you like a fussy parent—arms crossed petulantly across his pale chest.

“Fire is dangerous for humans,” he snuffed, absolutely indignant. “If you find yourself requiring flames for anything at all, call for me and I will lend you some of mine.”

“I would have been fine,” you beseeched, looking at the shattered remains of your little campfire with a grumpy pout.

“Lilia says humans often overestimate their own constitutions,” Tsunotarou grouched, expression dour and stony. You were about to ask just who or what on Earth this ‘Lilia’ was supposed to be, when the dragon dipped his head in close to yours and nuzzled along your throat. You could feel the pinpricks of his fangs against the delicate skin over your pulse. “Which is why so many of your kind are massacred for their own foolishness. Or fall victim to plague and famine. Or wind up being burned alive. I would prefer that you not succumb to such a fate.”

You gulped, and that had been the end of that conversation.

Another time you’d tried to scale the banister to reach the bathroom on your own. It had been going pretty well, all things considered. There were plenty of nice footholds and it all had sort of settled at a slope, meaning you weren’t really climbing a wall so much as very slowly crawling up an incline like a determined slug.

You’d nearly made it to the top when you were scooped up by the back of your collar and promptly deposited at the other end of the room.

Of all the languages you half-spoke, Dragon was not one of them. But the snarling and snapping in your face certainly seemed like the rather universal ‘what do you think you’re doing?!’

“I was just trying to go the bathroom!” you argued. “No fires or anything!”

Tsunotarou’s large maw ducked down to growl into your much smaller one. He let out a series of exasperated clicks and chatter, the sharper or which were punctuated by sprays of green sparks from behind his teeth. His nostrils flared and the blast of dry heat that followed sent your head spinning and your hair gusting out behind you.

“I wasn’t going to fall,” you finally said, because you had a feeling that’s what you were being lectured about at the moment.

The rumbling growl that followed sounded like it had traveled all the way from the dark trenches of his bowels, or maybe even the very marrow of his bones. You could feel the ground vibrating under your feet.

“Fine,” you conceded. You weren’t exactly worried he was going to eat you anymore, but there were certainly… other things. Many dumb ways to die. “I won’t do it again.”

He harumphed at you, his head bobbing in what looked a bit like a nod. And then he turned and raked a gigantic claw across your little makeshift ladder of debris, flattening it into nothing with one, fell, swoop. You’d groaned and let yourself collapse listlessly back into the ensuing cloud dust.

There was also the time you’d nearly had a conniption because you were sick and tired of camping out on a frigid, stone, floor every night when you were trapped inside a literal castle.

“There are dozens—hundreds—of rooms in here,” you’d argued. “There’s got to be a bed in at least one of them.”

Tsunotarou had simply rolled over onto his side and arched a wing into the air, as if offering you the warm hollow beneath.

“You’re not comfortable,” you’d hissed, and he’d sulked ridiculously for the rest of the afternoon until you’d managed to finally come to a workable solution.

As in, dragging every goddamn mattress you could find into the cavernous ballroom that he’d long since seemed to claim as his Favorite Spot. You’d turned it into a game—see who could find the most comfy things and make the biggest squish pile. Being nearly a dozen times your size and having twice as many functional limbs that were capable of grabbing things, naturally Tsunotarou had come out as the winner. But now you had nearly endless pillows and blankets to snuggle into at night, so who’d really come out on top?

“I’ve never bothered to build a nest before,” he’d mumbled to himself, post victory. He patted gently at one of the thick duvets he’d swiped, expression almost whimsical. “It’s quite nice.”

“See,” you’d grinned, bouncing up and down on one of the springier mattresses. “I told you this was better.”

And so chuffed were you that you weren’t heading to sleep with a rock as your pillow for the first time all week, that you didn’t even complain when late into the evening he sneakily dragged you out of your plush pile and into his—tail wrapped snuggly around your waist and tucking you tightly against his ribs. I mean, his nest was much nicer than yours. It was only practical.

So, as anyone could see, your week had been far from easy.

But after those first days, once you had finally gotten a hand on all his nonsensical rules and you’d in turn concocted equally as many ways to try and circumvent them just enough to make yourself comfortable, things settled into a kind of domestic tranquility.

And that was when time started to drag.

You’d read the handful of books in your pack a dozen times over. You’d counted the cracks in the ceiling (one-hundred-and-thirty-two of them). You’d counted the stones on the floor (six-hundred-and-five). You’d sorted those stones into piles by shape, size, color. You lolled back against your cozy pile of blankets and thunked your head miserably against your pillow. Once. Twice. Three times. Four—

“What do you normally do all day?” you complained.

Tsunotarou lazily blinked awake. He lifted his giant, serpentine, head and glanced pointedly around the cavernous room before settling back into his mountain of blankets with a contented huff.

“You just sleep?” you frowned, baffled. “All the time?”

He rumbled unintelligibly at you for a moment before digging his claws into his nest with a long, lithe, stretch. And then those scales began to melt away, and soon enough he was pale, and bare, and rolling his way into your lap with a contented little grumble.

“What would you have me do instead?” he asked, voice thick with the syrupy warmth of sleep. He stretched again, like a big cat, and settled his head more firmly against your thighs. “Raid cities? Burn villages?”

“…Ideally no,” you grumbled, hands falling habitually to start running your fingers through the silky soft hair pooling along your abdomen. “I mean, there have got to be other things dragons do. You live for thousands of years.”

He hummed, neon eyes slipping closed. He pressed his forehead demandingly up into your palm and you rolled your eyes before obligingly sliding your digits lower to scratch at his scalp and around the base of his horns. That seemed to be his favorite.

“I am not wanted much of anywhere, I’m afraid,” he said finally with a defeated little sigh. It didn’t sound particularly self-deprecating, just… accepting. It made something sad and small curl in your gut. “So what else is there for me to do? Other than while away the hours.”

“There’s got to be something,” you pressed, that eking irritation born from boredom melting into something that was a bit too close to genuine concern for your liking. “Don’t dragons keep hoards? Treasures? That’s a thing, right?”

“Oh.” He blinked himself back into focus, as if only remembering in just that moment. “That is true. Would you like to see mine, then?”

“Aren’t hoards, like, private?” you asked, hesitant. Trying not to bring up the glaring elephant in the room that was ‘Hey. Yeah. So my friends and I totally broke in here in the first place to steal from said hoard. Not that we knew there was a dragon here. But like. I did, in fact, come here as an adventurer and a thief.’

“Naturally,” Tsunotarou hummed. You could feel it vibrate all the way up your hip. His lips quirked into a little, crooked, smile. “I’ll take you there now.”

The Treasure Room was as elaborate and expensive looking as the name implied, and it seemed to be the one area of the castle that had been spared the grey desolation that had seeped through the rest of it. It was enormous—certainly larger than even the grand, cavernous, room in which you’d recently been residing. And it was lined wall to ceiling with every variant of wealth you could imagine—precious metals, ancients tomes, paintings from every great master through history, magical weapons, the finest of spell scrolls. You could probably buy the world at least twice over with its contents.

But the thing that caught your eye amidst the endless sea of gold was not a pretty gemstone or a treasure of old, but a little, black and purple, doll—perched atop a looming pedestal of silks and finery like a crown jewel. It was small and plain with curling black horns made of felt. A chubby little dragon miniature that was as ugly as it was round.

Tsunotarou noticed your inquisitive gaze and walked over to pluck the little, cotton, creature from its throne. He held it delicately in his clawed fingers.

“Ah, yes. This is Drago. Lilia gifted him to me after one of his jaunts through the human world.” He turned the doll over in his palms, brow tugging down a bit as he did. “I hope he hasn’t been too terribly lonely. It has been a while since I’ve come down here to visit.”

The great and powerful dragon of the Castle Within The Lava Lake keeping a toy keepsake amongst his most prized possessions was so strikingly adorable that you couldn’t help but feel your heart melt at the sight.

You brightened and turned on your heel to start making your way back to the ballroom and what remained of your adventuring gear. Tsunotarou made a noise under his breath that was too dignified to be a splutter, but what you assumed was more or less his refined equivolent. And then he was tagging at your heels with a perplexed look on his face.

“Where are you going?”

“To get something!” you chirped, mentally running through the contents of your bag and little sewing kits. Yes, there should be more than plenty to—

“To get what?” Tsunotarou pouted, and you realized belatedly that running off in the middle of him showing off his life’s accumulation of precious artifacts and accomplishments was perhaps a bit rude.

“It’s a surprise,” you said. “Just give me like half an hour to put it together.”

In the end, it really only took you around fifteen minutes of fussing. Drago was hardly a complex little thing, and you’d originally learned to stitch in a panic. Trying to mend holes in pants and leather was a lot harder to accomplish when you were being actively chased by bandits, or a raging Ace. In comparison, sitting merrily on the floor of a collapsed ballroom and shoving stuffing into a little ball of cloth was hardly a challenge.

You held out your creation—equally as ragtag and ridiculous looking as its inspiration.

“There,” you beamed, and pressed it into Tsunotarou’s hands. “Now he has a friend.”

A teeny, flesh-colored, blob. With strips of soft fabric for a cloak and a hastily stitched smile. A miniature bard, perfectly (?) encapsulated in his palm.

The dragon stared down at your offering with wide, green, eyes. He looked positively startled—so caught off guard that he didn’t know what to do with himself, let alone the bewildered expression flitting across his otherwise regal face.

“You said he might be lonely,” you hummed, rocking self-consciously back and forth on your heels.

“Oh,” Tsunotarou mumbled, black-tipped claws flexing around his new gift. He observed it carefully, like an aging academic might study some ancient, arcane, relic. There was still that strange look about him—like he couldn’t quite believe the little trinket in his hand was real. “I did, didn’t I...?”

When he remained silent after that, still staring down at your homemade abomination in awe? Horror? you couldn’t tell, you began fidgeting in earnest.

“It is kind of awful looking,” you rattled off, picking nervously at the hem of your cloak. “You can get rid of it if you want—”

“No,” he barked, and then paused, clearly surprised at the ferocity of what had come out of his mouth. That at least seemed to startle him out of whatever fog had settled over his brain, and he clutched the teeny toy firmly to his chest. He cleared his throat and started again, noticeably gentling himself. “No. I think I’d like to keep this.”

You smiled. “Good! I’m glad you like it! No one deserves to feel lonely—even little, toy, dragons.”

Tsunotarou’s lips curled into an awkwardly lopsided smile—like the muscles there weren’t used to tugging so wide. It lit the entirety of his expression with something so heart wrenchingly warm that you couldn’t help but feel like none of that had really been about the little doll at all.

You really should have known better.

If someone as illiterate and ill connected as your wandering gang of idiots could stumble upon the location of a ‘secret castle overburdened with ancient treasures,’ surely anyone even marginally more competent would be able to do the same.

You’d been at the tail end of your supply of rations. And while you hadn’t entirely meant to imply that you might just wind-up starving to death, the comment had been more than enough to send your dragon into a tizzy.

“Well, what do you normally eat?” you asked, and Tsunotarou frowned as he considered.

“My guards bring me sustenance when I require it. Ice elementals, goblins, stone giants,” he listed, eyes tracking your expression in hopes that maybe any of that sounded appetizing. Which it certainly did not. His nose scrunched up in thought. “Perhaps I should seek counsel with Lilia. He would know what to do.”

You cleared your throat. “I mean, I know what humans can eat. I could just tell you.”

His face brightened. “Meat, yes?”

You nodded. “Sometimes.”

“Like that of a manticore?” he continued, excited at the prospect. “Those are particularly delicious. And there are quite a few nesting in the crags not far from here.”

His merry smile slowly slipped off his face at whatever pinched look had twisted up yours.

“Vegetation?” he tried. “There are ample bushes at the foot of the volcano. Most do have thorns, but I suppose you could pick around them.”

“…Maybe you should talk to Lilia,” you conceded.

So Tsunotarou had shifted into his scales with a promise to return post-haste and many fussy reminders that you should move as little as possible to avoid wasting any more precious nutrients. The great downbeats of his wings seemed to roll through the entire castle like a shudder, and then you were alone for the first time in nearly a fortnight.

You lazed around in the echoing quiet, drumming bits of random tempos against your stomach and occasionally humming snatches of obnoxiously raunchy tavern tunes that you’d never really managed to bleach from your brain. How had Tsunotarou done this for decades? It’d barely been ten minutes and you were already bored out of your mind.

There was a flash of shadow near the grand entrance, and you sat up enthusiastically—ready to greet your returning host. But it wasn’t a dragon at the door.

“Who the hell are y—” the words died in your throat, and you spat a muted curse. The Silence Spell settled over your shoulders like a grungy cloak. You could feel its sticky film along the back of your tongue like a fine layer of moss.

“Who the fuck is that?” one of them hissed, and you fought the petulant ‘that’s just what I’d been about to ask you, jack ass!’ that wouldn’t have made it past your lips anyways.

There were six in total—a proper party from the looks of their ensembles. At least two people in full plate armor, a waify looking elf with a thick spell book in his hands, and three others in various getups that weren’t quite cookie cutter enough to tell you anything helpful. You rambled at them irritably, silently, gesturing rather impolitely all the while. You mimed teeth, and claws, and wings, and stomped around like a beast in a play.

‘There is a dragon here,’ you tried to say. Because maybe they were just unlucky adventurers like you and Tweedle Dee and Dum had been—not having any real idea what lay beyond these castle walls. You mimed a giant mouth, like a crocodile. ‘And he will eat you.’

“What the fuck?” Armored Dude gaped.

You pointed irritably at Mister Elf Wizard, who was still very obviously concentrating on keeping you encircled in a mesh of absolute silence.

The itchy sensation clogging your throat eased and you let out a breath, which echoed loudly in your ears. Elf-Guy looked at you with something that was perhaps a shade or two off of sympathy.

“Are you alright?” he asked. “What are you doing here?”

“You need to leave,” you replied instead, firm. “There’s a dragon that lives in this castle.”

“Of course there’s a dragon,” Armored Lady scoffed. “Why do you think we’re here?”

You looked at their heavy, expensive, armor. At the giant, shining, magical, weapons hanging across their backs. At the thin wizard who proceeded catch you in a Hold Person spell that was so fast and strong you couldn’t have dispelled it if you tried. And of course you tried. What else could you do? These people weren’t like you and your loveable idiots who managed to occasionally stumble their way into an adventure. These guys were the real deal. Warriors. Heroes. Dragon Slayers.

“God-fucking-damn it.”

But of course you’d been caught in Silence once again, so you were left cursing nothing.

[TAG LIST] CLOSED

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#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #Malleus Draconia x Reader #Malleus x Reader #Malleus Draconia #Malleus x Yuu #Dragon Malleus #Monster Mayhem #My Writing #Twst Fantasy AU #Monster Mayhem Malleus Part 3

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shinuko · 23 days

Text

to be human (is to make mistakes)

#: academic rivals au (!!), rank 1!gojo & rank 2 gn!reader, assumed college au (irrelevant ranking system), gojo gets kind of sick (unrealistic + very cliche), a dash of angst (for the flavor!!), implied (obvious) pining (mutual? ;3), brief one bed trope! (sfw), no beta we die like ...yeah (i'm sorry)

wc: 2.1k

tw/cw: reader has a hairdryer and clothes that fit a ~190cm man, angst (kind of?), reader likes floral tea, one (1) curse word

*ni-i = 2nd rank/place (please feel free to correct me if i have it wrong in any way ;-;)

you jolted, the clap of thunder scaring you awake. in the gray area between awake and asleep, you thought you heard a knock on the door, but you weren’t expecting anything so you figured it was a trick of the wind of some kind. you checked the time—2:57 am—you definitely weren’t expecting anyone either too. looking down at your desk, you sighed and your nose crinkled at the spot of drool that pooled on the page of your notes. you wiped at it with your finger when there was a sudden knock at your door.

you froze.

a beat passed. then two.

quietly, you rose from your chair, grabbing your phone and the nearest object that looked like it could be useful (a swiffer). tiptoeing across to the door, your thumb hovered over the dial button, prepared to call the campus police (though the night ra would have been more realistic). you peeked through the peephole and saw a hunched figure wearing a hood that covered their eyes. you stepped away from the door, waiting to see if they would leave without any intervention.

three beats passed. then four.

