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cantdothis-nomore · 10 months

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Tengen Uzui + wives x swordsmith reader

The inspo for this fic was from @zoyatoshi one named ten minutes! Please go check out their blog they are one of my FAV writers and I would love if you took a look at their blog! ^^

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Content : Imagine being the fourth wife that basically nobody knows about because of your trade as a swordsmith making tengens swords

A/N : I don't know why I wrote this I just really like Tengen lol :')

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You moved quickly around your forge collecting things as you mutter at a pace others would find hard to make out. Your hands were torn up and your face had sweat beads rolling down it as you went back to your original project. Your husbands new sword. You had leapt out of bed a week earlier remembering the unfinished sword and shut out everyone in place of finishing the sword.

You closed your eyes with a groan as you heard furious footsteps approaching and your forge door was once again thrown open with a bang revealing a fuming Makio with Suma not far behind.

"You are coming with us NOW!" Makio yelled as she grabbed you by the collar of your kimono trying to drag you out of your forge. You adamantly held on to the side of a table and wiggled out of Makio's grip.

"As soon as this is finished I promise you I will come back to the house I swear." You pleased with her "Y-You said that 2 days ago n/n!" Screeched Suma, big fat tear blobs starting to roll down her cheeks as she yet again realised that no matter the push they put on you, you were not going to return to the house until your project was finished, but Makio was not so easily convinced.

"You haven't slept in nearly a full week now Y/N," a soft voice spoke from the doorway, Hinatsuru stood at the door her tone and face firm but her eyes gave away the stress she felt. "I know but I really really really need to get this sword done before Lord Tengen gets back, please Hina!" You pleaded.

Being a demon slayer, Tengen was away a lot God knows where at the most unfortunate of times, counting this one. He didn't let anyone else make his swords apart from you after you joined the family, you loved doing it but god did it stress your wives out so. You would stay in your forge for days at a time not eating, not sleeping, not drinking and come out a complete mess, looking like a demon.

'No Y/N, this has gone on long enough. That is a perfectly good sword for Lord Tengen!" Makio butted in just as Hina opened her mouth to speak, even so, just by her expression you could tell she was going to say exactly what Makio did for her. "I promise I will be back tonight ok? I promise all I need to do are these last bits" You begged.

Hina heaved a sigh placing her head in her hands not even bothering to tell Makio off for hitting Suma for whining constantly. She looked you in the eyes searching for any type of truth, "Fine." She said sternly, "but you are coming back tomorrow morning at the max no matter what."

You managed a weak smile to her and a rib crunching hug off of Suma as she bustled a fuming Makio and wailing Suma out your forge. The moment they were halfway down the hill you collected the plate of food Hina left for you and shoved it in your food stash as you made a run for the door pushing the bolt over and moving into the very back of your place as not to be disturbed.

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You can imagine the fury of your wives the next day when they woke without you next to them, now nearing the sixth time this week. In a storm of rage Makio came tearing up the hill Suma and Hina hot on her heels. She slammed her fist into the forge door banging on it at a fast rate.

"Y/N! LET US IN YOU KNOW YOU ARE BREAKING YOUR PROMISE TO US AGAIN!" But again, there was no answer from you.

Even from the back of your forge you could hear Sumas screeching and see Hinas stressed and almost given up face which made you feel guilty, but you couldn't just leave this project here! You worked harder as you felt your guilt eating away at you and the noise of your wives slowly became quieter and quieter. Your brow furrowed as the sword continued to leave gashes on your hands and your vision became blurry. You shook it off and glanced out the window double taking as you saw the inky black sky. You gritted your teeth and continued to work ignoring the darkening sky outside.

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BANG!

Your head snapped up with a start as your forge doors were kicked in and there stood your husband. Back from his mission. Early.

'Shit' was your only thought as your eyes flicked round him and spied your wives all outside the door looking a mixture of sad and angry.

'So,' Tengens voice boomed round your forge and things started to rattle on your shelves as he continued to speak, 'Hinatsuru tells me you've been in here a week and haven't been looking after yourself at all! How unflashy!" He said with a sharp look. You winced knowing Hina probably told him everything and Makio probably didn't spare any details in her fury either.

Tengen strode into your forge carefully avoiding the mess as he stood infront of you. Keeping eye contact with you he bent slightly to reach your eye level. "And exactly how long have you not eaten for little mouse?" He said softly but within his tone there was a sharp edge that hit you the most. You didn't answer as your eyes strapped themselves to the floor. He grunted as he returned to stand up straight.

"Makio, check her food stash please" He said watching you carefully. Your eyes immediatley snapped to Makios as you silently pleaded with her not to tell him. Her eyes narrowed at you as her pace quickened and she disappeared out of sight just before her voice echoed around the room,

"It's full!" She called out, her glare resting on you in disappointment. Your eyes widened as you quickly darted round a table to stop Tengen from getting you.

"N/N that full food stash is almost as unflashy as your purple eye bags and dirty kimono you continue to wear, just come back to the house you have stressed the girls out enough." He said a determined glint in his eye. His hands rested on the table as his eyes tracked you like a predator waiting for its preys next move.

"I just need to finish it and then I'll come back to the house! I'm serious!" You quickly said as you watched Tengen quickly take a run for you. You once again ran around the table but not fast enough this time. He wrapped an arm around your waist before you could go any further and hoisted you onto his shoulder.

He walked out your forge and down the hill with Suma, Makio and Hina close behind him all heading towards the house. You felt your body on the verge of sleeping but you were determined not to give in.

You began to thrash and screech as loudly as you could like that would make them take you back to the forge. Tengen raised his hand smacked your ass to shut you up and finally you gave up. Flopping against him you let yourself give in and veered on the line of unconsciousness, as much as you didnt want to admit it you were exhausted. You knew what you were doing to your body was bad but you really needed to complete the project even if it cost you your sanity.

After what seemed like an age you were put down on a chair. Too tired to fight back anymore you let yourself be fed and bathed as you fell unconscious, the last thing you remember being you and tengen getting squished between your wives all of you thankful to be back together again.

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#anime and manga #x reader #demon slayer #tengen uzui #tengen x reader #tengen imagines #kimetsu no yaiba tengen #tengen plus wives #tengen uzui x reader #makio tengen #suma uzui #makio uzui #hinatsuru uzui

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ivyblossom · 2 months

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That thing where I feel like I'm going to have to write fanfiction again

This is a weird one. I just want to say it somewhere, so that I've said it somewhere, but I realize there's there's one person who actually cares about this and she already knows, so. This is just for me, I guess.

Fifteen years ago, I wrote most of a Narnia fic. It pairs of Edmund Pevensie and Bacchus, aka Dionysus, the ancient Greek god of grapes, wine and uninhibited ecstasy. Also theatre. I know, that's a bit weird. Is Bacchus even in the Narnia stories? (Yes, he is. He even has lines!) Why on earth am I pairing him up with Edmund, who is 10 when we first meet him?

It's all the weird memory tricks, I'm a sucker for those. The Pevensies forget about England because they stay so long in Narnia and stop thinking about England, and they can (and do) forget about Narnia if they stay in England too long and don't think about Narnia enough (poor Susan), and I find that really interesting. It offers up so many nooks and crannies to stick story in. They grow up and become adults in Narnia, but are required to forget most of it in order to return to build children in England.

And come on: is Bacchus not also very obviously the god of Narnian orgies? I mean, yes. Clearly. He's also Aslan's default caterer and water-into-wine head tech. If you need buildings destroyed and bullies turned into trees and/or pigs, Bacchus is your guy. He's not big on wearing clothes, and according to Edmund, he's incredibly beautiful and extremely dangerous. Edmund is only 10 when we first meet him, sure, but he grows up, reverse ages, and then starts to grow up again. Bacchus throws them a G-rated orgy in Prince Caspian. There's love there.

Hasn't Edmund suffered enough? Yes, he got addicted to the Turkish Delight that time, but he'd been struggling and was being bullied, he was carrying a lot of self-hatred and shame, give a kid a break. He did get himself heroically killed putting it right, only to be healed physically and psychologically by Santa Claus's magic healing cordial, as one does. Doesn't Edmund deserve a cute immortal boyfriend with quirky friends and a serious green thumb who grows his own grapes, makes his own wine, can manipulate and control the desires of everyone around him like conducting an orchestra, and who will love him until the end of time? There aren't many humans in Narnia, why not hook up with the god of uninhibited ecstasy? I mean, he's right there.

Anyway. It was fifteen years ago.

I wrote 3/4ths of it, I had one part left to go to finish it, I had an idea about what how it would end, but for some reason I never wrote the ending. I don't remember why. So it's been sitting there unfinished since 2009.

And in the last few weeks I started thinking about it again. I had an idea about that ending. I couldn't remember if this idea I was toying with was my original concluding idea or not, it's been that long, but I liked the idea, and I thought, you know, I should write that idea in as the last part and finally finish that thing.

And then I read what I'd written. And a) 15 years is a long time and I have so many criticisms, I was clearly in love with the sound of my own voice (uh...nothing's changed there I guess?), b) I wrote the thing in such a way to exclude my new idea, so apparently that wasn't my original plan, but c) yeah, I should have written this thing properly the first time around. And now I have 104 more ideas and I love them all, so.

I think I have to rewrite it. Or, I suppose, just write another one and replace it? I dunno. Just playing it out now.

I think I'm going to write it. Is this an active fandom? I don't think so. I don't care. This love story needs to be told. Edmund deserves this.

#fanfiction #narnia #Edmund/Bacchus #it's never too late right?

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ninjaturtlemaniac · 26 days

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Part 10 Trolls Headcanons/ Theories/ Thoughts/ Ideas

This may be my last headcanons list, my friends. Will still do art and stuff but I am fresh outta ideas.

Part1 Part2 Part3 Part4 Part5 Part6 Part7 Part8 Part9

Enjoy 💕

Sub Tribes - KPop/Reggaeton/Yodelers/Chaz etc. there's not many of them around because they came from overseas.

King Peppy - Didn't tell Poppy about Viva because he was in the early stages of dementia. (Canon?) For a while he thought Poppy WAS Viva. By the time he realised his 'mistake', Poppy was already grown.

Vacay Island - the brothers sometimes help Bruce at his restaurant. They have name tags with funny 'work names'. Flood, Big Fish, Classy, and Big Brunch. Viva and Poppy have done the odd shift as well, as Pinky and Vista. 😝

Brozone - they became world famous, argued and left BEFORE the cage went around the Pop Troll Tree. (Canon?)

Brozone - there was a rumoured 'unfinished' Brozone song that was supposed to be released after that tour. John finally finishes it and the brothers offer to sing it for Poppy's bridal entrance song. Poppy immediately faints. In my head the song is 'Helpless When She Smiles' by The Backstreet Boys

Brozone - whatever the Trolls equivalent of the Superbowl is, I feel like Bruce and JD would be very into it. Jerseys and face paint and everything.

Bruce - cameras make him self-conscious. If he is in a group he can tolerate it but hates being the only one in the photo.

Bruce - has caught his kids trying to do the Brozone dance routines. He tries to stay out of it best he can and let them have their fun but then they ask him to teach them and doesn't he just melt.

Bruce - has a wedding ring but it is Vacationer sized. He keeps it in his hair mostly but will braid it into his hair like an accessory for special occasions.

Bruce - 100% certain Poppy and Branch's first born would be a boy. "We're a family of five brothers! It took Brandy and I thirteen tries to have a daughter. Trust me, I have no doubt your first egg will absolutely be a boy." *They have a girl* Bruce 😑

Floyd - can only sleep comfortably near an open window. Sometimes can only sleep sitting up.

Floyd - will randomly stare off into space or mutter to himself.

Floyd - *clears throat* I ship Floom! 💕🏳️‍🌈

Floyd - can't stick to new hobbies for very long, he hyperfixates for a week or two then gets bored. Macrame, candle making, soap making, jewelry making, photography are some examples.

Clay - his brothers collectively tried to convince him that he was the adopted brother.

Clay - is quite squeamish. The sight of vomit, open wounds and bodily fluids; Clay will absolutely pass out. Snotty babies make him very uncomfortable.

Clay - gets Viva to braid his hair out of his face only when something really serious is happening *cracks neck* "Viva?" "Yah?" "Braid me" "Yes, Sir." Shwoooop

Clay - Found out the Classical Trolls have a library larger the Pop Village. "Viva, they have a whole wing dedicated to tragedies! Tragedies, Viva!"

Clay - okay, so he and Viva have never been a couple, even if he ever considered it, their work came first and he didn't want to jeopardize what they had. Buuuuuuuttt the thought that another Troll could one day be Viva's person, that she would go to them instead of him for comfort or ideas or laughs or safety or hugs... it makes Clay feel... weird.

Clay - at some point is named some kinda Troll magazines most eligible bachelor. Bro was in a boyband, co-runs a society of survivors, runs a business, is close friends with royalty, has been knighted, has a license to practice accounting and was part of the only known Perfect Family Harmony. He's apparently a hot commodity now.

John Dory - takes night classes to finally get his highschool diploma. Is too embarrassed to tell anyone until he graduates.

John Dory - doesn't get sick often. But when he does, he keeps going to the point of exhaustion.

John Dory - has indeed crossed paths with Delta Dawn before. Both of them have very different versions of the story. "I serenaded her." "The fool was whining something from the inside of a jail cell."

John Dory - has been known to sleep with his eyes open. Freaks people out.

John Dory - will drink milk straight from the carton and put it back in the fridge.

John Dory - teaches Bruce's kids all the swear words and does in fact tell them his rendition of where eggs come from.

Viva - tries to hide sadder feelings from Poppy. Worried that Poppy won't want to hang out with her if she isn't fun.

Poppy - sometimes feels guilty, if things had been different, Viva would have been Queen. Viva tries to reassure Poppy that she is "The right Troll for the role." 👍🏻 Also Viva tries to argue that they both technically get be Queens now anyway.

Guy Diamond - Trolls have eggs when they have powerful feelings of love. Guy Diamond was able to have Tiny because he loves himself so much.

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crazyk-imagine · 3 months

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Old Age and Fated Bonds

Pairing: Felix Volturi X Hybrid!reader

Characters: Hybrid!reader, Alice Cullen, Bella Swan, Edward Cullen, Demetri Volturi, Aro Volturi, Marcus Volturi, Caius Colturi, Jane Volturi

Warnings: Reader protecting themselves, fancast Felix is here to slay, Edward being a big dummy, reader butting head with the dumbass, reader teasing her mate, Felix teasing reader, the feeding scene, the feeding scene makes me feral, this became oddly sexual, these vampires know how to seduce someone, Felix gives baby sub vibes, Felix and reader are a power couple, I feel like I made the reader a little bipolar but-

Word Count: 2,496

A/N: I wrote the feeding scene before work, lost it and then had to back track before leaving. I was so pissed but it's good. It's exactly what I wrote but a smidge different

The Volturi forget reader is a hybrid even after Reneesme is born then they're like oh wait it can be true, we have proof

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"Felix, take your dearest to your room. We still have some unfinished business to attend to with the Cullens and Miss Swan."

He moves from beside you, placing a hand on your back to guide you out of the throne room.

"Where are you taking me?"

"Are you scared?"

"That doesn't answer my question."

"You haven't answered mine."

You purse your lips, rethinking whether he was hot or if you're so lonely you're desperate for contact. You don't glance up at him to know he's smirking.

"We're going to my room where you'll stay until I'm finished."

You scoff, "I'm not a dog."

"No, you are not."

"Thank you."

"Dogs know when to listen."

Your jaw drops, gaze falling onto the door as it clicks shut. You roll your head, listening to the cracking of your neck; wondering what you should do to get back at him for his comment.

You sit, thinking back to the moment that led you to your current predicament.

You made sure not to be too far from Alice, knowing she’d be more helpful to you than Bella or Edward.

You keep the block up in your mind, so he doesn't hear how much of an idiot he is.

The guards lead you to the infamous throne room.

You inwardly hum, taking note of every nook, crack, everything really.

It's such a gorgeous room, shame it's used for more torturing people for whatever they see fit.

You knew the Volturi had money (they've been around for so long, naturally they were bound to be rich). But seeing it, completely different than what the Cullens told you.

You glance back at the three and rush towards them, not needing to get lost or discovered. Someone would have a fit if that ever happened.

You're not paying attention to what the odd king is saying, not until a body being slammed down draws your attention to the people in front of you.

You step closer to the vampire with a pixie cut, watching as the tall and lean, attractive vampire practically throws Edward into the ground.

The corners of your lips twitch, not entirely empathetic towards him.

He made his bed, almost literally, and now he must lie in it.

You take the time to lean forward, wanting only her to hear you. "You didn't tell me they would be hot."

Edward groans, for more than one reason.

"Who said that?" Caius leans forward.

Aro claps with excitement in his eyes.

"Oh, crap."

"Demetri," Aro calls for him.

The vampire doesn't know what to do when he can't sense you.

He calls for the guard again, smile widening at his struggle to find you. "Magnifica!" He claps his hands.

Alice stands still, shaking her head.

You realize why she told you to stay quiet.

"Show yourself dear. I'd like it if you could show me who holds a power such as yours."

You don't move, clutching onto her coverup.

Aro notices and gestures for Jane to use her powers; they don't work because she can't see you.

Caius is irritated and demands you show yourself.