“ni-i…”

the voice was weak but you still heard it. (and you knew of only one person who had the gall to call you by your rank.) dropping the swiffer, you opened the door and gojo stumbled into your arms, skin hot to the touch and breaths labored against the curve of your neck. his hair clung to his forehead, dripping water onto your clothes and floor. you struggled to keep yourself up straight, so you helped him to sit on the floor, his head leaning against the wall.

you stood again, staring in disbelief at your… guest.

raising his head, he looked around, taking in his surroundings, and cocked his eyebrows at you teasingly, “so… you trying to beat me this time around, ni-i?” he tried to make a joke, seemingly regaining some of his strength now that he was out of the rain.

you cringed, heat rising to your face as you remembered that the evidence of your desperate studying was within his line of sight. “that’s not important right now. what are you doing here!?” you hissed, trying to change the subject, “and what kind of idiot do you have to be to be walking in a storm with a thin jacket!?”

gojo just smiled, closing his eyes, and mumbled something about locking himself out of his room and not knowing where else to go. you remembered hearing something about how his roommate was going to be out of the country for a few more days at least. huffing, you threw him a towel and rummaged through your closet for your hair dryer. “here,” you said, handing the hair dryer to him, “bathroom’s the door over there. i don’t have any clothes for you so just dry your clothes with this.” surprisingly, he complied easily, rising slowly from his spot on the floor and shuffled to the bathroom. only when the door closed shut behind him did you pull at your hair and scream as silently as you could.

“oh, mind if i use your shower by the way?” gojo’s voice came muffled from the other side of the door.

your eye twitched. “…be quick.”

“thanks~!”

wanting to kill time and keep yourself distracted, you decided to boil water for some tea. gojo came out from the bathroom smelling like your shampoo as the kettle began to boil.

you did a double take.

gojo came out of the bathroom, smelling like your shampoo and holding a towel loosely wrapped around his waist.

“why are you only wearing a towel?!” you screeched, cheeks blazing as you rushed to your closet and threw him whatever clothes you could find.

“my clothes took too long to dry,” he whined, grinning as he caught the clothes against his chest with his other hand, “and look, you do have clothes for me~”

“just hurry up and put that on! and don’t you dare drop that towel in front of me!” you quickly turned around, squeezing your eyes shut and muttering apologies and prayers to anyone out there who would listen.

“okay, i’m done now…” you could hear the pout in his voice and you swore you saw red. almost at least. by some miraculous event, you regained your senses and composed yourself. exhaling slowly, you reached for the two cups and handed one to him. he stared at you, “it’s 4 am.”

“it’s 3:47. and you won’t die, it’s just tea.”

he shrugged, accepting the cup, and took a careful sip. his eyes widened at the taste and he took another sip. “hey, this is good,” he said, raising the cup to his lips again, “why didn’t you give me this the last time i was here for the language arts project? first you’re trying to beat me, and now you’re holding out on me? i’m hurt, ni-i…”

“didn’t have it then.” you rolled your eyes and took a sip yourself, deeply inhaling the fragrance of it, and couldn’t fight the small smile it brought to your face—floral tea, your favorite, and so it seems was his too. holding the cup with two hands, you looked out the window, following the droplets of rain as they raced each other down the glass.

five beats passed. then six.

“want me to help you study for the exam?”

you raised an eyebrow at him, “confident you won’t lose your rank to me even after teaching me your secrets?”

he laughed, throwing his head back, and set the cup down. “please, you’re taking my GPA too lightly. you’re gonna need more than that to take me down.”

you shrugged, bringing your books and notes over to the spot on the floor where he sat. he scooted to sit next to you and skimmed your notes. as he flipped through the pages, you looked back at the practice problem you were trying to solve before, tapping the end of your pencil against your chin.

“1.15 N.”

“huh?”

“that’s what you’re looking for, right? the tension? i recognize that question. it’s from the practice midterm, what was it… question number 2?”

looking between him and the page in front of you, you weren’t sure what to think. “how… how did you do that?”

gojo smiled again, “here look, there’s the given free body and if you draw two more for the block and pulley…” he paused and looked around for a pencil. without thinking, you give him the one you were holding. “thanks. so yeah, draw two more and then you can apply the 2nd law here.” quickly, he wrote down more steps to the problem. “so applied force minus the tension force equals the 2nd law, does that make sense?”

you started to nod, the lightbulb going off in your head, “and then because only the tension force will affect torque, i can use the torque equals r times force equation? and then equal it to the moment of inertia multiplied by angular acceleration to find the acceleration?”

“bingo,” gojo said with a grin, handing you the pencil, “as expected of my rank 2.”

too preoccupied with finishing the problem, you didn’t hear him. making quick work of the rest of the practice exam, you beamed triumphantly. your victory was fleeting though, interrupted by a violent sneeze from gojo. instinctively, you placed the back of your hand against his forehead and the other on your own to compare.

“idiot, you’re burning up! why didn’t you say something?”

“the tea helped so i thought it was fine…”

“it’s obviously not fine… get up.” you pulled him up by the arm and hesitated in front of your bed. gojo at least had the decency to blush.

“shouldn’t you ask me to dinner first… i didn’t know you were so quick about things, ni-i.”

the heat scorched your cheeks as you quickly let go of his arm, panicking and tripping over your words to salvage your dignity. but he stumbled, lost his footing, and fell face-first onto the mattress. with a bit of struggling, you finally managed to push him under the covers and tuck him in.

you couldn’t deny that he looked cute like this: cheeks and the tip of his nose tinged pink, peeking out from under the blankets, and bangs brushed back with his forehead bare, allowing you to place a cool towel there. you watched his long eyelashes flutter as he closed his eyes, the lull of sleep relaxing his features and pulling him under. the rise and fall of his chest began to steady and you laid the back of your hand against his cheek again to check his fever.

still warm.

you stood up, trying to remember where you kept your medicines.

“where are you going?”

“to find some fever reducer for you…” you blinked in surprise, “weren’t you sleeping?”

“no. i don’t need any.”

“don’t be ridiculous. gojo, you nee-”

“can’t you call me satoru now?” he whined.

“gojo, you’re delirious. you need to-”

“satoru,” he corrected, “please.”

seven beats passed. then eight.

gojo was fully sitting up on your bed now, towel fallen onto his lap, and his piercing blue eyes fixed on you. his cheeks were redder now, but you couldn’t tell if it was from his fever or embarrassment. you exhaled slowly, returning to the bedside and looked at him expectantly. gojo shifted, making room for you.

you could feel his gaze on you as you fiddled with the cloth of your covers. “tomorrow. after we’ve gotten some sleep, ask me again.”

“what?”

turning to face him, you forced yourself to maintain eye contact (his eyes are so blue). “tomorrow,” you repeated, “ask me again tomorrow. let’s not do something we’ll regret right now.”

“i don’t think i could ever regret you.”

you faltered and slid off of the bed, trying to create some physical space between you and him, “you don’t mean that. you’ve been up all night. you don’t know what you’re saying. you-” your voice caught in your throat. the pained expression on gojo’s face awoke an emotion you never knew you had, clawing at your heart and ratting at the bones of your rib cage like a trapped beast. his eyes dimmed and lips turned down ever so subtly. but you saw. gojo looked down at his hands and you wished you knew what he was thinking. the silence was thick and suffocating and you wanted to do anything to break it. you opened your mouth to speak again, to apologize, to do something, anything.

“oh, look at that! suguru’s back already!” gojo beamed, tapping away at his phone.

(his smile looked too forced.)

but all you could do was nod as gojo got out of your bed, fixing the pillows and blankets as best as he could. you watched as he hummed, gluing his eyes purposely to his phone (was he avoiding your eyes?), and continued to your door. he turned back to look at you. his eyes softened and he gave you another smile.

sorry, he mouthed to you before opening the door and walking out.

the door closed shut behind him, leaving you alone again. (you could hear him yelp “shit, it’s still raining!” through the door and could picture him running through the rain with nothing but his jacket as any sort of defense. that got you giggling a little.)

nine beats passed. then ten.

you sat down on your bed, legs dangling off the edge, before letting your head fall back and hit your pillow.

it smelled like him still. the smell was faint, of course, but there nonetheless. you chased it, initially unaware, searching for it. yearning—

no.

you turned the other way and closed your eyes.

the sun was blinding, glaring at you through the glass windows. dust particles floated about and large, messy words written in chalk spelled out “EXAM SIT IN YOUR ASSIGNED SEATS” on the blackboard and bore menacingly at no one.

you sat at your desk, glancing at gojo’s still empty seat. thoughts of him from that night continued to plague your mind. you shook your head, trying to bring your thoughts back to your exam that was going to happen any minute now. F = ma. torque equals radius times applied force which also equals moment of inertia times angular acceleration. vaguely, you heard the back door of the classroom open, and whispers filled the room, gradually getting louder. a collective gasp and more excited (and jealous) whispers as your classmates murmured amongst themselves. a shadow loomed over you, and you looked up. they couldn’t believe their eyes, and honestly you couldn’t either. gojo peered down at you, his hand outstretched, and flashed you his charming smile.

“hey, i’m gojo satoru, but you can call me satoru,” he grinned, “wanna be friends?”

koi's notes: inspired by a gojo fanart i came across by the extremely talented @saterise (i meant it to be like a little rainy inspired fic but i got a little too carried away...)

link to fanart also here: https://www.tumblr.com/saterise/739526714812678144/to-be-human-is-to-feel-the-rain-on-your-skin?source=share

ALSO BEFORE ANYONE ASKS, gojo and geto are tied for rank 1 because there is no way in HELL i'm making geto 3rd i will not disrespect him like that!!!!!

#s.k.#sort: jjk #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x reader

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ceruleancattail · 4 months

Note

OMG I WAS WAITING SO HARD FOR YOUR REQUESTS TO OPEN....

I DESPERATELY NEED ANGST TO FLUFF OR JUST FLUFF WITH SEBEK!!!!

MAYBEMAYBE SOMETHING FOR THE ANGST/FLUFF IS THAT READER AND SEBEK FOUGHT RECENTLY ABOUT SOMETHING STUPID AND THEY MAKE UP

OR FOR FLUFF THEM CELEBRATING NEW YEARS TOGETHER✊️✊️✊️#newyearsameloveforsebek

Boil

Sebek x reader

Anger boils. The heat engulfs your heart like a kettle on a stove, steaming away. Growing hotter with every second, bubbles thrusting upwards vigorously. Water churning, crashing against the metal walls. Trembling, shaking away on those red-hot embers.

Until it boils.

Kettle screeching, water gushing out from the cap, the sprout, through every crevice it could spill from. In that state, even the tiniest droplet could scorch a person, leaving a burn throbbing on their bare skin.

That’s the thing about anger. It rises all at once, scalding words hurled out on the spur of the moment. Words aimed to mar, wounding the heart. If a person isn’t careful, those words would end up leaving a scar.

Something miserable clawed its way up your throat, clogging it up. You had to choke back a sob, pursing your lips. Praying for them not to tremble. Not to show any signs of weakness.

A bit pointless, considering he wasn’t looking at you. Sebek and you have gotten into a few minor tiffs before, but nothing as severe as this. You remember raised voices, some very hurtful things shouted out at each other.

Hell, you could still feel the sting throbbing. Whatever Sebek hurled out had struck you deep, imbedding itself into the very depths of your heart. You didn’t trust yourself to look at him anymore, not without you completely breaking down.

Tugging your knees closer to your chest, you rocked back and forth on your rear. Both of you sat on the floor, facing away. Two poles of a magnet, repealing each other with hunched shoulders and bloodshot eyes.

At first the anger roared, burning bright within your gut. The forked tongues of flame, lapping at everything that they could reach. Devouring every single last thing in your soul, until those flames went out.

All you felt now was empty. The type of soul-crushing emptiness that just consumed you in its silence. Fingers trembling, you hold your legs closer, knees bumping against each other.

Choking out one strangled, garbled sob-

Before you heard a rustle of cloth. A sudden weight pressed against the curve of your back, warmth surging through it. A gruff grunt was coughed out, in that ever so familiar voice of that overgrown crocodile of yours.

Sebek sat right behind you, leaning his back into yours. The very tips of his pale emerald hair tickling the nape of your neck, pressing against it lightly. Almost like tender kisses, each strand bowed apologetically.

“Sebek…” you mutter, voice as soft as a breeze.

“Don’t.”

The abrupt rejection froze you, for a moment . You blink in confusion, whatever you wanted to say dying right in its tracks.

“I still haven’t quite forgiven you, human.”

Sebek pauses, before sighing.

“I still haven’t quite forgiven myself, as well. Some of the things I said… they were grievously unjust.

However, I don’t trust myself to be able to speak to you without… my anger tainting my words. Not just yet.”

Another rustle of cloth. Something tapped the side of your thigh gingerly. You glanced downwards, only to see Sebek’s hand right next to yours. His fingers carefully grazed the very tips of your own, hesitant to move further then that. Afraid, maybe? Afraid of reaching out to you, pushing some unforeseen boundary.

Even now, he was considerate of your feelings.

Mumbling, you tilt your head towards him. Bumping lightly against the scalp of his head, sinking into the softness of his hair.

“Why?”

Another cough, as Sebek’s head sunk even lower into his arms, concealing his quavering lips.

“You… you calm me down, human.”

His fingers slip into yours, holding on as tightly as they could.

“Let me stay here… just for awhile. Then we‘ll…talk things out, I promise.

I don’t want to hurt you. Not again.”

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #Sebek zigvolt #Sebek x reader #Sebek zigvolt x reader #lucky charm 🔷

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we-were-beautiful · 1 year

Text

The Fox and The Hounds pt.1

A/N: Hello all, so this is my first time writing for anything from Acotar that I have gotten to a point that I feel confident enough to post It has been almost two years since I have really written anything so I might be a wee bit rusty, but I had the cute autumn court head cannon that I needed to get out of my head. Also no Beta here we die like men

Eris Vanserra x Reader

Summary: Its autumn court tradition to give your mate a fox kit before your ceremony. after years of knowing the Vanserra’s a mating bond snaps between the Autumn Heir and a well known smoke hound breeder

Warnings: none

Wind gently rustles the leaves of the forest surrounding the humble home in the forest, somewhere distantly a river babbles deep in the misty woods. By humble home it truly translates to manor nestled deep in the Forest. The sound of dogs barking breaks the peaceful silence around the home most days, and on occasion one could catch a glimpse of the sleek gray hounds darting throughout the property.

The L/N family were a well respected family within the Autumn Court. Thorne L/N had made his name in court as an advisor and counselor to Beorn in conjunction with the lucrative businesses he ran on the side. However what the family was most well known for was their smoke hounds.The most well-bred and coveted hounds came from the L/N estate. Of his four children the only one who took interest in the dogs was his youngest Y/N. With seven hounds of her own Y/N was clever when it came to which ones should be bred together and what new bloodlines to bring in. Y/N quickly became one of the go to breeders in Autumn with pups from her stock being highly sought after. While not the most traditional route for a lady of the court, Thorne allowed Y/N to keep up with it as it brought her joy and it kept her home under her mothers watchful eye.

A small yip can be heard as a red fox darts around Y/N’s ankles as she moves through the kitchen. Coming in from the kennels Y/N moves sluggishly; putting on the kettle and grabbing a cup to make tea. The fox yips again; this time nipping at her heel. The action however seems to not have the desired effect; nonetheless Y/N moved about the kitchen to fetch the spoiled fox’s breakfast. Seeing the female grab the bowl the fox moved standing on its hind paws resting its front paws on the cabinet to watch the female prep its breakfast again loudly yiping when she wasn’t moving at a fast enough pace for the little creature.