"Before you turned, weren't you ever scared? What do you expect me to do? Roll over and do as you say."

"That is no way to talk to your kings."

Edward huffs, "would you stop delaying this and show yourself already."

They can't see you to see your sarcastic and menacing smirk, although the tallest guard can sense a change in your attitude.

"Excuse me for one second." You stand before him, opening your mind slightly so he knows where to look. "I am so tired of your shit Edward, and you've pissed me off enough today." You hit him in his stomach.

He removes himself from Bella (who screams for someone to help him); as he bends forward, holding it; you grab him by his neck.

You had yet to realize as you fight him, you're not using your power and begin showing yourself.

You lean close to his ear, "better hold on. Wouldn't want you to fall before I'm through with you." You lift him off the ground, his feet dangling (shocking everyone watching) and slam him into the ground.

Kneeling beside him, applying pressure to your grip, watching as the crack appears. "Next time, don't piss me off." You push yourself off the ground, brushing away the imaginary dirt.

You slowly lift your head, realizing they can see you. A shy smile breaks onto your lips, followed by a nervous chuckle, "hey."

Aro claps his hands like crazy, walking towards you with a bounce in his step.

An unmuted scent floods Felix's nose as he stares at you, somehow finding his way beside you.

You notice the way the silent king is gesturing for his brother. "I think your friend wants to chit chat."

He turns and reaches for his hand. "What a pleasant surprise and all thanks to the Cullens and Miss Swan."

You furrow your brows, turning around towards Alice. "Alice?"

She hums.

"I would remove yourself from my sight before I do the same to you as I did your brother."

Her eyes widen, this was not how today was supposed to end. "What? I-"

"Do as I say, they already have someone waiting at the door to escort you. I don't appreciate being lied to and I will not tolerate it. If you don't want your major to end up in a fight, I'd leave."

The three walk away.

You huff, crossing your arms before smirking. "I know you want to hurt me, blondie."

Her glare hardens.

You spin around and chuckle before finding the king’s eyes on you. "I feel like I'm missing something."

"A pleasant discovery has been made today. You are Felix's mate. How wonderful."

You stare at the weird king. "This is not where I saw today going."

He giggles, "I know, dear, but now you get to enjoy your new life within the walls of this castle."

"Is that supposed to persuade me?"

He merely smiles.

Some time passes and he's back.

"You haven't moved?"

"I have nowhere to go. No plans, no friends."

He removes his cape, carefully hanging it up.

"Aren't you going to be punished for not wearing a piece of your ensemble?" You chuckle.

He finds himself smirking, it was a good joke (or is he just saying that because of the bond, he doesn't care because you're all he cares about). "Funny."

"I know I am."

"Do you-" he struggles to find the words, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Talk about?"

"You know what I'm referring to."

You roll your eyes and chuckle to yourself.

He takes your chin between his thumb and index finger, turning your head to look at him. "I will not allow bratty behavior to come from you."

Your eyes widen.

The corner of his lip curves upward, "still think I'm hot?"

"You know I'm not afraid to fight you."

"I know, watching you take down the Cullen was," he leans in, nuzzling his nose underneath your jawline, placing a tender kiss there. "The highlight of finding my mate."

You melt under his touch before realizing the words he said. You push him back. "I'm sorry. What?"

"You're my mate."

"I heard that."

"It didn't sound like it."

"I," you push yourself out of the seat, walking past him; not noticing him drooling over you as you do.

His eyes never left you as you pace and unintentionally use your powers. He settles himself in the chair. "Where'd you go?"

"I'm still here," you tell him, standing beside him. "It's just- it's a lot to take in, you know."

He nods, "I understand."

"How are you so calm?"

"One of us has to."

You purse your lips.

He reaches for you, pulling you into his lap to calm you. "I know it's going to take a lot before we have a proper bond of trust built but believe me when I say, I'm with you. You are not alone."

You snuggle deeper into his embrace, eyes closing as today’s events took a lot of your energy.

He settles you into his perfectly made bed, watching over you for a few minutes before exiting the room, grabbing his cloak on the way out.

You wake, finding no one around.

It saddens you a bit, but you know that he is a busy man and just because he's found you doesn't mean his schedule is going to change entirely.

The burning in your throat returns, how long has it been since you fed? Apparently too long.

You exit the room and search for something, anything to satisfy yourself.

You know a feeding tour is going to happen tonight, they mentioned it earlier.

You wander through one too many halls and the faint scent of humans’ wafts through your nose. You follow and find a group being led into the room; you can only assume is the waiting room.

You manage to sneak in using your powers, giving you the advantage of pretending to be one of the tourists and the opportunity to pull one of the humans with you, sinking your fangs into their neck.

The others finish, but you continue, always being one to take your time making it more special (in case it was ever your last time or before you met the Cullens).

Demetri rapidly taps on his friend's shoulder.

Felix groans, tossing the person he fed on aside. "What?"

"Look."

He turns in the direction of where his friend was pointing and finds a peculiar sight. "I think your mate is more than what the kings realized."

He steps away, ignoring the babbling as he makes his way towards you.

You open your eyes, giving whoever is petting your hair a fierce look.

How dare they interrupt your feeding until your eyes focus and you find your mate in front of you, his body blocking yours.

He removes his hand from your hair, reaching for the human's wrist, slowly sinking his fangs into their skin.

As you two finish, he tosses them aside, reaching for your chin.

He pulls you closer like he did earlier, his cold breath fanning against your warm and bloodied lips, sticking his tongue out, licking the last remains away; only he can leave marks on his beloved. "You have some explaining to do."

You nod as if hypnotized before yawning. "After a nap, I can explain everything to you."

He nods and lifts you up into his arms, letting you settle in before he starts exiting the room; ignoring the teasing looks he knows Demetri is throwing his way.

He debates on setting you in his bed or sitting in the chair and letting you rest on him directly. He pulls the covers over you and listens to your soft and calm breathing.

You wake to a dark room but know he's still nearby, turning to find your suspicions to be true.

He stays still, keeping his gaze on the book.

"It's upside down."

He tries to read a page and flips it over, finding it to be true. "No wonder I couldn't read it." He furrows his brows, "how'd you know?"

"I sold that book to an annoying man back in my younger days."

"How old are you?"

You lay on your back, staring at the ceiling. "You know, it's never wise to ask a woman her age."

"I can handle you, I'm not afraid to ask." You sped out of the bed, using your powers to gain the upper hand and yank him out of the chair, straddling his lap. Your hand on his neck keeps him hooked to the ground.

He stares up at you amazed by every way you move and think. His hands find their way towards your hips, grounding you to him as if you could sink further into his grasp.

"I'm old, honey."

"Yet you've never looked younger," he smiles up at you.

You roll your eyes and push yourself off him, "you're just desperate for my touch," you tell him with a teasing tone.

He watches you walk around the room before taking your place on the bed.

You cross one leg over the other and slightly lean back, letting your neck rest on your shoulder. "Do you plan on telling them or should I?"

He's quiet, not ready to share you with anyone else (you assume).

"We can wait till tomorrow."

He nods, preferring that option.

"If your friend can keep his mouth shut."

Felix rubs his face with annoyance.

"If he does blab, you should at least know... I'm a rare breed as they say."

"What does that mean?"

"I can survive on human food or blood. My father was a vampire while my mother was human."

"And... then you arrived?"

You nod. "Apparently, my father was, as some say, a man whore and fell for my innocent, virgin mother then their miracle baby arrived but when she died, so did he."

"Why?"

"They were mates, the purest of bond for mates."

"But you were left alone?"

"A doctor found me," a fond smile breaks out onto your face, "and helped the any way he could before he got sick."

"How'd you get involved with the Cullens?"

"I may have," you shrug. "Had to get them out of town before our kind was discovered."

He nods.

"How do you feel?"

"About?"

"This whole mate thing. It was thrown upon you; you didn't really have a choice in this."

"I'm surprisingly, fine."

"Fine? Just fine? I'm kind of freaking out here again and- hey!" You tilt your head to stare into his eyes. "You licked me."

"That was hours ago."

"I- shut up."

He smirks.

You don't know when you fell asleep but find yourself waking just before sunrise. You push yourself up and look around the room, searching for the large man (you get to call yours).

"Looking for something?"

You tilt your head and offer a sleepy smile.

"No."

Felix raises a brow, clearly not believing a word out of your mouth. "I informed the kings of what you told me."

"And what they say?"

"Master Aro was pleased. Master Marcus was happy to inform me of our bond and it will become stronger with time."

"The blond one?"

"Master Caius is... it's hard to tell what he's feeling."

You open your mouth to call his name but find yourself drawing a blank. "What was your name again?"

"You don't know my name?"

"The weird one only said it once, what am I supposed to remember every name I hear? I'm a hybrid, not working at a place where I have to remember everyone's names."

He can't help but chuckle, surprised that you two didn't at least share this simple piece of information. "Felix. My name is Felix."

You smile and tell him yours in return.

#twilight #twilight volturi #twilight fanfiction #twilight fic #twilight fanfic #twilight imagine #twilight imagines #felix volturi #felix volturi x reader #felix volturi x you #felix volturi x hybrid reader #felix volturi x hybrid!reader #crazyk-imagine

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rinarin01 · 1 year

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Overtime — Dazai Osamu x Female Reader

a/n: reader always go overtime, but one day she notices a certain someone actually waited for her<3

extra note: its reader's birthday here!

Tick tock tick tock

You continued to type on your laptop, only halfway done for your last report of the day. It was already 5 o' clock and your shift was supposed to end 4 hours ago. But the thought of leaving a stack of paperwork, all unfinished, in your desk greatly bothered you. So you decided to work overtime and finish them all before the day ended.

Kunikida had already tapped out, leaving the keys to the office so you can lock up after you were done. The sun was starting to set, leaving a red and orange colored sky that illuminated around the office and produced a warm and beautiful ambience.

Your lips form into a thin line as you typed the last words of your report. You release a tired exhale as you shut down your laptop and stretch your arms to relieve the soreness forming there. Standing up, you cleared out your desk and took a quick glance at Dazai's own work area— you quickly decided to give it a clean and organizing some important documents accordingly while clearing out the unimportant ones.

Once you were done, you yawned and grabbed your coat from the back of your chair and putting it on. But as you neared the door, you noticed a very familiar figure sleeping at one of the agency's couches. Your eyes widen a bit.

"Dazai? Why are you still here?" You walked towards his figure and gently poked his shoulder to wake him up. The brunette shuffled awake and yawned, slowly sitting up and stretching his arms up tiredly.

"How long have you been here? Why didn't you just sleep back at our dorm?" You ask worriedly. His body seemed to shot up at the sight of you as he hurriedly took something from the back of the sofa. Your eyebrows raise in curiosity.

And to your absolute surprise, he pulled out a birthday cake and a bouquet.

"Can't I wait for my lovely girlfriend who so happens to turn a year older today?" He replies, your mouth was agape— you did not expect this at all. He pulls you into a hug as he sets down the cake to a nearby table. You smiled softly and hugged back, stroking his hair. Dazai nuzzles his cheek against yours, melting from your simple touch as he starts to gently rock the both of you back and forth.

"you really waited for me.." you whispered, it was a simple surprise yet you were overjoyed.

"Of course bella, though I have to complain— why do you stay here until so late?" He whines, resulting in a chuckle from you.

"Maybe if someone did their work I would've been home a few hours ago." You tease, he seemed to freeze up before replies with a stutter.

"W-who would do such a thing? Letting a beautiful lady like you do all their work?! How cruel." He dramatically sighs, patting your head continuously as if comforting you. A small smile paints itself on his lips as he hears you laugh.

"Y/n." He called out softly.

"hm? yes dear?"

"Happy Birthday." You smile and pull away from the hug, giving him a brief kiss on the cheek and thanking him again and again.

"..Dance with me?" Dazai offers. His heart swelled up with complete and pure warmth when he sees your eyes brighten up from his question, he continued to admire you, trying to contain a wide smile as he continued to observe your reaction. You were absolutely adorable to him.

He bends down to a table where his phone was. The music app was already open and a song was already on display, as if he prepared for this moment for a long time now. He plays the song and faces you again.

Dazai takes a small step back and offers you his hand. You accept it without hesitation and he pulls you closer to him. He places his hands on both sides of your waist while you rest yours on top of his shoulders.

The two of you slow dance around the agency, synchronizing with the rhythm of the music. There was a loving expression stuck on both of your faces, you were feeling butterflies in your stomach.

You and Dazai end up in the couch as the song comes to an end (much to your disappointment), the both of you catching your breaths. He cups your cheek and strokes it with his thumb. "I love you." He whispers softly, completely high in the feeling of you.

"I love you mor— "

Your sentence was cut off when you see Dazai's free hand reach out for the cake and take some icing from the side. Your eyes widen and a small yelp emits from your lips as he wipes the icing onto your cheek.

You blinked—

"Oh it's on."

a/n: I like to think that the song they're dancing to is 'I hear a symphony' by Cody Fry!

#bungou stray dogs #bsd x reader #bsd imagines #bsd dazai #bsd #dazaibsd #dazai osamu #dazai x reader #dazai imagines #bsd x y/n

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trans-queen-administrator · 6 months

Text

One year ago, give it take a few days, I started reading Worm. I finished it in a week. I don't think I'll ever read a story that affects me as much as Taylor's did, and since it's the anniversary of me reading Worm I think I might as well get sappy and emotional and write out how much Worm impacted me.

Tw: talking about suicide

I was in a terrible spot before Worm. Behind in every single class, failing to eat or drink or even just get out of bed for entire days, ghosting all of my friends and family just because I couldn't work up the will to talk, I just rotted in my dorm all day and let the tasks pile up higher and higher because I didn't know how to dig myself up, so I just gave up. I found Worm from some stupid meme that I saw while scrolling through social media for 13 hours a day in an attempt to drown out thoughts, and for reasons I still don't know I started to read it instead of returning to my blank inertia. I hadn't had the mental willpower to read or even feel anything in months, and it was completely out of character to immediately read it instead of just saying I'd do it later.

My sleep schedule was already fucked, once I got started it wasn't really a shock that I stayed up until like 5 am.

The week went by, I got to Leviathan, the Nine, Echidna, countless incredible interludes, and somewhere early on I think Worm became some sort of last hurrah. I'm not totally sure if I would have done it, but I had rough plans for methods of killing myself. Worm is a long work, impressively so, I was telling myself I'd finish it so I had something to be at least somewhat proud of before I went. It was a means of procrastination for the end since I didn't want to leave it unfinished, and also a road to it since once I was done reading then it would be time.

I became completely closed off from the world, even more than I had been previously. I dropped any pretenses of passing or attending class, what would the point be when I wouldn't be around for the grade? My meals became even less frequent, and when I had them it was always accompanied by reading. My sleep time was cut in half, I was waking up earlier and going to bed later all to read Worm. It was a week long fugue where I ceased to exist except for my ability to read the text. Once I was done reading, that would be it for me, and since I had closed myself off from pretty much everything there were no outside sources to convince me to change my mind. Just Worm. And it managed to do it.

Something about Taylor's absolutely insane amount of willpower just hit me hard. I remember when I read Speck and was reduced to a sobbing wreck for a day that was one of my strongest thoughts about her. She just tried so hard for everything, and absolutely never gave up as long as there was some way she could try to do something. I never learned how to put all my effort into stuff, but Taylor was inspiring enough that I wanted to at least try to learn how to try. It sounds cringey to write down, but if she could try so hard that she united all of humanity to kill an omnicidal god, then I could at the very least try to eat lunch.

Speaking of lunch, I read 90% of Speck in the corner of my college dining hall. It was like 4:00 and I was the only one there somehow, which is great because I was breaking down the entire time as I read Taylor fall apart. I don't think I'll ever read anything that hurt as much as Speck.

Another part of Taylor that was just as crucial to making me want to live was showing how much her self destructiveness hurt others. How could I justify killing myself when I just read how much it fucking tore at Taylor's friends when she became Khepri? When Lisa scrambled to just barely save Taylor from a suicide attempt in the first chapter of Gold Morning? Even when she just left them behind, Rachel's anguish was palpable, so who was I to ghost my friends because I was too scared to text anyone? I always knew on a logical level people would be sad if I died, but seeing such solid depictions of hurt from similar situations just... I dunno, I couldn't justify it when it was so much clearer to me how much it would hurt people I love.

I took a day to emotionally recover from the mental rewiring that comes from finishing Worm, and then I called my parents and told them how poorly I had been doing. I hadn't done it before because I didn't want to be a burden. They were happy to help. I dropped all my classes and went home. Worm stayed with me, it gave me some sort of substance to my life, something to latch on to. Making ideas for fanfics that I'd never write, talking with friends I'd made through Worm, rereading Speck if I needed a good cry, all of it kept me going and made my life feel less flat. Like five months later I started posting to this account and that was another outlet. It was just fun to analyze the text and make up theories about this work that did so much for me, and when I finally started posting them online that was good fun too. Thank y'all for reading my dinky little rambles, somehow I've cracked 400 followers on what was originally just a place for me to write down my thoughts during lunch hour at a mental hospital. Whenever I get a detailed comment in the notes, or I see someone like/reblog 20 of my posts in a row as they scroll through, or I see the names of people I always see in my notifications it just makes my day. Y'all are lovely.