“Ginger.” Y/N hushes the fox and sets a bowl of food down on the ground. Ginger had been a mating present from her father to her mother when the mating bond had snapped. It is an old Autumn Court tradition for a Female to receive a fox kit from her mate or fiance before the ceremony. The foxes were seen as a token of good luck and served as a constant companion for a female in her home. The room is silent save for the soft click of her boots as she moves about the floor and the fox scarfing down food. She hadn’t planned on leaving the manor today so she found it fit to wear trousers paired with a cream blouse and a forest green vest with golden leaves embroidered into the fabric. The kettle lets out a screeching whittle from thee stove breaking the early morning quiet

The female let out a yawn as she poured the boiling water into the delicate cup. The unexpected all-nighter was really starting to take its toll on her. One of the servants had roused her in the middle of the night. Bellatrix, her prized hound, had gone into labor. While this wasn’t her first litter it still took quite a bit of time and Y/N preferred to be there for her hounds just in case things went sour. Luckily for all parties involved things went smoothly and all 6 of the pups were healthy.

Looking out the window the dark sky began to take on hues of purple and orange as the sun started to rise across the colorful Autumn forest. The birds slowly started to awaken their song, joining the rest of the white noise of the forest. Y/n takes a hold of the delicate teacup, wrapping both of her hands around it savoring the warmth against her chilled fingers. Steam rose up from the cup dancing in ambiguous patterns as she took the first sip of the hot tea.

Y/N let out a sigh she knew she would have to go back out to the kennels soon to start feeding the hounds. She could only hope that she would be able to take a small nap before her fathers visitors made their way to the estate. He might have mentioned who was coming, but if she was being perfectly honest with herself she hadn’t been paying attention. Knowing her father it was probably another advisor coming in for brunch before they would go out hunting with the hounds. Leaning against the counter, taking a sip of her tea, her sensitive Fea ears pick up on the inhabitants of the manor slowly waking up to start the day.

The cook was the first person she had seen since she had been fetched last night and the older wood nymph jumped a little seeing the younger Fae leaning on the counter drinking a cup of tea. Upon seeing the new arrival Ginger started yiping again, going to wind around the Nymph’s feet.

“Lady Y/n I wasn’t expecting to see you here this early in the morning.” The nymphs comforting voice brings a small smile to Y/N’s face

“Bella her pups in the early hours, I was tending to her most of the night.” Y/N yawns out, gently setting the cup into the sink in the kitchen “I probably should get back out to the kennels to tend to the rest of the dogs before breakfast.”

“Just make sure you are done and cleaned up before the High Lord and his family arrives.” Her voice is calm despite the news that she dropped on the poor girl's lap.

The High Lord and his family, that's who her fathers guest were. She knew that Beron and her father were close friends since childhood, but this was the first time in her 65 years that they would be hosting the High Lord of Autumn at their home. Typically in the past her family had always traveled to the Forest House for formal events and her father traveled back and forth for his work. The thought sent chills up her back while the High lord and his family had been cordial and friendly with hers; they still had a rather terrifying reputation, and some of his younger sons often looked at her like she was a piece of meat. She would dance and converse with them at gatherings when approached but she clung to her father and brothers side the moment she could get away.

“I forgot that High Lord Beron and his family were coming. Thank you for the reminder Aspen.” Y/n nods before heading towards the door to head back towards the kennels. This news ment she would have to rush getting the kennels ready for the day so that she could go get dressed for a meal with the high lord. Typically she helped the servants with the task regarding her and her family's hounds, she wanted to ensure that they were receiving the best care that they could. The hounds from this estate were prized for a reason. She had known that one of her hounds pups had been purchased by Lord Eris but she had been away from the court at that time with her mother visiting her mothers kin in the Hewn city.

Eris was about the only one of Beron’s four sons that she could stand. In all her interactions with him he had been kind to her, chasing away his younger brothers when they were making her visibly uncomfortable. It also helped that the two of them both had a passion for the famed smoke hounds, so the conversation between the two had never been too dull. When the High Lord had announced Eris’ engagement to Morrigan; Y/n felt like someone had ripped her heart from her chest. It confused the poor girl, only 40 at the time, as to why she had felt like this. The two had never had anything more than friendly conversations at the balls and formal dinners that they had both attended. The pain in her chest had dulled when news had spread through the court about the disastrous outcome of that short lived engagement. There were unfortunate outcomes for her when the rumors spread about why Kier had nearly killed his own daughter. Most of these days Y/N could barely leave the manor without one of her parents or brothers escorting her; and even at formal events she was always under someone's watchful eye, just in case she might have gotten the urge to sneak off with a male. Not like she would do that anyway she was more than content to stay here with her hounds rather than go out and socialize with other females her age whose only goal in life was to marry up or with males who were only interested in what lies beneath her skirts.

Y/N let out a scoff as she entered into the noisy kennel. Her Family owned 18 total hounds, seven were her own personal hounds, five belonged to her father. And her three brothers each had three. Y/n had bred most of the hounds in the kennel bringing in a fortune for her family; however with 18 dogs comes a lot of work that takes some time. Y/N rolls up the sleeves to her shirt as she walks over to the first kennel, one of her fathers hounds, gently clips the leash onto the collar before leading the dog out of its kennel and clipping it onto one of the tiedown points on the center walkway so that she can begin the morning process.

Far more time than she would have liked has passed before she gets to Bellatrix’s kennel .Even with the two servants assigned to the kennels the laborious morning process takes much longer than anticipated, especially after finding out that two of her brother's bitches were in heat. She would pick out two males later to stick in the kennels with them to see if they could yield another two litters. At the moment though Y/N is currently checking over Bellatrix and her pups while listening to the pitiful whines from the kennel across the aisle where the pups sire was housed

“Khalid, Quit your whining. I will bring you over in just a second.” She scolded the dog, Missing the kennel doors open and her help freezing as the newcomers walked in.

Five people walk into the kennels. Her father and mother lead the High Lord Beron, The heavily pregnant Lady of Autumn, and Eris into the kennel. Ginger and another fox quickly darted into the kennel playfully chasing after one another accidentally slamming into Y/N’s legs pulling her attention away from Bellatrix and her pups.

“Y/N” Come greet our guest.” Her fathers voice rang throughout the kennels which suddenly seemed far too quiet as if the hounds knew the power and importance of the individuals that had just walked in. Y/N however was surprised by her father springing up and turning to face the newcomers, well aware that she was not appropriately dressed for this situation. Her cheeks flush in embarrassment as she makes her way towards the group.

“High Lord’ Y/N drops into an awkward curtsy not used to the performing the action in trousers instead of a dress “I apologize for my state I must have lost track of time”

The last thing Y/N wanted to do was bring shame to her father in front of one of his closest friends and her plans were to be ready and dressed before they had arrived, but Beron surprisingly just laughed it off, much to everyone's shock. While Beron had a reputation for being cruel, he had treated her like his own daughter and had even been named her godfather when she was born should anything have happened to her parents.

“Well this is part of why we were coming, to visit your prized hounds Y/N, I had expected to find you here.” His deep voice rang throughout the kennel “ I am in the market for a new hound and word is going around the court that one of yours is expecting a litter.”

“Well my Lord you are in luck Bella had her litter last night. So I currently have six puppies that will be available once they are weaned. Would you like to get a quick look?” Y/N raises from her curtsy, giving the high lord a smile. Beron holds out an arm for her to take as she leads the group back to Bellatrix’s kennel.

“Now I wouldn’t pick one out just yet as we don’t know what their personalities are going to be like just yet as they are less than 12 hours old at the moment. We can check back in about three to four weeks when they have started wandering away from mom. You will get the first pick of the litter of course my Lord.” Y/N prattles as the group looks on at the hound and her puppies. Another whine sounds from the kennel behind them reminding her of Khalid

“One moment.” she excuses herself, as her father and Beron start talking prices for the pup.” grabbing the lead off the wall, she steps into the kennel clipping it on and walking him over to the other kennel. Quickly opening it and unclipping the hound letting him dart off towards Bella and his pups looking on the scene like a proud father laying down next to Bellatrix, gently nosing one of the pups back towards its mother when it tried to wiggle away. Latching the kennel shut Y/N turns to face the group again, watching her parents and the high lord and his lady talk.

“Do you breed your hounds outside of your family’s kennels?” Eris’ rich voice meets her ears pulling her gazes toward him.

The moment that Eris’s rich cinnamon eyes meet Y/E/C , It's like all the air is sucked from the room. The mating bond snapping into place, the gold thread connecting the two of them together. Y/N cant help herself as she involuntarily takes a step towards the Autumn heir, towards the one that the mother had deemed to be her equal. Eris, the cruel heir of autumn, was her mate.

“Mate.” The words came from Eris' mouth before he could even think about stopping them and the room went silent as all eyes went to the two of you.

#eris vanserra x reader #eris x reader #eris vanserra #acotar x reader #acotar #acomaf #acowar #autumn court #the fox and the hounds

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ninemelodies · 5 months

Text

echoes of a dream

written for @doctordonnaweek day 6: help/friends

also on ao3

Donna has nightmares about what happened in Shan Shen. Usually, the memories of her dreams fade within minutes of waking up, washed away by a warm cup of tea and a couple of deep breaths. That is, until she dreams about how she died.

On that night, she wakes with a shout. She's tangled in her blankets and her sleep shirt has shifted so that the collar is tight around her neck. She sits up and, after a brief struggle, manages to get the blankets shoved to the floor and her shirt adjusted. Even without the weight of her blankets, Donna still feels like she can’t breathe. In an attempt to calm her racing thoughts, she closes her eyes and takes stock of herself.

The side of her body feels bruised and there's a fear that sits heavy in her belly. There had been a truck. The deafening screech of tires on asphalt rings in her ears. She had been hit. She had been dying. No, she had died. That had been the only way to disrupt that timeline, she remembers, the only way to get herself, the other her, to turn left.

Unlike her other dreams, this nightmare is not fading from her mind. In fact, with every breath she takes, more memories of that universe come flooding in. The feeling of pain and fear will not let her go. Without thinking, Donna gets up and makes her way to the TARDIS kitchen. With shaking hands, she puts the kettle on.

Donna leans back against the counter and waits for the water to boil. The wall across from her fades from view and suddenly she is facing that godforsaken blue truck again. Tires squeal on the pavement as the driver tries to both stop and swerve to avoid hitting her. They aren't fast enough. There's a sickening thud and then she's on her back in the road, staring at the sky and the face of a young, blonde woman. Donna's thoughts spiral around one thing - dying, dying, dead, dying, dead, dead, dead -

"Donna?"

She blinks and suddenly she's back to herself, back in the TARDIS, with the Doctor in front of her and the kettle whistling shrill in her ears. The Doctor scans her face and by the small frown that tugs his mouth downward, he doesn't like what he finds there. He reaches behind her, removes the kettle from the burner and turns off the heat.

Donna takes that moment to wipe tears from her face. She knows she must look a mess, eyes red and puffy from crying. She rubs her cheeks harder, like she can wipe away that happened. The Doctor takes her wrists and pulls her hands away from her face.

"What happened?" he asks.

"Nightmare,” she says. “It was nothing." Donna pulls her hands free and turns to make that cup of tea. After a moment's hesitation, she pulls another cup out of the cabinet and makes one for the Doctor too.

Maybe it'll get him to stop asking questions.

He takes the tea but doesn't drink it. "Donna, I've been calling your name for five minutes. The kettle was going off and you couldn't hear it either.” His frown deepens. “You were miles from the TARDIS, weren’t you? Where were you?"

He isn’t demanding in his questioning, and Donna can’t help but notice that without his coat and suit jacket and tie, the Doctor looks so small, so human. He's standing in the middle of the TARDIS kitchen holding a steaming cup of tea and he’s trying to help, Donna just has to let him.

She takes a deep breath. "I died."

"What?"

"I dreamed about my death. In that alternate universe created by that blasted beetle." Her grip tightens around her cup. She forces herself to relax and take a drink. It's warm, comforting.

"You shouldn't remember anything from that universe, how-” the Doctor cuts himself off. “No, nevermind that, you died?" Donna looks down at her tea. "So did you." Her tears, which had slowed but not stopped, pick up again. They drip down her nose and her cheeks and into her cup.

"Donna..." The Doctor sets his cup down on the counter. He then gently pries her cup out of her hands and sets it down next to his own. He pulls her into a hug and Donna does not resist.

She fists her hands in the back of his jacket and sobs. She’s getting his shirt wet but she can't bring herself to care, not right now. Later, when she’s calmed down, she'll be embarrassed about it, but for now she cries and the Doctor holds her as tight as he can. He rubs one hand up and down her spine in a soothing gesture.

Even once her sobs have quieted, Donna does not pull away. She is reminded of Midnight, of the Doctor holding her this way because he had needed it. "In that universe, I turned right," she whispers into his shoulder. The Doctor continues rubbing her back. "I never made it to H.C. Clements. I wasn't there to stop you. You drowned under the weight of the Thames."

The Doctor takes a deep breath, like he's going to say something. Donna doesn't let him.

"Do you know how many people you’ve saved, Doctor? I know it weighs on you, how many people you've had to let die, but do you know how many more you've saved? Without you, the Earth became a horrible place. London choked, people dissolved into fat, everything you stopped happened. You've protected and saved so many lives."

Donna hears the Doctor sniff, and then he’s burying his face in her hair. “But I couldn’t protect you,” he whispers, and his voice is thick. “You said you died.”

“I did,” she confirms. “I had to. It was the only way I could make sure that I turned left. Nobody wants to remember what it feels like to die, but if I had to go back and do it again, I would.” Donna pulls back and looks him in the eye. “I would do it again, if it meant saving you.”

To that, the Doctor has no response. Donna likes to think it's because he knows arguing with her is a pointless endeavor. He searches her face for a moment. “I could block the memories again, if it would help?”

“Don’t you dare,” Donna says immediately. “Someone needs to remember what the world was like without you.”

Donna is no fool. She knows that there will be more nights like this, where everything she went through in that alternate universe bubbles up and she drowns in it, but for right now she is okay. She will make it.

She says as much to the Doctor. “Thank you.” Donna yawns and the exhaustion she had been fighting creeps into her bones. She lets the Doctor go and steps towards the door. “Goodnight, Doctor.”

The Doctor watches her go. “Goodnight, Donna,” he says.

#doctor who #doctordonna week 23 #donna noble #10th doctor

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meetmymouth · 1 year

Text

the intimacy of little things: v

au ⌕ florist!harry x photographer!ofc

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PINTEREST BOARD | PLAYLIST | FEEDBACK

She walks inside the Another Man building, and this time, she remembers to wipe her feet on the small, worn-out door mat by the entrance. Olive looks up, and calls for her, making her stop in her tracks just as she’s about to get in the lift.

“Good morning, Olive,” she smiles, taking a mint from the small bowl on her desk.

She grunts, then looks her up and down. “You look very professional,” she takes in her black jumpsuit and heeled boots. “Are you getting a promotion?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Talulah winks. “I’m not. I have a meeting with MJ and Paula. I thought I’d dress up for a change.”

“Hm,” Olive nods, though Talulah sees the tiny smile creeping in. “Okay– well, go, you’re holding me up.”

“Oh– yeah,” she nods, pinching her cheek before taking a step towards the lifts. “See you later, Liv!”

It was Thursday, which meant she had two shoots after her morning meeting with MJ and Paula. She smiles at a few colleagues before making a beeline into the small kitchen, hand already in her white canvas bag, trying to locate her coffee cup.

“Is this your last day of work?”

She looks up at Zayn’s voice, and it earns him an eye-roll.

“Why?” She puts the kettle on, placing her bags on the small table in front of her.

Zayn is leaning against the counters, and he looks good as usual, dressed in white trousers and a red jumper with polka dots.

“You’re dressed awfully nice.”

“Are you trying to say I don’t dress nice usually?” She asks, grabbing a spoon from the rack.

Zayn shrugs. “Not this nice. Is that a Gucci belt?” He leans forward to investigate. “Is it real? Please don’t tell me otherwise.”

“It’s real,” she swats his hands off of her, and takes the boiled water, pouring it into her cup. “I have a meeting with MJ and Paula.”

“About?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugs. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“Well, maybe it is your last day, if Paula is here,” he shrugs, taking his cigarettes out of his pocket. “Shall we?”

“Yes. Let’s go.”

She drops her bags off in her small office, and follows Zayn outside, both of them taking their spot by the railings, and she extends the lighter, helping him light his cigarette. They mostly smoke in silence, the only noise surrounding them coming from the London traffic; horns and tires screeching, and Zayn sighs, turning to Talulah.

“Are you happy, Talulah?” He says, taking another drag from his cigarette.

Deep conversations weren’t out of the ordinary for Zayn and Talulah. Despite people thinking of Zayn as a quiet person, he loved talking when the timing was right. He said what needed to be said.

She looks up at him, a surprised twinkle in her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Are you happy– with Harry, with everything going on in your life?”

“I don’t know,” she purses her lips. She hadn’t thought about it in a while– what being happy meant. She says as much. “I haven’t thought about it, to be honest.”

“Mhm,” Zayn nods, taking another drag from his cigarette. He puts it out on the side of the wall, and discards it in one of the plastic cups they brought out and used as a make-shift ashtray.

“I guess so– I guess I’ve been happier recently,” she nods. “Harry helps. Therapy helps, too.”

Zayn only nods, and looks down at his shoes. “Good.”

“Are you? Happy?” She redirects the question, earning a chuckle from him.

“I think so. I’ve no reason to be unhappy.”

“Not at all?”

“Not at all.”

She is called into MJ’s office when she’s just walking inside with Zayn, and she promises to keep him updated on the meeting as she begins walking towards his office at the top floor. Her boots click on the marble floors, and she takes a deep breath before knocking on the stained glass door.

She hears MJ’s deep voice inviting her in, and she opens the door, finding Paula already sitting on one of the chairs around the meeting table MJ has in his office. She greets them both with a smile on her face, and walks further into the office, closing the door behind her.

“Take a seat,” MJ nods, clearly the one designated to talk more today as opposed to Paula who watches them both with a barely-there smile.

Paula takes a deep breath, clearly wanting to get to the point.

Talulah turns to her.

“How do you feel about an intern joining you for a couple of weeks, Talulah?” Paula asks, hands on the table.

“An intern?”

“Yes. Remember how and where you started?”

“I do, yes, of course,” she nods, turning to MJ.

MJ nods along, and waits for Paula.

“We are hiring for our new building in New York. MJ suggested someone shadow you for a few weeks before he makes the move to settle in New York. We already have someone coming, just wanted to see how you felt about someone shadowing you here,” Paula says, crossing her arms.

“Are you– sure? I mean, I’ve never had anyone shadowing me before.”

“MJ trusts you,” Paula nods. “And so do I, to be completely honest. We’re very happy with you, and he figured you would want this opportunity.”

“I mean, yeah, of course– yeah.”

“Yes?” Paula asks, turning to MJ for a second. “Are you saying yes, then?”

“Yes,” Talulah confirms, a small smile appearing.

MJ claps his hands, and reaches across the table to squeeze Talulah’s cold ones.

“Great!” He says, turning to Paula. “I’ll inform Noah, and get him a visitor’s ID, and whatnot.”

“Okay, great,” Paula nods, getting on her feet.

Talulah does the same.

“Thank you, Talulah,” Paula says, cracking a tiny smile. It’s so small Talulah barely recognises it before Paula turns around, and leaves MJ’s office.

“Any questions?” MJ asks, phone in hand.

“I mean– yeah. Who is he? How long is he shadowing me for? I’m nervous– is that normal?”

“Yeah, it’s normal. Don’t be nervous, you’re great at what you do, otherwise Paula wouldn’t agree on it, you know her,” MJ smiles.

“I do, yeah. So,” she says. “When do I get to meet him? What’s he like?”

“Tomorrow. And, he’s great– got great connections. He was working freelance before, but got great recommendations.”

She nods, and they chat for another couple of minutes before she leaves his office, and makes his way to her own floor. Lauren is already in her seat, working on something on her computer, and she walks over to her desk.

“Hey,” she greets her, and she turns around, smiling at her.

“Hey, you.”

“I just got back from MJ’s office–”

“–Are you fired?”

“No.”

“Then?”

“I’m having someone shadow me for a couple of weeks before they hire him for the New York office,” she murmurs, looking around for Zayn.

He’s just leaving the kitchen, and when he notices them both, he walks over to them.

Lauren claps her hands, despite the look she’s receiving from Talulah, and Zayn nods at her.

“Is she fired?” He says, sitting on the corner of her desk.

Talulah sighs. “Why is everyone asking the same thing?”

“We’re just fucking with you,” Lauren laughs, turning to Zayn. “She’s gonna have an intern shadow her for a couple of weeks before they move to New York.”

“Oh,” Zayn turns to Talulah. “Well done, T. That’s good news. Paula was there, wasn’t she?”

“Yep,” she nods. “She even cracked a smile. Once or twice.”

“Congratulations, T. That means they’re very happy with your performance,” Zayn says, placing a hand on Talulah’s shoulder. He squeezes, and Talulah smiles at him.

One of today’s shoots included working with Nick Robinson, and she couldn’t help but feel giddy over it. She gets ready, and brainstorms about the shoot with Zayn and his crew, and he tells her which lighting would be the best for some of the outfits he would have on. She makes a cup of coffee, and walks into the lift with Zayn and Metta. The studio is already alive, a blue backdrop already on as per Talulah’s request. ‘Mother of Pearl’ by Roxy Music is playing, the song coming through Zayn’s speakers, and she tries to get everything ready before Nick Robinson shows up with his entourage.

“You good?” Zayn asks, holding a pastel green scarf.

She nods, and turns towards the lifts when she hears commotion.

It’s Nick Robinson, dressed in wide leg trousers and a navy crochet vest. His hair is styled to perfection, and a few strands fall over to his face, creating a ‘nonchalant’ look.

“Hello,” he smiles, walking over to them.

He first greets Zayn, reaching a hand as they shake each other’s hand, and then he turns to Talulah.

“Hey,” he says, reaching and shaking her hand. “You’re Talulah.”

“I am,” she smiles, perhaps a little too big, and lets go of his soft hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

Nick turns to his PA, and Zayn guides him over to where a stool is stood in the middle of the room, in front of the backdrop. He sits down, and gives them a cheesy smile.

“I’ll just do a couple of test shots,” she says, grabbing her camera off the tripod. “And then, we’ll start.”

“Cool,” Nick grins. “How do you want me?”

“Doesn’t matter, just look at me and smile a little?”

He hums, and does what he’s told. It’s an easy shoot, Nick delivers what he’s supposed to, and Talulah can’t help but ask about his films, I’m a fan, if you couldn’t tell.

“Thank you for everything,” Nick says, shaking her hand after they wrapped up.

“Thank you, you were great.”

Lunch break comes too soon, and Talulah eats her wrap in silence as her greasy fingers work the keyboard of her laptop. She answers some emails, forwards some here and there, and sends herself a couple to remind her of her tasks for the upcoming weeks. Before closing her laptop, she gets another email from HR, MJ and Paula cc’d, about Noah’s arrival on Wednesday.

“T?”

She looks up at Zayn’s voice.

He’s standing by the door, his glasses in hand.

“Yes?”

“Jules is asking if you’d like to come around for dinner,” he says, looking down at his phone. He sounds gruff, like he’d been smoking for the last couple of hours.

She laughs. “Tonight?”

“I guess.”

“I mean– do you want me to come?”

He looks up, eyebrows raised in question. He looks bored. “What?”

“I’m joking.”

“Oh.”

“Jesus– you’re so awkward sometimes,” she closes her laptop, and starts tidying up her things– stuffing everything in her tote. “I’ll come.”

“Bring Harry, too.”

“What?” Chargers. Glasses. Favourite pens. More chargers– all stuffed in the yellow tote.

Zayn groans, taking a step back. “Bring Harry. Tonight.”

A grin appears on her face.

Zayn liked Harry.

Zayn rarely showed interest in people– especially the ones who just entered their lives.

“Okay…” she grins wider, turning off the small lamp on her desk. “I’ll ask him.”

Zayn nods. He watches her cross the desk and walk over to him with her bags as they begin walking side by side to the lift.

“Jules said it’d be nice,” Zayn says once in the lift, long fingers pressing the ground floor in a practised manner.

Talulah looks up, confused. “What?”

“Jules.”

“What?”

“She said Harry should come over as well. With you.”

“Okay, Zayn.”

Talulah looks down at the grey jeans she’s got on, and reaches for another pair on her bed. When she taps on her phone screen, it immediately goes off, showing Harry’s contact name. She answers with a smile, and in a few minutes, she’s locking her door and walking towards Harry’s Mini with quick steps as she tries to protect her makeup from the rain.

She gets in the warm car with a sigh, the sound of Harry’s wiper blades filling her ears as Harry greets her with a smile, watching as she places her bag on the backseat along with the wine bottle that’s secured in a pink tote.

“Hey,” he murmurs, lips already on her cheek as he presses a small kiss there. She smiles, taking in his smell and the moustache that’s been growing on his beautiful face.

She kisses his lips, then his chin. “Hey, you,” she notices the ‘Kiss’ t-shirt and his pink beanie. “Looking cosy with the beanie,” she murmurs, making him chuckle– his hand still on the back of her neck.

He thumbs at the soft skin there. “Yeah?”

“Mhm. Though, a t-shirt? It’s freezing.”

“I’ve got a cardigan on as well– and a coat,” he shrugs.

He kisses her one last time before letting go, and puts the car in drive.

“I missed you,” he looks at her, only for a moment before his eyes are back on the road.

There’s not much traffic, surprisingly, Talulah notes, so they drive in peace for the most part.

“I missed you, too,” Talulah agrees, reaching and messing with his beanie. He lets out a huff, one hand leaving the steering-wheel to fix the hat.

A moment of silence before he talks.

“You did?” He asks while Talulah is trying to connect her phone to the radio.

She doesn’t look up from her phone, her finger scrolling through her playlists to choose a song from. “I did, what?”

“You missed me?” Harry asks, clearing his throat.

He sounds on edge, almost, so she looks up from her phone screen, finding his eyes on the road.

“What do you mean?”

He takes a bit to answer.

“You’ve been a bit– I don’t know, I guess I wanted to hear your voice more these past couple of days.”

She holds off on starting her chosen song for a bit, out of respect.

“What do you mean?”

“I wanted to call more, text more…”

She chuckles. “We’ve been texting!”

“I know!” He lets out a laugh, but it sounds forced– almost embarrassed.

“So? Harry, are you okay?”

“I am. I’ve just– I don’t know, I’m being silly. I missed you, that’s all.”

“And I’ve missed you,” she laughs, right hand reaching and thumbing at the spot on his cheek where she knows his dimple would be.

He smiles, and she feels the dimple under her touch.

“Okay,” he says, voice quiet, but the dimple doesn’t disappear.

She likes it.

She prefers it that way.

They drive in silence for another minute before she turns to him again, finger hovering on the screen of her phone.

“Pick a number between one and twenty-one,” she says.

Harry lets out a chuckle. “Six,” Harry says, and she counts quickly, finger scrolling through songs.

She stops, and they both let out a laugh when Fleetwood Mac comes on.

“How predictable,” Harry says, eyes glinting despite the darkness of the car’s interior.

She hums.

How predictable, indeed.

‘Maybe now he could prove to her/ That he could be good for her/ And they should be together’

They arrive at Zayn and Jules’, and park the car in front of Zayn’s Range Rover. They joke about the size of Harry’s car compared to Zayn’s, and how his Mini fits into the space with ease before Talulah gathers her bags, and she watches Harry lock the car before turning to her with a wine bottle of his own in his hand.

He reaches for her free hand, and she smiles at the warmth of his palm against her own. They laugh about the wine they both had brought, same brand, and Talulah asks about Bo again. She knocks on the blue door, and watches for a moment as Harry takes in his surroundings.

Jules opens the door, wearing a bright-yellow jumper that is in contrast with the gloomy weather outside. Her smile is so big, Talulah can see the joy in her brown eyes as she ushers them inside, saving them from droplets of rain outside.

When they're inside the warm flat, Zayn appears out of nowhere, dressed in a pair of loose-fit jeans and a purple hoodie, and hugs them both. Jules accepts their gifts with a beaming smile– you didn't have to, and they take their seats at the table. Both Harry and Talulah compliment Jules–and Zayn–on the food, Zayn cracking a big smile when Jules looks down with a small smile as soon as Harry asks whether Zayn is a good cook or not.

“I’m so happy you guys could make it,” Jules says, cutting into her food.

Harry looks at Talulah for a moment, his smile widening, and turns to Jules. “Thanks for the invitation. You’re a good cook, everything’s delicious.”

“Thanks, Harry,” Jules smiles. “So,” her gaze wavers between Talulah and Harry. “How did you two meet?”

“Oh,” Harry turns to Talulah, like he’s waiting for her to give him the floor, or better yet, answer it herself.

Talulah doesn’t, though. She looks down, though a smile appears on her face as the silence fills the room, six pairs of eyes watching her.

Harry coughs into his fist. “We met at a Christmas dinner,” he answers, though it feels as though he’s wanting to say something else.

He doesn’t, though.

Instead, Talulah looks up, and places her hand on his chin, thumbing at the soft, warm skin there before turning to the curious pairs of eyes.

“Arielle hosted a Christmas dinner, we were both there,” she says, placing her elbows on the table. “I was mean to him.”

“You weren’t,” Harry laughs.

They all do.

“I was.”

“Nah,” Harry shakes his head, and turns to Jules with a smile on his face. “I saw her and wanted to introduce myself. She looked beautiful,” he says, and Talulah doesn’t have to look at him to know his cheeks are warm, and slightly flushed.

She still does, though.

She looks at his dimple, then into his eyes. Harry smiles.

“See,” Talulah turns to Jules. “He thought I was beautiful, and I was a total bitch to him.”

She turns her attention to Zayn, noticing how quiet he’d been all night. He’s got a sombre look on his face– a look she can’t quite work out. She raises her eyebrows at him, a silent conversation happening between the pair, and Talulah turns to Jules again, ignoring Zayn.

Harry interrupts her thoughts.

“Got us here in the end, didn’t it?” He says, biting his bottom lip.

They keep eating, and talking about nothing and everything all at once. At one point, Harry and Zayn start arguing over football, and Zayn groans one too many times when Harry brings up the league table.

Talulah falls quiet.

She thinks back to the first night they’d met– the first time Talulah had seen Harry.

She wonders if she’d dreamt the whole thing, their first interaction.

In truth, she wasn’t the one being mean– Harry had started it.

How could he not remember her? Still, to this day, how could Harry not remember the first time he’d seen Talulah? Had she changed that much in one night? Was it her makeup– her hair? Or, was it her clothes?

It was silly.

It was weird.

She didn’t know why it mattered so much, Harry being rude to her at the shop. It was insignificant. It was pointless to dwell on such a thing when he had redeemed himself already.

Harry was kind.

He was beautiful– in every sense of the word. His heart was big, and so warm, and Talulah wanted to hold it in her hands, despite the coldness of her palms– despite the imaginary callouses decorating her palms. She thought his big heart wasn’t fit for her dirty hands. It was as if her palms were too muddy, too bleak and unworthy for his big heart.

She looks up at his touch on the back of her neck.

“You with us?” Harry asks, grinning.

“Did you tell Harry about your new intern?” Zayn interrupts their moment, and she feels cold all of a sudden, despite Harry’s warm hand on her neck.