And well, now it's been a year. Worm was supposed to be the final story I read, a countdown to the end in 1.7 million words, but it managed to convince me to keep going. I didn't think I'd make it to the next year or even the next month, but it's November again and I'm still here. I'm not doing great, but I'm here and I have Worm to thank for that.

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hd-junglebook · 13 days

Text

Bodies

Prologue

Prev - Next

AN : I feel like this is a little out of range for most, I haven't stumbled upon a Jack Hughes apocalypse fic, so I made one. This is just some character buildup, so you understand Part 1 when it comes out.

Masterlist

You finished writing the end of the sentence on the board, the space filled with the assignments for your class. The students chatted behind you, discussing the book while you continued highlighting its key parts.

You love these moments, where literature transcends the pages of a book and becomes a living, breathing entity in the minds of your students.

The shrill sound of the bell cuts through the air, interrupting your thoughts. Glancing at your watch, confusion struck; the bell rang ten minutes early, catching you off guard as the school board hadn't informed you about the half-day.

"Okay guys, make sure you finish up your worksheets," you say, trying to mask your confusion with a reassuring smile. “I need all your papers done by Monday! Enjoy the rest of your weekend,” you announced.

You watch as the students quickly gather their belongings and rush out of the classroom, their chatter fading into the hallway. The unexpected early dismissal leaves you feeling slightly disoriented, but you try to shake it off.

As you straighten the stacks of papers on your desk, you can't help but feel a twinge of disappointment that the engaging class discussion was cut short.

You make a mental note to follow up on the unfinished discussion next week, perhaps dedicating some extra time to really dive into the nuances of the text.

In the meantime, you decide to take advantage of the unexpected free time to get ahead on your lesson planning and grading.

Your phone buzzed, pulling you away from your task. Hurriedly picking it up, you saw your best friend Lexi’s name flashing urgently on the screen.

With trembling fingers, you answer the call, dread pooling in the depths of your being as her panicked voice fills your ear, “Y/n, I need—” She choked out, “There was an accident at work, this man attacked me, he bit me, Y/n.”

The urgency in her voice sends a shiver down your spine as she recounted the details, the wail of the alarms around her blared through the phone’s speakers. “Where are they taking you Lex?”

“RWJ Hospital, please come, I need you.”

You hung up the phone in despair, struggling to comprehend what was happening. Quickly grabbing your bag, you headed into the hallway, ignoring the worried glances from other teachers as you pushed open the double set of doors leading to the parking lot. Children boarded their buses as the sky began to darken.

“Shit!” You cursed, fumbling with your car keys, hands shaking as you finally managed to unlock the door and slide into the driver's seat.

The engine roars to life as you pull out of the school parking lot, your tires screeching against the asphalt with little regard for the parents in the pickup line.

You try to focus on the road ahead, but your thoughts keep drifting back to Lexi's words: "he bit me."

The strange phrasing sends a chill through your body, and you can't shake the feeling that something is terribly wrong.

The streets were crowded with cars, turning what should have been a simple five-minute drive home into a 15-minute ordeal of waiting at traffic lights.

You think ahead and cut across the grass that leads onto the backroads, switching on the radio, hoping to distract yourself from the gnawing anxiety. However, instead of the usual upbeat pop songs, you're greeted by an urgent news bulletin:

"Breaking news: Reports of violent attacks are coming in from across Jersey. Eyewitnesses describe individuals exhibiting aggressive behavior and attacking others without provocation. Authorities are advising all residents to stay indoors and avoid public areas until further notice..."

Your heart pounds in your chest as you slam the mute button, could Lexi's attack be related to these other incidents?

The thought makes your stomach churn, and you press down on the accelerator, desperate to reach your house.

…

A helicopter flew overhead towards the city, its loud rotors adding to the worry already in your stomach.

The sight of your neighbors frantically packing their belongings and fleeing the area only serves to heighten your anxiety. You can't help but wonder what they know that you don't.

You wiped your hands across your face before pushing the door open, a sigh of relief leaving you as you noticed your roommates’ cars in the driveway.

You hurry towards your front door, fumbling with your keys as you try to unlock it. Your hands are shaking, making the simple task feel like an impossible challenge. Finally, you manage to turn the key and push the door open, stepping into the familiar comfort of your home.

“Jesus fuck.” You utter, looking around the messy living room for any sign of life. “Guys, are you here?”

there's no response.

Inside, the usual warm and inviting atmosphere is replaced by an eerie stillness. The only sound is the ticking of the clock on the wall, echoing through the empty rooms. A sinking feeling settles in the pit of your stomach as you realize that they might have already left without you.

As you're about to leave, you hear a loud banging on your front door. Your heart leaps into your throat, and you freeze in place. The banging continues, growing more insistent with each passing second. You slowly approach the door, your hand hovering over the handle.

You peek through the peephole, your heart pounding in your chest, only to be greeted by a familiar mop of blonde hair. Relief washes over you as you realize it's your roommate, Viper. You swing the door open, a smile breaking out on your face.

"Viper, thank God it's you! I thought-"

Before you can finish your sentence, Viper rushes past you, nearly knocking you off balance. "Move, move, move!" she shouts, her voice laced with urgency.

You stumble back, confused by the abrupt entrance. As you regain your footing, you notice Dest, your other roommate, standing in the doorway, an exasperated look on her face.

"Seriously, Viper?" Dest sighs, shaking her head. "You nearly slammed the door on my face!" Viper, already halfway across the living room, turns back with a shrug.

You look between your two roommates, trying to make sense of their sudden appearance. "Where were you guys? Have you seen the news?"

“We were in the city when all hell broke loose.” Viper commented, she began rummaging through the kitchen cabinets, her slender fingers deftly sorting through the cans and packages.

She huffs out a breath, blowing her golden locks away from her face as she reaches for a can on the top shelf. "I've seen enough horror flicks to know how this plays out," she retorts, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

She holds up a can of beans triumphantly, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief. "And I, for one, am not going to be the first to die because I was too busy being a snack for the undead."

Viper tosses the can into her backpack, along with a few other non-perishable items. She zips up the bag with a flourish, the sound echoing through the kitchen.

Slinging the backpack over her shoulder, she turns to face you, her lips curled into a smirk. "I'm ready to kick some zombie ass. Or run away screaming. Whichever comes first."

Dest rushes back into the living room, her arms laden with supplies.

As she dumps the contents of the bag onto the coffee table, revealing a collection of batteries, flashlights, pads, and a well-stocked first-aid kit, her fiery red locks cascade around her face like a protective curtain.

With a quick, practiced motion, she arranges the items with efficiency, her pale blue eyes searching your own.

"We should get out of here while we still can," she states nonchalantly.

You grab your own backpack, the fabric feeling oddly heavy in your trembling hands as you hastily stuff in the items Dest hands you. You take a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves.

"Yeah…Yeah, we should go," you say, your voice wavering slightly in the stillness of the room.

…

The three of you headed outside seeing smoke billow into the clouds. You unlocked the car door, still seeing the neighbors rushing to pack their cars to the brim. "Y/n, dear, wait!" Your neighbor calls, hobbling towards you with surprising speed. "Have you heard the news?”

Mrs. Beverly takes a moment to compose herself before speaking. "There's been reports on the news about some sort of virus spreading," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "They're saying it turns people into... into monsters. It's spreading fast, y/n."

You pause, turning to face her, a knot of dread forming in the pit of your stomach. "I've heard bits and pieces," you reply, your voice tight with apprehension. "But we need to get to the hospital. You should really get out of here Mrs. Beverly. "

Her eyes widened in alarm, her gnarled hands clutching at the hem of her sweater. "I’m old y/n, there’s nothing out there for me." she murmurs, her voice trembling with sympathy. "But you need to be careful out there.”

You nod, gratitude swelling within you for her concern. "Thank you, Mrs. Beverly," you say, forcing a reassuring smile. "I'll be careful, I promise. But right now, I need to go."

With a quick goodbye, you three continue on your way, the weight of Mrs. Beverly’s words hanging heavy in the air.

…

The traffic on the highway worsened by the minute, minutes turning into hours as you waited behind dozens of cars leading out of the city.

Frustration fills you but the traffic remains at a standstill, a seemingly insurmountable barrier between you and safety. “God, can we just walk at this point. I feel like I’m gonna melt if I stay in here,” Viper bellowed from the back of the car.

Clenching your hands against the wheel, you finally make the decision to abandon your car and join the throngs of people on foot. Viper and Dest followed suit grabbing their bags and slamming the doors shut.

The air is thick with the acrid smell of exhaust fumes and the distant wail of sirens. You weave through the maze of cars on the highway, feeling a light breeze gently pushing your jacket off your shoulders.

Walking through the maze of cars, each one filled with an antsy family trying to leave the city, you were so close to where you needed to be. Your eyes focused on the buildings just out of reach when you bumped into a lady standing outside her car.