She feels his curious gaze on her, and she shakes her head. “I forgot to.”

“You have an intern?” Harry asks.

“Apparently…”

The night carries on, Harry insists on helping Jules with tidying up and putting everything in the dishwasher so she lets Harry and Zayn load the dishwasher while she puts the kettle on, Talulah watching quietly from a distance. She watches Harry joke with Zayn, Zayn’s usually quiet attitude disappearing under Harry’s jolly personality. Although it’s only been a couple of months of knowing Harry, Talulah can tell he’s quieter than usual. He zones out quite often when Zayn doesn’t talk, and he almost breaks a plate and drops cutlery more than once.

They sit and talk in Zayn and Jules’ spacious living room, and Talulah presses her body closer to Harry’s warmth when a new song comes on through the speakers. She can’t quite recall ever hearing the tune, or the melody, so she listens intently. Harry turns his attention to her, her head on his shoulder– hair touching the warm skin of his neck. He smiles down at her, though his eyes tell a different story.

She doesn’t question it there.

She lets him lay his head on hers, and she smiles, a small one, and hums when Jules gushes about the new greengrocers near Hamilton Road.

They leave Zayn and Jules’ flat around eleven, and Harry doesn’t reach for her hand when they’re walking towards his car like he did when they first arrived.

She hugs her aching body, trying to shelter the last bits of warmth inside her body and winter coat while Harry walks ahead, long limbs trying to beat the freezing weather.

“Are you angry at me?”

“What?”

She looks up from her seatbelt, and looks into his eyes, finding him already watching her tired fingers work the seatbelt.

Harry waits for her answer.

It doesn’t come for a while, until Harry’s turning the ignition and they’re on the road again.

Her hand reaches for the cable that connects their phone to the radio, though his cold hand stops her mid-reach.

She turns to him.

He’s focused on the road.

“Don’t,” he says, voice low, almost a murmur.

He does sound angry.

She feels her heart start beating even faster now, brain trying to come up with all the reasons he might feel so hostile and worked up.

She thinks it might be because she didn’t like the wine they brought, or perhaps it was when she rolled her eyes at his joke about one of her outfits she wore last week.

Could’ve been the time when he pressed a kiss to her chin, and she bit her lip while trying to distance herself from his touch because she felt Jules looking at them.

She comes empty-handed.

“Talulah?” Harry questions the overbearing silence in the tiny car.

She turns to him, catching a glimpse of his distant gaze before his eyes find their focus on the road.

“What?”

“I don’t want you to play a song to fill the awkwardness,” Harry grumbles.

If she were brave, she would’ve gasped at the heavy implications of his words.

“So it’s awkward now?” A bitter laugh leaves her mouth. She shakes her head. “What– who made it awkward– why? How is it my fault that you made it awkward, Harry? I mean–” she takes a deep breath, palms sweating.

“I didn’t say you made it awkward.”

“You implied it.”

Harry lets out a groan. “I didn’t. I’m just saying–”

She grows frustrated. She pinches the bridge of her nose. “Just fucking spit it out. You’re giving me the cold shoulder– you have been giving me the cold shoulder all night. I have no idea why you’re so– so angry about!”

“All night?” His voice is gruff, but still loud.

“Just tell me for God’s sake, Harry.”

“Do you even like me, Talulah?”

Talulah stiffens, levelling Harry with a hard, stone-cold gaze. “What?”

A bitter laugh escapes his mouth. “Do you? Do you like me as much as I like you?”

Talulah feels small.

She feels guilty, yet so angry.

How dare he?

How dare he question her feelings towards him when she should be the one doing so.

She should be the one questioning his feelings, his stance on this relationship, considering their first interaction.

Maybe, she found herself thinking from time to time, maybe Harry was just pretending.

Maybe he’s been pretending the whole time; pretending to have forgotten how awful he was to her when they first met, and the fact that he acted like he didn’t remember anything at Ariel’s party. Maybe Harry was a player. Maybe he was just an awful person– a scam.

So, yes, Talulah feels small. She feels six-years-old again, being questioned about her feelings, about how real they are. ‘Are you sure you’re hungry?’, ‘Did you really think it would work?’, ‘You’re only six, Lullah, don’t get involved in our business’, ‘You’re overreacting, you’re acting silly’.

“Are you even listening?” Harry asks, incredulously.

Talulah gulps, the lump in her throat expanding. “I am.”

“And you’re choosing not to answer,” he makes a sharp left, and she looks out the window, feeling alarmed for a moment before she chastises herself for feeling so, knowing Harry wouldn’t do anything to harm her.

“I just think it’s a stupid question.”

Harry stops at a red light, and the window rolls down, only a little bit. The breeze seeps inside the car, filling the small vehicle with the smell of smoke and exhaust. Talulah feels sick to her stomach, sick at the silence filling not only Harry’s car, but also Talulah’s heart.

Harry doesn't waver, he sends her a small smile. It’s filled with so much: so much love, but also sadness. It’s dull, but also so bright. She shakes like a leaf inside, though doesn’t show it on the outside.

“It’s not stupid,” Harry argues back. “Do you? Do you like me? Because I–” He puts the car in drive. “–I feel like I like you more than you like me–”

“–So you’ve said.”

“You don’t talk to me, Talulah!” Harry hits the steering wheel, though it’s only a gentle tap in her eyes.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She grows frustrated, anger showing in her wavering, shaky tone of voice. “I do talk to you. You know more about me than most people. You know about my mum, about– Harry, what happened?”

“Talulah, this past week you’ve been distant. I always feel like I’m bothering you when I text or call,” Harry tries to reason.

Talulah feels angry.

“Now, you’re being unreasonable.”

“How?”

“I’m not distant! We talk– we text. We’re fine. What’s this about– what’s the real reason?”

She doesn’t realise they made it to her flat until the car stops, and Harry puts the car in park. She knows someone will see his car in their parking space and walk downstairs to tell them off for it.

She doesn’t care.

She doesn’t think Harry does, either.

Harry exhales, and unbuckles his seatbelt, then clears his throat.

“You have an intern now?”

Talulah looks at him with raised eyebrows, a wicked smile painting her features.

“You’re fucking with me– is that why you’re angry?”

“No– yes. Not because you have someone shadowing you. Because it feels like you tell me nothing lately.”

“That’s such a stupid reason to be mad at me, though.”

“Zayn knows more about you. Even Jules does. I didn’t know you cut your finger until I asked why you were going out to buy plasters for,” Harry starts listing things, as if he’s been waiting for this moment his whole life. She’s bewildered, to say the least. Harry goes on. “I didn’t know your throat hurt until I asked about your voice– or– or when I wanted to see you and you told me you’d been assigned a new photoshoot for– for fucking Phoebe Bridgers. I mean– that’s fucking huge, isn’t it?”

“I’m lost.”

“I want to know you.”

“You know me.”

Harry carries on, shaking his head in disapproval. He doesn’t look convinced, nor pleased. “I just feel like– I feel like you’re holding back.”

“I’m not.”

“Well, okay.”

She tries to get closer to his face.

He turns his head.

“Harry.”

“Yes?”

“What are you saying?”

“I want to know why you’re holding back– what’s changed? It was different when we first met, when we first started seeing each other,” Harry looks down, his jeans seemingly more interesting now.

“Harry, that’s not true– nothing’s changed. I’ve just been busy,” she tries to reason, but to no avail; Harry’s stance is clear.

He looks distant– which is ironic, seeing how he argues the opposite.

“I’ll call you tomorrow.”

“Harry,” Talulah laughs– a pathetic sound, she thinks, her laugh is.

It’s alien inside the quiet car, the sound of the wind and rain filling her insides.

Harry smiles, like he’s trying to let her down easy. “I’ll call you tomorrow, because I think we’re both not making any sense now. I don’t think I explained myself clearly, and I’m just being really unreasonable and silly right now.”

Talulah lets out a breath. “You’re not being silly. I just– I’m confused.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel confused– I myself am confused. I think I’m just…”

“You’re just, what?”

“I like you, T.”

She bites her bottom lip. “I like you, too. You know that, right? I do– I really fucking like you, Harry.”

“I know, I know you do.”

“So?”

“I will call you tomorrow, I promise.”

She clears her throat, and unbuckles her belt. Grabbing her back, she doesn’t even look back as she closes the door behind her.

She opens her door, and she spends a few minutes getting rid of the layers of clothes she’s got on. When she dares looking out her window, she sees his car still parked where she left him a few minutes ago. The lampposts cast a shadow into his car, an orange hue, and she sees the light of his phone illuminating the dark interior of his car. She smiles, waiting for his text.

Harry locks her phone– she knows, because it’s dark in the car again.

Her phone doesn’t make a sound.

Harry drives off.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #florist!harry #tiolt #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry #styles #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfic #harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x ofc #harry styles one shot

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samantha-rae-velcher · 9 months

Text

Sick Day

Narrator x Fem reader

Requested by: @youngcreatorlady

Warnings: y/n not used, Fluff!! Really sweet narrator!

A/n: if you don't like the warnings please don't read! PLEASE KEEP MY COMMENT SECTION AGGRESSION FREE!

___

"Grant." Kai called from the bedroom.

Within seconds the large man came barreling in, racing to her side.

"Are you okay?" He asked. "Can I get you anything?"

"Could you make me come soup?"

Grant smiled, planting a kiss on her forehead.

"I'll be right back."

He made his way into the kitchen, grabbing out a pot and come chicken broth. He cut up some chicken, celery, and carrots. He then pulled a bag of egg noodles out of the cupboard, setting it on the counter.

"Hey, baby!" Narrator yelled.

"Yeah!?"

"Do you want some hot tea?"

"Sure."

He smiled, grabbing a coffee mug. Grant began boiling water in the kettle while he picked out the tea bag. When the kettle screeched like Harry Potters mom, he knew the water was done. Grant snatched the kettle off the stove, pouring the hot water into the mug and let the tea bag sink to the bottom.

He came back into the bedroom, setting the cup on the bedside table and taking a seat next to Kai. He smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear.

"Your soup is almost done. Are you okay?"

Kai snuggled into the blankets further, nodding and taking his hand, planting a kiss on his knuckles.

A ding came from the kitchen, catching Grants attention.

"Soups done. Drink your tea, I'll be right back."

He went back into the kitchen, grabbing a bowl out of the cupboard, and a ladle from the drawer. He poured some soup into the bowl and brought it back to the room.

"Here we go, I brought you some crackers too."

Grant went over to his side of the bed, snuggling in next to her. Kai took a sip from the bowl, the hot liquid warming her up.

"Thank you, baby." She whispered.

"I'm here to take care of you."

Grant leaned over and planted a kiss on her jaw.

THE END ❤️

I hope you enjoyed

Reblogs are welcome

@youngcreatorlady hope you're feeling better ❤️

#your narrator x fem reader #your favorite narrator #your narrator x reader #your narrator #fyp #foryou #fanfic #foryoupage #x reader #requested #yep the boys x reader #yep the boys

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lemony-snickers · 1 year

Note

35. kissing to get their attention , whatever comes to your mind. I am an anon who you definitely dont know. wooo. ghost.. bye

When Kakashi slid through the window of Tenzo's apartment, he did not expect the jungle that awaited him inside. Plants of all kinds and shapes and sizes were strewn throughout the living area in various colored pots.

With his curiosity piqued, he stepped gingerly over the containers, moving toward the faint sound of perturbed muttering which told him Tenzo was indeed somewhere to be found amongst all the foliage.

Tenzo sat at his chabudai, posture stooped and brow scrunched together beneath his mop of brown hair. He'd forgone the overshirt of his uniform, wearing only the first compression layer with the attached chin protector.

Kakashi admired the way his arm muscles flexed as he trimmed the wild-looking fern in front of him, snipping back fronds and gently inspecting leaves. Next to him, Kakashi saw a spray bottle and a stack of rags normally reserved for cleaning.

"Trouble in the garden today?" Kakashi asked, but Tenzo did not look up from his work.

Kakashi smiled and shook his head, deciding to take a few more careful steps toward the improvised workspace Tenzo could hear him better.

"Everything okay?" he asked.

Tenzo jumped, yelping when the trimmers in his hand grazed his opposite thumb. He inspected the pad of his finger, only looking at Kakashi once he discerned he hadn't drawn blood. "Ah, hi, Senpai," he said, "Sorry, I'm a little busy today, as you can see."

He gestured toward the forest's worth of flora around him. "There's something bothering my plants," he said, turning back to his work and muttering some continuation of the thought under his breath.

"Is it an insect or fungus?" Kakashi asked, turning over the leaves of a nearby begonia, but finding no scales or other markings underneath. "Tenzo?" he prompted again.

Nothing.

Kakashi sighed, releasing the waxy leaf. If Tenzo wasn't even bothering to correct Kakashi's use of his name, then he must really be worried about whatever was damaging his garden.

Kakashi sighed, a little put out by being ignored, and traipsed his way carefully into the kitchen so he could collect water for tea. He frowned at the sage plant he found in the basin of the sink.

"Is it okay if I move this?" he called.

When he didn't receive an answer, Kakashi peeked over his shoulder to discover Tenzo had moved onto a new patient--a healthy-looking pothos which challenged Tenzo's assertion that something was irritating his plants at all.

Kakashi shook his head and moved the sage to the counter so he could fill the kettle, setting it on the stove as he prepared two cups and a teapot. While he waited for the water to boil, he leaned against the counter to watch Tenzo work, arms folded over his chest.

He couldn't deny he liked it when Tenzo concentrated. The set of his jaw and his dark, piercing gaze lent an air of strength and purpose to his appearance that Kakashi enjoyed very much.

Kakashi turned the stove off before the kettle could screech and filled the teapot, setting it on a wooden tray with the two cups and carrying it over to where Tenzo was working, now inspecting the leaves and flowers of a small lavender bush one by one.

Kakashi knew he'd somehow be roped into helping Tenzo move his container garden back to the rooftop once this was all over, so he'd need to devise some kind of incentive Tenzo could offer him in return.

He smirked beneath his mask, already thinking over several ideas, all of which would no doubt stain Tenzo's face, neck, and ears the same shade as the begonia Kakashi had inspected earlier.

"I made tea," he said, setting the tray down and not expecting an answer.

Instead, Kakashi reached up to pinch the fabric over the bridge of his nose and leaned down without any warning to plant a soft kiss on Tenzo's mouth even as he continued muttering to himself.

The shocked sputter Kakashi received in response deterred him not at all, and he simply used the opportunity to sweep his tongue into Tenzo's mouth for a moment before pulling away again.

"I said, I made tea," he repeated, sitting himself down on the cushion beside Tenzo and pushing the lavender plant back to make room for a cup.

Tenzo didn't say a word while Kakashi poured for them both, his ears bright pink and face so hot Kakashi could almost feel the steam radiating from his cheeks.

"So," Kakashi said, taking a first slow sip of his tea, "insect or fungus?" he tried again.

"F-fungus," Tenzo responded after a moment, lifting his own cup to his mouth.

"Mm," Kakashi hummed, setting his cup down and pulling snake plant from the array of pots nearby, "tell me what to look for."

Tenzo's offered a relieved smile, pointing to the base of the leaves as he began to explain.

Kakashi knew they'd be there long into the evening, but as long as they could stay side-by-side--and Tenzo didn't mind too much making it up to him later--he didn't mind playing gardener for the day.