Stumbling back in shock, you looked up to a grey-haired lady, immediately apologizing. "I’m so sorry; I wasn’t looking where I was going," you stated as you helped her regain her balance.

The lady steadied herself, placing a wrinkled hand on your arm. She looked up at you with kind, understanding eyes.

"No need to apologize, dear. It's quite alright," she said, her voice soft and reassuring. You nodded, feeling a sense of relief wash over you.

"Edith," the lady supplied, extending her hand to Viper and Dest. "Pleasure to meet you all, despite the circumstances." Just then, a man exited the car, pushing his way to you both with a nasty scowl on his face.

"What's the holdup? Can't you watch where you're going?" he barked at his wife, blaming her for being in the way.

As you tried to diffuse the tension, the man's anger only seemed to escalate. His words were like daggers, cutting through the already thick atmosphere of frustration and impatience. "Hey, she said she was sorry," you interjected, your voice tinged with irritation. "There's no need to be so hostile."

The man's scowl deepened, his eyes flashing with barely contained rage. "Mind your own business, kid. This is between me and my wife."

You could feel your temper rising, fueled by the stress of the situation and the man's unwarranted aggression. "She's right. The traffic is bad enough without you making it worse," you shot back, your words laced with defiance.

The man took a step closer, his imposing figure casting a shadow over you. "You don't know the first thing about what's going on here. Just stay out of it."

Viper and Dest caught up to you then, their faces etched with concern. "Everything okay, Y/N?" Viper asked, eyeing the man cautiously. Relief washed over you at the interruption, grateful for the chance to break away from the confrontation.

“Yeah, I was just leaving. It was nice to meet you, Edith.”

The sound of helicopters overhead drew your attention. You glanced up to see a fleet of choppers zooming through the sky towards the city, their presence ominous against the backdrop of the skyline.

The roar of the helicopters grew louder, drowning out all other sounds. The steady thump-thump-thump of their rotor blades echoed through the air, sending vibrations rippling through the ground beneath your feet.

"What's going on?" you asked, a sense of unease settling in the pit of your stomach. You watched in awe as they flew in formation, their sleek silhouettes slicing through the air with precision.

Dest followed your gaze, his expression grim. "Looks like they're bombing the city," she said quietly. The city was under fire, and there was nothing you could do but watch from the sidelines.

In an instant, the air was filled with a deafening cacophony of noise as the choppers unleashed their payload as the orange hue of the flames spread across your face. The ground trembled beneath you as the bombs were dropped, sending shockwaves rippling through the earth.

A collective gasp rose from the crowd as the first explosion rocked the city skyline. A plume of smoke billowed into the air, dark and foreboding against the backdrop of the orange-hued sky.

As you, Viper, and Dest stand on the side of the highway, watching the helicopters in the distance, another one suddenly comes closer, its ominous silhouette looming overhead.

You look up just in time to see a bomb drop, landing mere yards away from where you stand. The world seems to slow as adrenaline courses through your veins, your heart pounding in your ears.

Viper's instinctive reaction kicks in as she grabs your arm, pulling you back from the danger with a forceful urgency.

“Come on. Now!” she shouts pulling you away from the road and to the tree line. Dest is right behind you both when another bomb drops, and she falls to the ground.

You yank on Viper's arm, your voice piercing through the chaos as you shout, "Wait!" Both of you scan the highway frantically, searching for Dest's frail form.

Just as panic threatens to consume you, you catch sight of her, staggering dangerously close to the edge of the road.

You and Viper rush to her side, throwing an arm over each of her shoulders for support. The screams around you blend with the deafening explosions, creating a cacophony of fear and desperation that threatens to overwhelm your senses. With Dest between you, you hobble away from the highway.

“We have to keep going.”

...

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 6 months

Text

Unfinished - Part Two : Spirits Follow Everywhere I Go

A/N: Let's keep spooky season going a little longer, shall we? First of all, I want to shout out a huge thank you to everyone who had read the first part of this story. The response has been wonderful and I am especially thrilled to know that people are enjoying the historical element of this story - there's a lot more about Eliza, Cal and Henry coming! This part is decidedly darker than the first, so I will go ahead and warn you that if you're not into scary stories, this might not be the one for you. But if getting spooked is your jam, then grab a snack because things are about to get haunted up in this bitch.

READ PART ONE HERE

*Chapter title comes from Love Like Ghosts by Lord Huron*

Warnings: death, murder, haunting, mention of loss of parent - ** Death of Reader's mother & immediate aftermath ** grief, language because Xander's coping mechanism is to swear like a sailor (if you are at all unsure about the content of this chapter, please feel free to message me with any questions!)

Word Count: 5,239

Summary: Henry's murderous jealousy leaves him with quite a mess to deal with... and moving Cal's body ends up being the easy part.

Meanwhile, you and Marcus arrive back at Maplewood to comply with the investigation involving a murder victim and a mysterious painting.

Maplewood Manor - Midnight, October 30, 1868

Henry Ashford’s limbs ached as he eased himself into bed that night.

Cal was heavier than he looked lying in a heap on Eliza’s bedroom floor, and he had to be moved down three flights of stairs into the cellar. By the time he’d finished stashing the artist where he wouldn’t be found until he could be further dealt with and had trudged back upstairs to get himself cleaned up, Henry was bone tired. The adrenaline that flooded his system when he snuffed out two lives as thoughtlessly as candles had left as quickly as it came, and as soon as his head hit the pillow he felt consciousness slipping away.

The fact that his dead wife was lying in a bed one room over didn’t seem to hinder his ability to find sleep. Peace, though, proved to be more elusive.

It began around midnight. Silver blue light from the full October moon shone through the sheer white curtains and directly onto Henry’s sleeping form, waking him from the heavy slumber he’d fallen into. Groaning, he blinked against the intrusion and sat up. In the haze of his exhaustion he figured that he must have forgotten to pull the thick drapes closed before collapsing into bed, so he swung his legs over the side and stood to remedy that, hoping that once the room was dark he would be able to fall back to sleep.

But as soon as the plush velvet drapes were pulled shut and he had turned away from the window, he heard the scrape of the curtain rings along the rod, and watched as a sliver of light splashed onto the bed, widening before his eyes. Henry froze, standing stiff and rigid as a statue, as the familiar shape of his wife’s silhouette joined his shadow on the wall in front of him. Wheeling around again, he saw only the window and the moon shining beyond it. Rattled, he reached shakily for the drapes to pull them closed once more. It must have been a trick of his mind and the moonlight, he assured himself. A side effect of the night he’d had, or a dream that lingered after his feet hit the floor.

Eliza was dead. He’d seen to that himself, so she couldn’t be at his window, messing with the drapes. Taking a deep breath, Henry climbed back into bed. Again the heavy weight of fatigue sent him sinking into sleep, the room pitch black and silent around him.

It didn’t stay that way.

“Henry.”

A fierce gasp tore at Henry’s throat, hands wildly clawing at his neck as though trying to free it from a noose. He bolted upright, chest heaving and eyes bulging, the drapes and sheer curtains thrown open. Stark moonlight poured into the room, spilling over him and bringing an icy chill with it. Terror gripped his heart as he tried and failed to blink away the image before him.

There in the center of the frame stood the shadowy figure of Eliza Ashford. She was faced away from him, staring out at the moonlit grounds of Maplewood Manor. Though her form did not appear solid - more wispy than a living human being - her presence felt more powerful than ever. And more angry.

“E-Eliza?” His own voice sounded foreign to him, fear and confusion shrinking its normally robust tone. “How… You cannot be-”

He scampered back into the pillows, knocking the base of his skull hard against the backboard in an involuntary effort to flee as Eliza slowly spun towards him. Only her eyes were visible, glowing an otherworldly whitish blue out of her otherwise blurred and featureless face. Her lack of a mouth didn’t stop her from speaking, though, her words reverberating inside Henry’s eardrums as her ghostly eyes pierced him straight through.

“You thought it was so easy to be rid of me? Thought you could stamp me out? Stamp Cal out?”

In a whoosh of frigid air the panes of glass shattered inward, and Eliza suddenly shifted so that her spectral eyes hovered only inches from Henry’s. He yelped and shook, wincing away from her as she tilted her head.

“You thought that you could hide what you did?! Hide his body like animal bones?! Desecrate the only man I ever loved and walk free?!”

“No.” Henry’s hands came to his ears and he shut his eyes as tight as he could. “No, no, no.” He repeated the word over and over, refusing to accept any of what was happening. “No! This… This is fantasy! You’re not here, Eliza. You’re dead! You’re dead!”

Without opening his eyes, he burst from the bed and ran to the door, moving right through the shadowy shape of his wife and feeling the blood crystalize in his veins with the cold. Stumbling through the hall with his arms outstretched, he made his way to the room where her body lay. He ran to the window and pulled open the drapes to shed light on the space, and as he knew he would, found his wife to be still in her bed. Right where he had left her so that she would be found in the morning.

Releasing a sigh, Henry slumped onto the cushioned bench under the window and stared at the corpse across from him. It was a small comfort to see that she was still there and that whatever he’d witnessed - or thought he’d witnessed - had just been a misfire of his imagination. It was a short lived relief when he considered what it might mean for his sanity. But even that worry didn’t have time to grow roots in his brain, because from the hall, an eerie silver glow moved toward where he sat.

“You took me away from my children, Henry. How could I ever forgive you for that?!”

“No…” He whimpered. “No, please… Leave me…” He wasn’t sure who he was pleading with or how he would be able to move past this moment if it were to simply stop - because how on Earth could he explain what had happened without admitting to the illogical? Henry didn’t believe in ghosts. He didn’t believe in souls. So even if the haunting were to suddenly cease, he’d either have to change his mindset entirely, or concede that he had lost his mind. Neither sounded good to him, but both were preferable to the horror he felt watching Eliza’s shadowy specter follow him into the room where she died.

Her eyes were still her only visible feature, and they bore into him as she hovered near the bed. “You cannot run from me, dear husband. Not from me, and not from what you’ve done to Cal! I will never leave you. I will never let you have peace. You will never be free from this night, Henry Ashford!”

With another gust of air powerful enough to break the glass behind him, Eliza’s ghost slashed through the room in a cyclone of screaming rage. She flew directly at Henry, the man shouting out in terror before she turned and changed course for the last of Cal’s works.The unfinished portrait that still hung on an easel in the corner of the room radiated the same silver light as she was absorbed by the canvas, and then Henry was alone once more.

The windows were back in pristine condition, as though they’d never shattered in a storm of shards. The curtains were closed, as they were before he had rushed in, and the candlestick on the bedside table sent a halo of warm orange light flickering across the floor. Henry crossed the room slowly, one trembling hand closing around the metal candle holder. Carrying it with him, he walked back to his bedroom and peeked inside, shining the light to see that his window had also been restored to its original state, the glass back in the panes and the drapes secured shut.

But the return to normalcy did nothing to settle his fear or ease his racing pulse back to a place where he could once again find sleep. Instead he went down into the parlor and poured himself a brandy. Using the candle he took from Eliza’s room, he lit every candle he could find so that he would not be in the dark, and he sat awake with a drink in his hand until the housekeeper returned in the morning.

She, of course, assumed that Henry had been in a state of shock due to the grief of Eliza’s untimely - but natural - death. The poor man, she thought, taking pity on him. She never could have known that his insomnia had been brought on by the curse that his murdered wife had put upon him, or by the visitation of her ghost.

He had one trick up his sleeve, though, one thing to try in order to stop Eliza from torturing his nights. His wife had made it known how much she hated his obsession with postmortem photographs. She had stated on several occasions that her soul was not to be trapped on film, that when she died she wanted to do so as she lived - having never been photographed, only painted. So after the doctor had come and officially proclaimed her dead, but before the undertaker could remove her body for burial preparations, Henry took his camera to her room and loaded the photo plate.

He wouldn’t know the outcome until later that night, when he developed the image in his darkroom. In the cellar.

– – –

Maplewood Manor - 10:30 pm, October 30, 2023

Red and blue lights glared off the carved pumpkins that lined the porch steps as Marcus pulled into the Manor’s circular driveway.

Everything about the way the age old house looked, surrounded by emergency vehicles and personnel, was wrong, and it sent a twisting sensation through your stomach. It reminds me of the night that- You felt the breath in your lungs grow stale at the sight of two EMTs rolling a covered stretcher through the front door and into a waiting van. It made your blood run cold. Shit.

It reminded you of the night that your mom died.

It was December of your senior year, and you were home for winter break. Your house had looked wrong then, too, as you stared at it from your front lawn. You could remember the cold grass against the skin of your knees and the way the chilled air felt like frost on your tear stained cheeks. You couldn’t be inside until everyone had gone. It was easier to breathe outside, even if the temperature had dropped to just above freezing. And Marcus was there with you. He’d been staying with his grandparents who only lived twenty minutes from your place. When you called him in hysterics he got immediately into his car and came straight to you. You were outside already when he got there, on the ground in front of the house, and wordlessly, he joined you, putting his arms around you, holding you to his chest and speaking directly into your ear, telling you that he was right there, that he wasn’t going anywhere.

In that moment, he was the only solid thing in your world.

Either the scene in front of you reminded him of that night, too, or he saw it on your face that you were lost in that memory, because he cleared his throat and spoke your name. Blinking, you tore your focus from the closing van doors and turned to face him. His eyes locked with yours, and in them you found the same sense of comfort that you always had. “Hey.” He reached across the center console and gripped your hand where it rested in your lap. “You okay?”

Your fingers linked with his and squeezed as you nodded. “Yeah.” You cleared your throat and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Yeah,” you said again. “Just… thinking about…” You trailed off with a shrug and brought your free hand up to swipe at your eye.

Marcus sighed. “I know.” His thumb moved back and forth over your knuckle, and then he brought his other hand up to finish off the tear you’d missed. Fingertips skating over your cheek, he kept his hand on your face as he continued. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere. I’m gonna be right here with you.”

Swallowing, you sniffed and nodded again. “I know.” He dropped his hand, watching as you fixed your makeup in the rearview mirror. You blew out a slow breath and turned to look at him again. “I know this isn’t how you want to spend your time off, so I’m sorry that-”

“Stop.” He shook his head. “That’s the last thing on my mind right now, okay? I mean that. I’m here for you, and right now that means helping you through whatever this is.”

You never took his friendship for granted, but an overwhelming wave of gratitude for him rose in your chest at that moment as you tried to imagine facing what awaited you inside the manor without Marcus by your side. Even without his FBI training, his presence alone would have bolstered your nerve as you answered questions and complied with the investigation. It was enough just to have him - your closest and oldest friend, someone who you trusted completely and who always made you feel safe.

“Thank you, Marcus.” Your voice was quiet but you knew he heard you.

His lips pulled up to one side as a small smile lightened his eyes. “Anytime.”

With that, he withdrew his hand from yours and opened his door. You followed, walking around the front of the car to where Marcus stood waiting for you. Though you knew he wouldn’t stop you from taking his hand again, he didn’t offer it immediately, and you knew it was because he was giving you the chance to make a completely professional impression on the officers you were about to meet with. Instead, he walked side by side with you, arm dangling close enough for his sleeve to brush yours.

Before you made it halfway up the walk, Xander rushed down the porch steps to you. “Thank fuck you’re here. This shit is weird and I am freaking the hell out!” There were deep, worried creases between his eyebrows, and he was taking big open mouthed gulps of air.

“Hey. I’m sorry, X.” You put your hands on his arms the same way Marcus had done to you earlier at the diner, and demonstrated a slow, even breath in and out, trying to get the frazzled 20-something in front of you to do the same. He did, and you nodded. “You alright? Did you already talk to the police?”

Xander blew out a breath and eyed Marcus before turning back to you. “Yeah. They cleared the building, made sure no one was still inside, and then they asked me a bunch of questions. I told them everything and they said I was okay to go for the night and that they’d call me if or when they had any more questions but I wanted to wait until you got here.” His eyes shifted back to Marcus. “Shit, did this bust up date night or something? I-”

“Uh-” You cleared your throat, eyes going wide. “Um, no, we just - This is my friend Marcus. He came for the lecture tonight and he-”

“I’m just here for moral support.” Marcus smiled warmly at the jittery kid.

Xander nodded. “Well, good. Wish I had some of that.” Shaking his head, he closed his eyes. “No way I’m gonna be able to sleep tonight. Not after seeing…” He trailed off, blinking off into the dark distance beyond the house.

Your heart ached sympathetically. You knew what it was like to be the one to find someone dead. It feels like the walls are collapsing. Holding your breath after your next question, you hoped the answer would be a no. “Xander, did…did you know who it was?”

“No. I’d never seen ‘em. I mean not before…” He gestured to one of the second floor windows and released a sigh. “Far as I can tell he wasn’t a student.” That’s good, at least. This is gonna be hard enough for the kids to handle, at least it wasn’t one of them. Xander went on. “Cops found his I.D. on him. Turns out he was just some dude who came for the lecture, and-”

“Wait, what?” You tilted your head, eyes darting over to momentarily meet Marcus’. “They came for the lecture?”

Xander nodded. “Yeah. Cops asked me for a list of everyone who bought tickets so they could cross check it I guess and he was on there. Some guy named Hank Elkins from right outside Philly.” He shrugged. “Why? You know him?”