#kakayama #kakayama fanfiction #lovely “anon” (nisi)#lemony scribbles #friday flash fic fest #pls ignore that it is indeed actually monday as i post this a;sldkfjasdf #sorry this one took so long my dear; that's what you get for forcing me to think of a pairing on my own tho ahaha

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josy57 · 5 months

Video

youtube

Into the Dark and Away

When you've learnt by heart the patterns on the carpet The grain of the floorboards pressed flush against your cheek When you've grown sick of counting the dust motes Staring dazedly as they dance in the draft And collect under the dresser As so many discarded dreams When you’ve bored yourself numb and blind Stand up or perhaps crawl downstairs Sneak through the window, into the unlit dawn Light as a sigh, since no one is here to stop you Heavy as a sob, for no one is here to stop you. Through the garden, barefoot across the flower beds Bending the pliant necks of your mother's tulips Her ancient tabby cat, keeping watch from the parapet Wailing and whining, rasping its bitter refrain Won’t you wait, won’t you listen, Won’t you please try and understand You headstrong girl, You silly girl, You golden child But it’s too late for pleading, you’ve been halfway gone a long time So go for good, Go over the fence and into the fields Over the fence and away

Go and sleep under the willow tree Where its long fingers will trace its sorrow upon you There you might find rest and forget Forget the lonely sound of the leaking faucet Forget the unlived life And even your own name

When the alarm clock rings with echoes of school bells Tolling mercilessly, striking the hour When the chirping of birds turns to nasty singsong Twittering their teetering chant When you haven’t closed your eyes in weeks And yet morning still comes And yet duty calls, clamoring for another ounce of courage Another shred of surrender, another pound of your bloodless flesh Open the backdoor, let the radio fry itself hoarse Let the phone hang and cry its phony tune Let the gate slam behind you, swaying on screeching hinges The old house, full of ghosts, nagging and begging Look back, turn back, come back You stupid girl, You lovely girl, You small, small thing But there is nothing anymore you wouldn't dare Nothing now they can forbid You’ve been halfway gone a long time So go for good Go, into the dark and towards the forest Into the dark and away

Go and sleep under the walnut tree Where breath is rare but the slumber is deep There you might find rest and forget Forget the taste of bile of every family meal Forget the endless list of tasks And even the grudges you keep

When you are all out of time, of hope, of composure When you've crossed all the days, all the Ts Dotted the Is and scratched them out in every Christmas picture Spent the last of your restraint And turned all the dials on the stove Walk to the end of the driveway, to the end of the road The tar still sticky with the day’s heat The faces of the whole neighborhood, Peering through curtains and keyholes And that voice, sickly sweet, tugging at your sleeve Pinching your upper arm Telling you not to make a scene in public The crunching gravel, coaxing and cajoling Stay here, within reach Stay near, within sight Sit, stand, beg, play dead Stay, stay, stay You stubborn girl, You dear girl You odd duckling For once, let it fall onto deaf ears Go, through the thistle, through the thorns Following the cool rustle of rushing water You’ve been halfway gone a long time So go for good Go, beyond the bend and along the river Beyond the bend and away

Go and sleep under the manchineel tree Where every touch is seared and etched into your skin There too you must sit still as the world eats at you Each brush like the lash of a whip But, at least, here you can ponder in peace As patient as a boiling frog Your head busy and buzzing With thoughts sharper than a hornet's sting You may think and think and forget Forget the whistled scream of the hissing kettle Forget the many reasons for your rage And even the way home.

#youtube #writerscreed #inkstay #poetryriot #poetryportal #poeticstories #inspireamuse #writtenconsiderations #smittenbypoetry #savage-words #recognizingthevoiceless #writingthestorm #imperialreblogs #poetselixir #poetryclub13 #twcpoetry #spilled ink #poetry

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kakashiswilloffire · 7 months

Text

dysthymia pt. 12

another chapter to my series of drabbles of kakashi having depression. this one is kakashi self harming.

tw: dead dove, self harm, burning

wc: 586

ao3

pt. 11 / pt. 13

He wanted to scream, to let the steam coming from whatever inside his body was currently being brought to a boil erupt like it would from a kettle. A hissing, screeching, horrid sound that could only be born of pain.

He couldn’t scream. And he couldn’t continue to let these feelings scald his core.

The pain couldn’t end. But it could be transferred.

With gritted teeth, something in the back of his mind screaming that he should not do this, he entered the kitchen and lit the stove. The coiled burner smoked faintly for a moment, whisking away the oil that had popped onto its surface the last time he cooked, and then continued to build in heat. He slid open the dining ware drawer, plucking out a single metal chopstick.

He shouldn’t. He knew he shouldn’t. It’s not going to help anything. He’ll regret it later. It’ll reset his streak. Anyone he told would be disappointed, or worse, worried about him.

And yet, he brought the tip of the chopstick down to the burner.

He knew it would only take a few seconds to heat enough to hurt. A few more to make sure it left a mark. Once the time had elapsed, he flipped his grip around the utensil to tilt it toward his opposite wrist, took a deep breath, and brought the metal to his skin.

Instinctively, he jerked back,

That always happened the first time he made contact. As often as he did this, the preservation impulse hadn’t gone away. With another deep breath, he pressed the end of the tool just below the pulse point with intention and exhaled as the pain set in.

The initial feeling that came over him was relief. Then shame, guilt, anger, disgust, and a litany of other emotions adding to the psychological agony before he needed the relief and–

He started the process again.

It only took seconds, preparation and execution. The heat source was immediately available and the chopstick would be disposed of immediately after every session. He could stand in the kitchen and repeat the process of torching himself as many times as he needed until the world got a little more still and quiet and possible to endure. Each round got a little easier than the last and it got easier to breathe.

A few dots later, the burner was turned off and the chopstick tossed. Now, in seemingly direct opposition to his actions over the last few minutes, he shifted into a medic space. He held the burns under cool running water from the sink, continuing to take deep breaths and focusing on not spiraling into anything worse than the state he was already in.

Once he was done with the water, he hissed as the stinging started taking over. The next step was a change in scenery, the medkit in the bathroom, the one stocked with more burn gel than the average kit. Bandaging up was the most time-consuming part of the process, but it allowed him to take stock of what he had just done and ground himself in reality. The stinging subsided once the wounds weren’t exposed to the air.

Now was the final step: the battle between regret and justification. Knowing he shouldn’t have burned himself didn’t mean that he didn’t have reasons to do it. It was an intense battle he almost never had the emotional capacity to finish and instead would let the exhaustion overwhelm him, finding a comfortable place in the apartment to rest.

#tw self harm #kakashi has dysthymia

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rosielou94 · 1 year

Text

Anything For You

Father Paul Hill x F!Reader

This is my first piece of fanfic that i’ve published. I’ve got loads of ideas for this story, so if you’d like to hear more, let me know! I’m also aware the writing probably isn’t the best, so apologies.

Summary: After helping your son when he falls over, Father Paul stops by to see you.

Warnings: single mum life, hints at unhealthy relationships, priestly sexual tension, feelings.

This story is set in a universe where Father Paul isn’t a vampire, and everyone on Crockett Island lives happily ever after.

Word Count: 1,881

“Do you fancy a cup of tea?” You poked your head round the door to Sheriff Hassan’s office. “Or would you prefer coffee?”

Hassan’s raised eyebrows answered your question without him having to say a word.

“Coffee it is,” you smiled, heading over to the dented kettle, and flicking the switch on. As the ancient appliance roared to life you glanced out across the shop floor. There were no customers in; but then again, on an island as tiny as Crockett, you were never exactly rushed off your feet. You’d taken the job as the store manager three years ago, and moved out here with your young son, Oliver to escape the nightmare of the mainland, and your asshole of an ex.

The island wasn’t exactly paradise, but it was miles better than where you’d come from. The people were nice enough, and you’d made a few good friends in Sheriff Hassan and Erin, Oliver’s teacher. The way of life on Crockett Island was a lot slower than you were used to, but you’d come to realise that slow could be good. It gave you time to stop and smell the roses, to appreciate the small things. However, the slow life also gave you more time to think, and most days your mind was filled with thoughts of a fellow islander, one who was strictly off limits…

The high pitched screech of the kettle pulled you from your thoughts and you readied two mugs with instant coffee, before filling them with boiling water. You quietly chastised yourself for letting your mind wander again as you brought Hassan his drink, setting it in front of him with a grin.

“Crockett Island’s finest coffee,” you said, bowing in an over exaggerated manner. “Enjoy.”

Hassan stared at you, trying his hardest to keep his features deadpan, but a small smile snuck its way to the corner of his lips. His gruff exterior was hard to crack, but since he’d moved to the island as the new sheriff two years ago, you’d slowly seen his façade drop and every now and again a small smile would crack his stoic demeanour. You’d quickly grown to be good friends, and leaned on each other in times of need. He was also the only person who knew about your little crush, and he got a kick out of teasing you about it.

“Really?” he asked, when you’d come clean after a morning of shelf-stacking. “Of all the people in the world, him?”

“Crockett Island isn’t exactly crawling with eligible bachelors, Hassan,” you’d retorted, feeling slightly embarrassed at his reaction.

“The guy’s a priest,” Hassan shot back. “A priest. He swore an oath to forsake all other relationships except for God. Or something like that.”

“The heart wants what the heart wants,” you’d sighed, kicking yourself that after a string of unhealthy relationships, the one person who you could actually see yourself with had already sworn himself to our Lord and Saviour.

You headed back to the cash register and sat down, pulling out the latest novel you were reading while you waited for a customer. You still had another 3 hours on shift, and you were looking forward to getting home to see Oliver.You were halfway through a chapter when the door to the shop opened and the object of your desires stumbled in, holding your son in his arms.

“Oh my god!” You cried, standing up so quickly that your chair fell to the floor. “What happened?”

“Someone had a little accident.” Father Paul Hill gently placed your son onto the counter, his dark curly hair windswept and unruly.

“Sweetheart,” you cooed, stroking your son’s face and checking him over. “What happened?”

“I – I was pla-playing superheroes and I sl-slipped and hurt my kn-kn-knee.” Your son’s sobs never failed to wrench at your heart, and you bent forward to inspect the damage as he pulled his jeans leg up to show you his scraped knee.

“Oh dear,” you said, taking in his cut knee and grazed shin. While certainly not life threatening, it did look painful. “There’s only one thing for it,” you smiled.

“Candy?” Oliver asked, his tears stopping momentarily as he looked hopefully into your eyes.

“I was thinking more along the lines of a Paw Patrol band-aid and a magic kiss,” you retorted, “but I suppose you can have a small piece of candy for being such a brave boy.”

After retrieving the first aid kit, you administered the life saving treatment of one novelty band-aid and several magic kisses.

“Why don’t you come sit in the Sheriff’s office while you recover, Superhero?” asked Hassan, extending an arm to guide Oliver into his office. With his favourite candy in hand, Oliver had all but forgotten his injured knee.

“What’s the prognosis, doc?” Father’s Paul’s soft, melodic voice brought a small smile to your face. “Will he live to fight crime another day?”

“He’ll be fine,” you said, leaning against the counter, “all thanks to you.”

His soft eyes gazed at you, making your heart flutter. His tall, lithe frame was clothed in a white shirt, navy cardigan and dark jeans, the colours offsetting his deep brown eyes. You briefly made eye contact, and for a few heart fluttering moments, you held each other’s gaze. You forced yourself to look away and began tidying the first aid kit away.

“Thank you again,” you smiled.

“Anything for you,” replied Father Paul, reaching out to gently squeeze your arm.

That evening, after finishing your shift and putting Oliver to bed, you sat on the sofa with a glass of wine in hand. What had Father Paul meant when he said, “anything for you?” As the island’s priest, it was his job to be here for the residents, whether they attended church or not.

You weren’t religious, and hadn’t stepped foot inside the church in your three years on the island. however, Father Paul was an active member of the community, and was often seen out and about, mingling with the islanders and getting to know everyone. Over the years you’d had plenty of conversations and interactions. He was probably just being friendly. He’d do the same for anyone, you decided, taking a sip of wine.

A soft knock at the door interrupted your thoughts and you padded across the cottage to find Father Paul standing on your porch.

“I hope I’m not interrupting?” he asked, “I came to check on the patient.”

“He’s fine,” you smiled, “resting, but I��ve been told he’ll make a full recovery and his superpowers won’t be affected.”

“That’s wonderful news. I suppose I should have come earlier, when he was awake.” Father Paul looked awkward, shuffling his feet and stuffing his hands into his cardigan pockets. He went to make a move, but you didn’t want him to leave, not yet.

“Would you like to come in?” you asked, “I can make you a drink?”

You stepped back and allowed the priest to enter, suddenly wishing you’d tidied away your sons toys and washed up the dishes from dinner.

“Tea?” you asked, feeling slightly scandalous at the thought of having a priest in your home. Whatever would Beverly Keane think?! “Or I have wine if you prefer?”

“Wine would be perfect, thank you.”

You bustled about in the kitchen, pouring crisp Sauvignon Blanc into a glass, your heart hammering in your chest.

You turned, not realising that Father Paul was right behind you, and bumping into him, spilling the wine down his front.

“Oh god,” you cried, grabbing a tea towel from the counter and wiping vigorously at the patch that now darkened the priest’s otherwise crisp shirt. “I am so sorry!”

“It’s alright,” he laughed, a blissful sound that sent a delicious shiver down your spine. “No harm done.”

His hands gently touched yours, removing the towel from you and placing it back down on the countertop. You gasped as his warm, soft skin made contact with yours. You knew you should pull away, but you couldn’t stop yourself from squeezing his hand just a fraction. He made no move to pull away either, and you looked up into his brown eyes that were filled with such tenderness it made you weak at the knees.

“I suppose I must be quite selfish,” he smiled, ever so gently running his thumb along the smooth contours of you knuckles. “I’ll confess, I did come to see how Oliver was doing. But I was also looking forward to seeing you.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “You were?” you whispered, wondering whether priests were allowed to say such things.

“These last three years I’ve seen you and your son become such loved members of the community. I’ve enjoyed getting to know you both. Oliver really is an incredible boy, and you are a ray of sunshine on a cloudy day." He took your hands in his, bringing them up to his chest.

“Father Paul,” you breathed, pushing yourself into him, no longer caring whether he was a man of the cloth or not; you needed to be close to him.

“I’ve had many a conversation with God over whether the feelings I have for you are sinful.” His voice hitched, his face now mere inches from yours. You could feel his warm breath on your cheek, could smell his musky cologne mixed with the sweet scent of laundry detergent. It was intoxicating.

“And what feelings are those?” you asked, daring yourself to lightly brush your fingers through Paul’s curls.

“Feelings that I once believed her a sin. But I know that something as wonderful as you could never be a sin.” Paul’s voice was shaking, as were his hands as they reached up to gently cup your cheeks. “I’ve been a man of God my whole life – I still am. But you, my dear, you do something to me that I can’t explain.”

You so badly wanted to kiss him, wanted to feel his lips against yours.

“I had no idea you felt this way,” you smiled, trailing a finger from his hair, down to his cheek and along his jaw. You felt him shiver against you and you brushed your lips ever so lightly against his, lighting a fire of desire in your belly.

“It’s caused quite the battle of inner turmoil,” Father Paul smiled, his thumb gently stroking your cheek. “But I meant what I said earlier, in the store. I’d do anything for you, I really would.”

“Will you do something for me now?” you asked, your desire to have him almost all-consuming.

“Anything, my dear,” he whispered, pulling you flush against his body.

“Kiss me?”

Father Paul’s lips were gentle and sweet as they found yours, the sensation sending a ripple of pleasure down your spine. You sighed contentedly as the kiss deepened, your fingers weaving back into his dark, unruly locks. You could have stayed like this forever, wrapped up in his arms, just the two of you.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” Father Paul gasped, breaking the kiss. “May God have mercy.”

“Oh, I have a few ideas,” you smirked, feeling his hardness pressing against your thigh. “Will you do something else for me?” “Anything,” Father Paul whispered.

“Come to bed with me?”

#midnight mass #father paul hill #father paul hill x reader #father paul hill x you #john pruitt #midnight mass fic #midnight mass fanfiction #mike flannigan #hamish linklater #paul hill #priest

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boundinparchment · 1 year

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Deus In Absentia - VII

The first time was a coincidence. The second time was a fluke. But the third time? You were starting to think it was fate. Or, more likely, a calculated trap. Reposted from my previous blog, @/zhonglis-empty-wallet AO3

You had questions.

A lot of them.

A third of them were why you allowed and enabled this habit of drink and food consumption near delicate materials.

The entire book only took a few hours to read and as you boiled water for the requested tea, your mind spun so hard, you couldn’t see straight.

A cycle of violence started by the defiance and rejection of the Heavenly Principles, by straying too far from the path of destiny.

But how could one stray from destiny when, in fact, destiny itself was a lie? Couldn’t one have been destined to stray from the intended path to begin with? Closing the loop precisely by thinking one was not following it, ultimately fulfilling the very end one didn’t wish to?

And that was only a single part in the larger picture. A Veil between Teyvat and the rest of the universe, powered by the Ley Lines; Teyvat was nothing more than an inverted pocket dimension. One in which the demon gods were the kindest, playing the role of wardens, while their celestial masters lorded over all and sought to maintain the status quo of ignorance and compliance through violence and genocide.

There were whole other universes out there beyond the stars.

But the very stars in the sky were nothing but a fucking lie .

If this was true. Then again, why wouldn’t it (couldn’t it) be?

The kettle screeched and you were brought back to the task at hand. Dottore’s omission on what tea was preferable was one that would make anyone else falter to the point of inaction. Asking him was tantamount to offering oneself up on a silver platter for his next experiment. It interrupted his workflow to deal with such a mundane thing. But for you, the choice was obvious; he wanted to discuss the knowledge shared and for those occasions; something strong and caffeinated.

Such information wasn’t exactly in the purview of your title of Archivist, not really. But it helped and made life, such as it was, bearable. Not when it came to preservation of documents, granted. At least most of the priceless stuff was already hermetically sealed away. You saw to that months ago.

In hindsight, lacking such attention to detail would have made everything far better to begin with. Then you wouldn’t have been swept up into this and your head wouldn’t swimming with the knowledge that everything about the very world you lived in was a goddamn fucking lie.

You arranged the tray and made your way to Dottore’s private study, where he had retreated hours prior. When you nudged the door open after knocking and announcing yourself, he cast a single glance towards the door and then pushed whatever paperwork he was looking at aside. At least he was self-aware.

“You’ve read it, then,” Dottore stated as you began pouring tea for both of you.

You flicked your gaze up at him, finding a wicked smile on his face and a dark gleam in his eyes. It was the same look he got when he realized one of his “specimens” was frightened or when he had someone cornered. Something between ravenous hunger and joyful pride.

“I have,” you said, turning your attention back to the porcelain before you.

“And what do you make of it?”

Words sprang to mind: conspiracy, lies, heresy, nonsense. It contradicted everything accepted as truth in the known world, even the very Archon the Fatui served. The hypothesis (for it couldn’t be a theory, theories required more concrete evidence) made sense on paper, all laid out and organized in an easy-to-digest structure with supporting evidence and sources.

“An inverted pocket dimension tucked away at the roots of the World Tree and ruled by demon gods that are just as much prisoners of the Heavenly Principles as the humanity they rule, with a false sky and supposed predetermination” you said at last. “It sounds like a tale from Yae Publishing House, truthfully.”

You, of all people, would know; you were in the business of books, after all.

“I understand the concept well enough,” you continued. “But where do the Fatui and the Tsaritsa’s plan come into play? As far as the events of the book go, the Cryo Archon was…”

Dottore slammed a hand on the desk, the tray and tea set rattling. You flinched, glared, and then caught yourself, suddenly fascinated with the sugar bowl.

“ Nasha Tsaritsa and her fellow Archons were given no choice but to take the action they did. It is the nature of Ascension, of owning a Gnosis.”

He rose from his seat and began pacing. What you had hoped would have been a short, civil conversation clearly sparked something in his soul (did he have one of those?); the more he spoke, the more animated he became.

“The Archons are enforcers of a will that is not their own. They were not acting in Celestia’s interest; rather, they were coerced to do so. We believe the Archons to be all-powerful, that allogenes are selected by them to represent their ideals. But everything in this world has a price , Archivist. Even one as brilliant as myself has not found a proper way to fix that for Delusions.”

You thought back to the text. Dottore was referring to the evidence pointing out that several of the Archons, the Tsaritsa and Morax among them, wanted to leave Khaenri’ah, the Godless Ones, in peace. Their hands were forced when Khaenri’ah struck first. Heathens stepping foot in Monstadt would only give people ideas and when the Archon War was finally coming to a close…senseless slaughter was no one’s wish.

You could understand the ideas and actions of the Eclipse Dynasty. They were already paying a steep price for rejecting Celestia’s chokehold, living separate from the rest of the nations. A land where life sprang from nothing, a tool of survival twisted into a weapon of destruction. The land was far underground, left with nothing but the knowledge of the world above and what they didn’t have.

“Was it Khemia, what you did to Krupp?” you found yourself asking.

“Not quite, one needs to be incredibly attuned to the earth for that. As far as I am aware, it truly only works for those from the Godless Land, in either birth or another connection. There is a fundamental that those like you or I cannot master. The First mentioned as such…”

That took you aback. You’d met the First, Pierro, briefly; stars for eyes and a coat with tails that held a galaxy inside of it. He was…?

“So, Khaenri’ah tore a hole in the Veil Between Worlds, exposed the lie, and then was just…”

“Obliterated. They refused to heed to Celestia to begin with and when one is in direct opposition to an otherwise totalitarian rule…it makes perfect sense strategically, Archivist. Especially when you consider they had no need for Visions…no need to sacrifice anyone at all except their Field Tillers and the shadow creatures of Gold’s…enhanced beings, standing in for their humans…imagine, if you would, the power in one with a foot in both worlds, human ingenuity but a machine’s strength, far beyond that of a mortal…they might have won if they’d thought it through.”

He was lost in his thoughts, fingers combing through his hair as a grin broke out on his face.

“ Nasha Tsaritsa lost so much in the Cataclysm. So did humanity. We worship Vision users but in truth their Visions regulate the Ley Lines, powering the very Veil Khaenri’ah once tore. The tears still exist, if you know where to look. That brat Tartaglia would know.”

“My question remains the same, Lord Harbinger. Why learn of this truth unless the Fatui, unless Nasha Tsaritsa ,” you were careful to use his wording, our Tsaritsa , “are taking action?”

He would have remained at the Akademiya if he wished to simply study , you knew. He’d said as much when his assistants dawdled, when he was stuck waiting for material, coaxing information, or in a logical loop from previous sources that resulted in broken flasks and sleepless nights. The Akademiya was bogged down by inaction, too focused on the gathering of knowledge to make any damn use of it.

Dottore looked at you again, a manic smile and jubilation dancing his eyes.

“We will take all of the chess pieces back and put them back into play, or in other words, collect the Gnoses that Celestia loves so much. Find the Genesis of it all and free fate itself. We will tear down the Veil and never again let the truth be hidden from us. And then at last, we still bring down the sky and hand humanity back control. What say you, Archivist?”

He stated it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

The destruction of everything. If this was known outside of these four walls, outside of the Palace, it would mean another Cataclysm. Assuming you understood, this meant that the Harbingers were not just seeking the Gnoses for power but to locate the Genesis Pearl…a newborn star…

Hope.

They were going to bring hope back to the masses, stop the cycle. Do what those in power failed to do so long ago. How far you’d come from your tiny shop, selling books to allow escapism, widen horizons…wasn’t this so much better, you reasoned.

“What can I assist with, Lord Harbinger?”

Dottore let out a laugh that curdled your blood and set it afire all at once.

_____________________________

Other assistants were given tasks you took on in Krupp’s absence as well as your other projects. You never had staff below you before but you could only hope you conveyed your plans and intentions accurately; after all, you always ran the shop yourself with hardly any help, and managing people was not the same as managing a supply chain.

You weren’t the only liaison between the Harbingers but you were probably the most aware , you came to realize. Others in a similar position either feigned a lack of knowledge or were kept further in the dark. Should you have been honored by the truth that Dottore thrust upon your shoulders, a sharing of a burden? Or was ignorance, to the other Harbingers, a kindness?

La Signora’s return from Mondstadt brought a hum of excitement to the Palace. One Gnosis obtained. Rumors swirled among the lower ranks about how she punched the Anemo Archon in the stomach, centuries of grievances in a single blow, and ripped the chess piece from him as if it was nothing but a flower amongst weeds. She would not even step close to the basement doors for the initial testing, much to Dottore’s frustration. From the Second’s mumbling, you gathered that the lab was too similar to the Akademiya for her comfort, something your commanding officer couldn’t wrap his head around.

“It is a well known fact that one left the Akademiya in search of a more conducive environment, I fail to understand her logic,” was the final word on that.

When you gazed upon the Eighth, you realized perhaps it had nothing to do with comfort at all, for she met Dottore shot for shot in a verbal spar. She was cold, distant; she needed to be. It wasn’t clear why, for her facade seemed to melt for a moment whenever the Eighth laid eyes on the Lovers, but it was clearly for everyone’s best interest.

The Lovers, Arrleccino and Columbina, were inseparable. Even if the Tsaritsa separated them for missions, they always found their way back to one another. Magnets. You preferred Dottore’s parallel to particles sped up only to collide, resulting in their own destruction. As loyal as they were to the cause, it was their subordinates who did their reports and paperwork and made all preparations. One needed to essentially run their own business if they worked below either of the Lovers.

Which was true of your presence alongside Dottore, you supposed, but at least he was distracted by the cause itself…

“Let them have their peace,” Pierro often said. “For we may never know what comes next.”

The First was intimidating. After all, he was the Tsaritsa’s most trusted Harbinger and responsible for recruiting Signora and Dottore, to say nothing of managing the very strings of the very plan you were now privy to. Pierro was the sole Harbinger with pupils in the shape of stars, a reflection of the Abyss dancing in his coat, the tails curling into almost impossible, comical swirls. Although he wore the designs of what was commonly known as a Jester, he was anything but a fool.

It was no wonder he was chosen by the Tsaritsa, how their goals aligned so perfectly. Change was necessary for survival in this world, until the heavens could be ripped asunder and the wheel broken.

Pantalone, Tartaglia, and Scaramouche, were the only ones you ever saw down in Haersys willingly.

The Ninth often needed a second pair of eyes when it came to double-checking balance sheets; who better than another who understood data plain as day, especially when they shared a lack of a God’s Eye? Dottore would negotiate a larger monthly stipend in exchange for the trouble and you tried to ignore that most of that stipend ended up on your paysheet.

The Eleventh was…well…far from the innocence his alias portrayed. Cunning, unpredictable, and often the reason for additional requisitions regarding parts. And yet loyal as loyal could be. He was helpful, Dottore mentioned once; he found weaknesses in his machines and his toys and allowed Dottore to improve his work. Tartaglia was as bloodthirsty as they came, a reliable warrior who would stop at nothing to accomplish his goal. Despite the lack of light and life in his sea-blue eyes, he wore his intentions clear as day. You could appreciate that when the rest of this world you were now a part of was nothing more than cloaks and daggers for the greater good.

You would never quite forget the curious tilt of Tartaglia’s head when he first caught sight of you through the open doorway as he passed by and the, “Huh…” that crossed his lips.

The Sixth never said a word to anyone except Dottore when he came into Haersys. Most of their encounters were arguments. You vaguely understood that the K in the papers from the Archon Residue files referred to someone called Kunikuzushi, a prototype for the Raiden Shogun. As close to an Archon as possible with none of the power. The parallel was impossible to ignore. It was all but confirmed when you overheard the Second mutter something about a puppet in need of strings.

You experienced Scaramouche’s inability to stop running his mouth first-hand as you waited outside of the Tsaritsa’s throne room. Dottore had a private audience, as all Harbingers did, but as of late you were never far from his side. He disliked being without his Archivist, he said; you were reliable, anticipatory, loyal. The little dance your heart did at the revelation should have frightened you but you enjoyed being useful, being his.

“So, you’re the one he’s always on about,” Scaramouche spat as he entered the foyer. “You’re hardly anything special.”

He was one to talk, you wanted to shoot back. But it did no one any good to earn the ire of the other Harbingers, especially for an underling like you. You held no rank, exception though you were.

“He is too devoted to the Tsaritsa. You shouldn’t make the mistake of thinking there is room in his heart; he doesn’t have one. She has given him everything he has ever wanted and the means to achieve it.”

You kept your expression blank, hoping the mask you wore hid the inevitable heat searing your cheeks. A part of you wished he’d opted for something embarrassing but Scaramouche avoided painting the pictures, carnal and needy, that lived in your head lately. It was too obvious, you supposed; better to go beyond and crush potential and hope.

Scaramouche patted your cheek in mock sympathy and then laughed when he realized his hand was wet with a single tear. He scoffed at your emotional expression, suppressed though it was.

“Someone like him could never care about any other living being except the Tsaritsa. Especially someone as sniveling as you. Better hope he doesn’t catch you crying.”

Just as Scaramouche stepped away, the throne room’s doors opened and Dottore strode through. When he caught sight of the Sixth, he clicked his tongue.

“Don’t you have your own subordinates to harass, Balladeer?” Dottore snapped.

“I was just going. Remember what I said, Archivist,” Scaramouche cast a last look your way before he turned and walked away, raising a mocking hand in parting as he went.

Dottore’s eyes narrowed as he looked you over, inspecting you. The question was clearly on his mind but he didn’t ask it; it wasn’t in his nature to bother caring whether someone was well. After all, he didn’t ask you to come work for him; you were given no choice.

“What did that piece of dross say?”

“It was nothing,” you said as you began walking in the opposite direction of Scaramouche, towards the other entrance to the basement levels.

Dottore caught up to you in a few long strides, taking point, refusing to be led. He was silent until you both reached the bottom of the steps. You were about to go your separate ways to continue working, but it was as though something was tugging you, keeping you from walking away from him. He didn’t need to know; he would find everything carved into your heart when it was inevitably cut from your body in due time.

You turned to walk away, distract yourself, but Dottore spoke first.

“Archivist.”

Your back straightened at his commanding tone and you lingered in the doorway to your study. Dottore looked at you over his shoulder, his mask obscuring everything except his gaze, a single red eye watching you.

“Do not hide troublesome matters from me in the future. One should at least be respectful to another’s subordinates if they cannot be respectful among their colleagues. If he opens his mouth again, tell me; I’ll make sure his next modification is particularly unpleasant.”

Weeks passed in a blur, the Sixth’s hideous encounter forgotten as the Geo Archon’s Gnosis was retrieved and the plans for Inazuma continued on as intended.

You assisted Dottore with a stubborn piece of machinery and made an inventory of all possible parts as he went along. This particular device was from the depths of the Chasm, sent just before the mine was sealed off by the Qixing. You had never seen nor heard anything like it before, a burrowing serpent in the fashion of the Ruin Gaurds; a Khaenri’ahn mystery.

“Lord Harbinger?”

Dottore made a sound from the other side of the serpent, too occupied to properly speak.

Your curiosity had the better of you. And you knew, perhaps, it was best left alone. But doubt had sown itself; it was hard to forget the words spoken to you. On some level, they pointed out the very thing you wished wasn’t true: how little you knew of the one who hired you, who stole you away from the world.

“How did you end up…” you gestured widely to the cavernous space that always seemed to threaten to swallow everything whole, the ceiling so high the light never reached.

“One was naught but a young scholar at the Sumeru Akademiya when Pierro followed the rumors of my heresy, on the cusp of expulsion and in need of a more conducive work environment,” Dottore said.

He left little room for continuing the conversation. Like most of his colleagues, he did not like discussing anything other than the tasks at hand, prideful though he was. The past was nothing to them. A shell left behind, a husk of who they once were, before the world ripped them asunder.

But it shaped him, nonetheless.

Dottore avoided your eyes, reaching for a tool and diving back into the Ruin Serpent in an attempt to focus on something, anything else. You would not get more out of him. You excused yourself with a bow and determined that the documentation of the Geo Gnosis was a better use of your time than numbly standing there, waiting for an answer to a question you couldn’t bring yourself to ask.

You returned to his study hours later to drop off your findings and pick up stray dishes and cups (and leave one behind for the faithful rat that nested near his desk with plenty of morsels). Before you could begin the task, Dottore caught your wrist, his hands free of his gloves. His touch was cold.

“One must say something and it is imperative you listen, Archivist.”

It dug at you, the distant way he spoke of himself occasionally. The rare moments of “I” were a flash of pride, of awareness of himself. Other times, he spoke as if he were the very machines he worked on, aware that perhaps he missed some of the key components of humanity. Something gripped your heart and squeezed, something you would rather not put a name to; it only threatened to squeeze harder.

“I was born in a small village on the outskirts of Fontaine, on the border of Sumeru,” he started. “I have no father; only a deceased mother who taught her son everything she knew about machinery. When the village became aware that I was modifying animals, she died protecting me. They drove me out with pitchforks and clubs and torches; they managed to burn half of my face in the process. I had only an invitation to the Akademiya with me when I arrived in Sumeru.”

He continued, all the while, his red eyes focused on the corner behind you. Never quite seeing you, looking at you.

“They all thought me mad in the end for my research but no one at the Akademiya considered life to be sacred anyway. They squandered their youth, their existence, to chase knowledge but never dared to step out of line and figure out their own paths. Guided sheep who thought they were finding the secrets of the universe. I pulled back the wool over their eyes and they called me a monster, a madman.”

The hold on your wrist tightened. But it didn’t frighten you. Dottore’s other hand reached up and pulled his mask away, revealing scarred flesh. It never quite healed right, you could tell. Muscle never repaired itself properly and although he could blink, his eyebrow on the left was not as expressive as the right.

“What do you see, Archivist, when you look at me?”

Ruby eyes finally, finally bore into you. He waited but for what, you didn’t know. A wince? A gasp? Disgust, horror? Expectation danced across his face, lips turned into a snarl, a dog defensive of its last meal.

“Someone who is willing to do the work no one else is. Someone who was harmed for daring to ask questions that should, rightfully, be asked. One who has experienced the injustice of this world and seeks to right it.”

Someone who carried a burden alone for longer than they should have , who has not known the kindness this world has to offer, you wanted to continue, but thought better of it.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Pierro, Archivist,” he whispered.

His fingers slipped from your wrist but you didn’t move immediately or pull back from him. Instead, you reached forward, fingertips grazing his scars tentatively, the skin too smooth beneath your touch. The silent question in your mind on whether his nerves had ever healed was answered when he closed his eyes and tilted his head towards your touch and for the tiniest second, his face relaxed.

“One such as myself detests lies, no matter how small. Your candor is appreciated.”

You weren’t sure, exactly, how it happened, but you soon found yourself pressed against the nearest wall, Dottore’s face a hair away from yours. He brought a hand up to cover yours, warm against his scars, blood red eyes gazing down at you, a predator waiting to strike.

“Never lie to me.”

His words were punctuated by the brush of his teeth against your lip.

“Never,” you promised.

Dottore consumed your very soul for that promise, sealed with a haze of euphoria as the last of the distance between you vanished. There was no going back now.

And you would gladly pay the price over and over again, if it meant moments such as this.

#fic: deus in absentia #dottore #il dottore #il dottore x reader #dottore x reader #dottore x gender neutral reader #il dottore x gender neutral reader

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hermesserpent-stuff · 1 year

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youtube

@theriddlenerd you seemed interested in the post about me building off of the idea of Quentin and Dr. Strange interacting more.

Quentin is not entirely sure what to think of the 'wizard' incident. Tinkerer and the Enforcers had been mother-henning over him and he had not left the apartment for just about a week. He is starting to go crazy. He had felt relief at first but now feels frantic energy burning beneath the surface of his skin. It leaked out into the production of several ideas for equipment and the creation of a taser-like bite for his gremlins, just in case.

He finds himself in the kitchen in the early hours of the morning baking. He had been unable to sleep and had spent the night watching musicals with Montana and the other Enforcers, who were currently sleeping in the living room. They had fallen asleep around midnight and Quentin's brain had refused to turn off. So here he is at 3 in the morning, trying to be quiet while mixing together the batter for blueberry muffins. He has music in his ears, which soothes his nerves. A gremlin sits on his shoulder, in sleep mode.

He taps the batter out into the paper-lined muffin tin and steps in time to his music. He pushes the tray into the oven and then drops the dirty dishes into the sink. He starts the water and mixes in some soap. Quentin turns off the water in anticipation of the music drop and spins in time to it. He then goes back to scrubbing in time to the rhythm. He also starts a kettle on the stove to boil, suddenly wanting tea. As he pulls out his mug and spins carefully in time, his heart skips a beat as he catches sight of Doctor Strange standing in the kitchen. Between him and the exit.

"I've been trying to track you down."

"By the Scottish play!"

He yelps tearing off his headphones and hopping backwards. The gremlin wakes up and screeches loudly. The wizard blinks at him and Quentin reaches behind himself. There is the kettle. He could throw it.

"I need to resolve this issue of your magical trace."

"And I need you out of my home!"

Quentin yells, throwing the kettle and rushing forwards. The wizard’s eyes widen and he creates a portal to redirect the kettle to somewhere else. But Quentin had been counting on that reaction to allow him to get close enough to jab the man harshly in the ribs with an elbow and escape into the living room. His gremlin is screaming bloody murder and he is happy to see that the Enforcers are up. Some sort of glowing rope wraps around his ankle. He slams into the floor. Dan is already leaping forwards. The wizard is forced to go on the defense as Dan uncollapses his staff and starts swinging. Montana kneels beside Quentin and starts trying to remove the glowing rope, hissing as it burns his fingertips. The cowboy pulls a knife and cuts through it, ignoring the sparks. Quentin winces but focuses on getting his gremlin to go grab his gear. He notes that Dan and Ox are now engaging the wizard who is using magic glowing circles to fight them.

“We need to get you out of here.”

“If he can find me at home, he’ll find me anywhere. If anything, we need to make a stand here.”

At that moment his gremlin flies back with his gauntlets and several of its brethren. Quentin has a plan. Part of one anyways.

“He moves his hands for spell work. If you can lasso him, and we can pin him, I think we can try to talk, maybe? Though he is the Sorcerer Supreme… so this is probably really stupid.”

“Good thing Im a little stupid. One of my lassos in that first kitchen cabinent. Its the closest one.”

Of course, Montana sleeps with a knife and keeps multiple lassos around the apartment. Quentin nods and puts his gauntlets on. He moves his hands, gets his gremlins' attention, and starts sending out commands. They fly into the fight, ducking around Dan and Ox while Montana scoots around the entire fight.

The wizard attempts to use the glowing rope to hold either of the Enforcers, but both are fairly quick and good at redirecting the wizard's attention. The gremlins are able to dart in and deliver electric-filled bites to the wizard. Montana quickly returns and they attempt to lasso and pin the wizard. But when he hits the floor, Quentin finds that his initial theory had been very wrong. Fire lights up the rope and an invisible force shoves all four of them to the ground. Quentin lets out a pained cough as he had been slammed both into the floor and a wall. Ow!

“I call upon the enchanted chains of Azeroth!”

Quentin feels panic as chains secure themselves around his body. Terror rips through him as a portal opens up underneath him. Montana shares one terrified look with him. Quentin feels a twinge of regret that he has no comfort to give the cowboy. And then he is free-falling. He squeezes his eyes tight and starts running through play lines. He used to do that whenever he was particularly distressed in high school and it soothes his nerves a little. He hears something as the falling feeling ends and finds himself being forced into sleep.

He wakes up in a strange room devoid of his gauntlets. He runs a small check on himself. No gauntlets, no tech, no gremlins. He is inside a circle seal once more, bound in glowing chains that are a different color from the rope used last time. But the chair is different. Softer. But it also has a soft grey glow that makes him a nervous. He twitches a little at the silence and starts tapping out a beat and humming to himself. Definitely a bit worse than last time.

Honestly, he maybe should have just shown the charm last time. But it had been given to him by someone he had come to see as a grandmother right before her death. So he would very much like to not hand it over to strange magical people who kidnaped him and tied him up in basements.

Doctor Strange suddenly appears in the chair across from him and Quentin cannot suppress his flinch.

“Alright. Enough nonsense.”

Quentin scrunches his nose at the man’s words.

“Avoiding kidnapping isn’t nonsense.”

Quentin does not like being dismissed. A pained sigh comes from the man.

“If you would just cooperate, none of this extra running around would have been necessary.”

Quentin tilts his chin upwards and huffs.

“How would you feel about being portaled from somewhere to a foreign room not once, but twice? Maybe you're not actually doing this as an act of preservation of any particular laws. Perhaps you're lying and in reality, you do intend harm to the world beyond. What reason do I have to cooperate?”

Strange seems to consider his words steepling his fingers. Quentin twitches a little at the stretching silence. He is averse to such stretches of silence. His knee bounces a little as Strange stares at him. This is why he likes fighting Spider-man. The kid is a chatterbox. And not prone to kidnapping him.

“I suppose you are right. You have nothing except my word to assure you that I am who I say I am.”

“To be quite frank with you, I only had the slightest belief in magic before you dragged me here. I really don't know what a sorcerer supreme is.”

Huh. Okay. That is a little more than he intended to say. And a bit too truthful. He should be holding more cards to his chest. He notes that the chair’s glow has shifted to light green. Right. So that might have something to do with things. That makes him uncomfortable and he feels a flash of determination to watch his mouth.

“So you were serious about just being an illusionist that uses tech?”

“Yes.”

His tongue feels the urge to say more but he keeps it firmly locked behind his teeth. That answer is enough. Strange tilts his head and the chair glows a little brighter.

“So the ‘heirloom’ around your neck might be magical, but you would not know.”

“I would not.”

It feels like he is yanking his own words down away from his tongue. He is not even sure what else he would add. Okay. No. Thinking about it makes it worse. He starts up a mental run-through of the musical version of Legally Blond, letting the play roll through his mind while partially paying attention. Given he had watched that musical millions of times, it is not too hard to be semi-focused.

Strange's eyes narrow as he leans forwards.

“Why did you hesitate to show me the object?”

“I want to keep it. It means a lot. To me.”

Quentin says with a small twitch. A slip-up. He had not meant to say that much. It is fine. This is fine. Strange looks that more intrigued.

“I see. I still want to check it. You put on a rather convincing show of being a sorcerer.”

“I did special effects for movies.”

Till he found that he needed a lot more money and turned to crime. And then found the thrill of crime too good to give up. Strange blinks and then folds his hands into each other.

“If the object is benign, you will probably be able to keep it. There are millions of charms and blessings out in the world that need not be collected. That might be the case here. One of the main reasons I pulled you here is because you look and sound like a threat. But it appears you believe that is all an act. This will be easier if you cooperate.”

“Believe? I know I'm not using real magic for my illusions.”

Quentin says with a huff of irritation. Strange gives a small nod.

“You must understand that I have to be suspicious. Especially given the magic residue.”

“... I genuinely have no idea why that's happening.”

Quentin says, letting frustration hiss out in his voice. Strange gives another small nod.

“I can understand the frustration. If you let me examine the object, we can resolve this.”

Quentin hunches his shoulders a little.

“Fine.”

Not like he can stop the guy. His stomach twists as Strange stands and walks closer. The wizard moves his hands and Quentin feels the charm move. He suddenly is hit with the desire to hide it and he can feel it stutter and shake. Quentin closes his eyes. No. This needs to be over. He feels the charm slip out and he squeezes his hands into fists. This is very very uncomfortable. He cracks open his eyes. The charm hangs in the air, glowing purple. The greenish-blue turquoise dragon face hovers at the end of the simple chain. Strange stares at it and the glowing symbols that hover around it.

“Hmm.”

Silence follows the small noise from the wizard. The thudding of his own heart fills Quentin’s ears.

“Where did you get this? It was a gift, right?”

“My grandmother. Right before she died.”

His brain is too wigged out to try to control his tongue.

“It seems to be for anti-possession and feeding a blessing someone put on you. Presumably your grandmother. But it does not seem to be doing anything else. You can keep it.”

“Great.”

Quentin says feeling instant relief as the wizard steps backwards.

“So you won't be portaling me away again?”

“No. Though I am somewhat intrigued by your tech. It is impressive, and very convincing.”

Quentin puffs up a little. Okay, so that is a pretty big complement from an actual wizard.

“Thanks.”

Strange waves his hands and the chains disappear. Quentin shudders a little and tucks the charm away beneath his shirt.

“Apologises for using the truth chair of oblivia on you. You must understand my worry over dangerous magic being in the wrong hands.”

Ah. That explains the pressing of words against his tongue.

“Oh, that's a fantastic name. Giving objects an ‘of’ makes them sound so much more mystical. I'm going to steal that idea.”Quentin says as he rubs his wrists and stands, “And I sort of do. I'd rather the world not blow up from unseen forces. You better not try to Men in Black me though.”

Quentin says with a huff, smoothing down his shirt.

“No. I dont think that will be necessary. As long as you stay away from the arcane arts.”

Strange opens another portal and pulls out Quentin’s gauntlets and one of his gremlins. It seems to be in sleep mode. Quentin takes the gauntlets back first and slips them back on. It feels like security. He notices that Strange is absently petting the gremlin. It seems that their cuteness has won them another fan. He activates his gantlets and snaps his fingers. The gremlin wakes up with a stretch and yawn and then flaps to his shoulder. Strange looks at it a moment longer.

“Real imps are far less friendly. And cute.”

The wizard sighs. Quentin reaches up and holds it out to the wizard. Strange blinks in surprise and gently takes it. While the sorcerer holds it, the gremlin churrs.

“I appreciate you wanting to keep the world safe. Spider-man does that for the city all the time and I still am on good terms with him. But perhaps, you should consider a different method for handling potential threats that you're not sure are threats at all. I'm a fantastic illusionist, who just happened to have a protection charm. And as much as I hate to take myself off a pedestal, there are likely other people like me. So just… Just think about it?”

“Think!~”

The gremlin copies with a squeak. Strange’s eyes crinkle slightly at the tiny beast.

“Alright. I will consult with Wong about this. We may have come on a little too forcefully for the situation.”

The wizard admits.

“Maybe a little. If you want some help detecting tech over magic; I'm great at making things. I'd rather not have anyone else get kidnapped like me.”

Quentin gives a smile and the gremlin wiggles and flies back to him.

“Apologies. Again.”

Quentin rubs his arms a little.

“Thanks for the apology. I’d like to go home now. Montana’s probably going to be freaking out.”

“One of the people who fought me earlier?”

“The cowboy.”

Quentin grins thinking of his friend. He is definitely ready to go home. A portal spirals upwards from the ground and Quentin finds himself standing once more in his living room. He blinks. Light dances across the floor, showing that it is much later in the morning. He calls out.

“Hello?!”

He moves around the apartment and yelps as his gauntlet goes off. His GPS tracker has been activated. After a bit of digging, he finds his phone and he calls Montana.

“Quentin!?”

The cowboy sounds distressed.

“Hey, Montana. I'm alright. The wizard dropped me back at the apartment.”

Quentin tries to exude calm.

“Are you injured? Are you okay? Stay right there we’re on our way.”

“No, I'm fine. I'm okay really. Nothing happened. Not really.”

“Stay on the phone with me.”

It is an easy request to say yes to. The conversation mostly consists of Quentin reassuring Montana that he is fine, really. Quentin just about drops the phone as the front door opens. He feels very jumpy. Montana rushes him and pulls him into a very tight hug. He squeeks and hugs back. He feels another set of arms and spots Dan hugging him to. Then they are lifted in the air by Ox. Quentin relaxes. It is good to be home.

#tssm mysterio #tssm quentin #tssm #doctor strange #hermes speaks #spider nephew au #Youtube

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