The name meant nothing to you personally, but you recalled it as one of the first to populate on your attendee list, meaning that Hank Elkins had been planning on coming to the event for months. A shiver ran through you at the thought that he had no idea that a night learning about incomplete artwork would ultimately be his last. “No, I don't know anyone by that name.” You wet your lips with the tip of your tongue. “Do they have any idea who did this?”

“Nah, the security guard on duty didn’t have access to the camera playback so they had to wait for the director of campus security to get here and he just got here like two minutes before you. So they’re probably in there lookin’ at it now.”

As he finished speaking, a uniformed officer exited the front door of the house and strode down the steps. “Mr. Paulson?” The officer addressed Xander, who answered with a ‘yeah’. “I’m here to escort you back to your apartment, make sure you get home safe.” He didn’t look much older than the college student, but you were still glad that Xander would have someone keeping him safe on the way back to the main area of campus. The young officer turned to you, greeting you by name. “The detective is inside, she’d like a few words with you.” He turned back to Xander. “We should get moving.”

Xander nodded. “Yeah, alright, thanks.” He wrung his hands and looked at you. “Keep me posted, yeah? I… I wanna know what’s going on with this since… Since I-”

Again you felt that twist of sympathy in your chest. Since you were the one who found him. “I will, X. Try to get some rest, okay?”

He scoffed and shook his head. “Told you, no way in hell. But yeah.”

You watched as Xander followed the officer assigned to him, and then turned to Marcus. “If it was someone who came for the event then… then maybe the killer was here for it, too. ”

Marcus nodded, concern written all over his face. “Maybe. Those security cameras are new, right? Didn’t you tell me the restoration committee put new ones in a few years ago?” Of course he remembered that. You confirmed that they were new within the last two years. “That’s good. Footage should be nice and clear. If the killer is on there we should be able to see their face and-”

A woman’s voice speaking your name interrupted his sentence, and you looked up to see the detective Xander mentioned standing in the doorway. “I’m Detective Allison Sharpe. Thank you for coming back so fast.”

You swallowed and glanced at Marcus before heading up to where the woman stood, your friend following you. “Of course. Anything I can do to help, I will.”

“We appreciate that.” She looked at Marcus next. “And you, sir? Do you also work with the University?”

“I don’t.” Marcus reached into his pocket and pulled out his badge to show the woman. “Agent Marcus Pike, FBI.” You watched Sharpe’s expression change slightly as she looked over Marcus’ credentials. “I’m with the art crimes division.”

“Well now there’s a stroke of luck. Maybe you’ll be able to help us, Agent Pike.” The woman directed her focus back at you. “I’m sure your assistant, Xander, told you about the mystery painting?”

“He did.” You narrowed your eyes. “Do you know where it came from?”

Detective Sharpe raised one eyebrow and clicked her tongue. “We have no idea. But hopefully one of you two can shed some light on that. It appears to be quite old, but I’m no art expert.”

You cleared your throat. “Can I… take a look?”

“You can. But first I’ll need you to give your statement and take me through the evening from your memory. If you were here as well, Agent Pike, we’ll need you to do the same.” Sharpe gestured to the front door. “Officer Fromer is waiting in the dining room to take care of that. I need to get back inside to review the security cam footage, but as soon as you’re finished he’ll bring you into the other room where the artwork is.” She spread her hands wide. “Again, anything you can tell us about the piece, anything you can remember about the night, anything strange that happened, any weird questions your audience asked… it could all be helpful.”

“Of course.” You nodded and followed her into the house.

Though your brain was buzzing with adrenaline and your stomach churned with unease, both of those sensations were dimmed as you felt the warmth of Marcus’ hand on the small of your back.

– – –

After you answered all of the questions that the officers had for you, and gave your account of what happened that night from the time you arrived at Maplewood to the time when you and Marcus left, you were escorted into the parlor room, where your presentation had been.

Your eyes went immediately to the six easels that you had set up. All of the paintings that you brought with you were there, and all intact. None of them seemed damaged or meddled with in any way, and you let out a small sigh of relief at that. But then your eyes traveled to the seventh canvas. When they did, your mouth dropped open and you sucked in a gasp.

I… I think I know that painting.

It had been taken off of its frame and draped over a chair that someone had dragged up to the front of the room. From the upholstered backrest, a pair of eyes looked back at you, light and emotion already present in them despite the fact that the portrait was far from finished. The shape sketched out was that of a woman, her chin and cheekbones just barely hinted at, her hair only depicted as a brownish splotch to show where more detail was needed. But her eyes, clearly the feature that the artist deemed her most striking, were so complete and lifelike, it felt as though the featureless woman was looking straight through you.

“Eliza Ashford.” You muttered the name that you’d read on countless documents throughout your time with the Maplewood Manor restoration society, certain beyond doubt that you were looking at her missing portrait.

“What?” Marcus stepped up next to you, crossing his arms over his chest. “You recognize this?”

You licked at your suddenly dry lips, gaze still fixed on the pair of painted eyes in front of you. “Yeah. Marcus, I think that’s…” Mid-sentence, you turned away and crossed the room to where a large portrait hung over the marble fireplace. The click of footsteps on the hard floor told you that Marcus was following close behind. “It is. Look.”

Pointing up at the family of four that had called Maplewood home over a hundred years ago, you directed him to the woman shown standing beside her husband, their two children in front of them.

“It’s Eliza Ashford. The Ashfords were the last family to own this place. Their family portrait has hung here for years. When the university took over the property they found this in the attic along with individual portraits of Henry Ashford and the two children, Josephine and Edwin.” You shook your head and turned to look at Marcus. “But there wasn’t one of Eliza. She died young, so everyone assumed that was the reason that she didn’t have her portrait done. But-” You lifted your eyes back to the family above the mantel and saw the same life and light in Eliza’s as you were struck with in the unfinished painting. It’s the same artist. It has to be. “But I think it just wasn’t finished in time.”

Marcus frowned up at the family portrait. “Where was it then? If it wasn’t with the others in the attic?”

You shrugged and let out a breath. “No one knows. No one even knew for sure it existed. There’s no record of the family paying to have it done, even though there are records for the other works that were commissioned around the same time.”

“You’re right. No one knows where the painting has been for the last 150 years-” Detective Sharpe’s voice startled you. You hadn’t heard the woman come into the room, and when she spoke you jumped. Marcus shifted closer to you, reassuring you with his presence. You relaxed slightly as Sharpe continued, but noticed that she looked shaken, and that left you nervous. She cleared her throat. “But we know how it got into the house tonight. Hank Elkins brought it in under his coat.”

“Elkins?” Marcus questioned. “The victim? What was he doing with a piece of missing, unfinished artwork? Was he involved in the art world? A dealer, or collector?”

Detective Sharpe nodded. “All valid questions, Agent Pike.”

Something told you that whatever was about to come next was going to be shocking, but that didn’t stop you from asking anyway. “If you know that Elkins brought it with him, then you must have seen him with it on the security cameras.” Sharpe nodded again as your heart pounded. “Then… Did you see what happened to him after he displayed the painting?”

Did you see how he ended up dead on the second floor?

“Yes.” Detective Sharpe “But I still can’t… explain it.” Her tone sounded almost hollow, and you knew that couldn’t be good.

“Would we be able to view the tape, Detective?” Marcus asked the question politely despite the fact that you knew that he could pull strings and make a few phone calls to grant him - and you - access to any part of this investigation that he wanted.

“You can,” Sharpe replied after a pause. “But I’ll warn you it’s…” She wrinkled her nose. “Unsettling.”

You swallowed and blew out a shaky breath. “Alright.” You looked at Marcus and chewed your lower lip. “Let’s take a look.”

Sharpe nodded. “In here, please.” She gestured for you to follow her back to the dining room.

Before you could cross the room, Marcus caught your wrist and gave you a slight tug to turn you to face him. “Hey, you sure about this? You don’t have to… If you don’t want to see that, I can watch and-”

You brought your hand up to cover his where it wrapped around your wrist and gave him a tired smile. “It’s okay, Marcus. I need to… If I’m going to be any help with this, I need to know what happened.”

He inhaled through his nose, chest rising and falling as he let the air back out. “Okay.”

“Okay. Let’s do this.”

Without hesitation, you walked across the room and into the dining room to view the footage.

– – –

Twenty minutes later, you could barely breathe. Allison had told you that what you were about to see was impossible to explain, and she had been right. Even knowing that going in wasn’t enough to prepare you for what you saw happen to Hank Elkins in that bedroom upstairs.

Cameras in the foyer had caught him come in. He’d even taken his seat and listened to your entire presentation. But after you had finished with your Q&A and you’d directed visitors into the next room for refreshments, Elkins had slipped past you to go back into the parlor to set up the canvas he’d smuggled in. After that, he was picked up by a different camera - the one in the back stairwell. That door had been locked, and you had given Xander the only key. But Elkins shockingly had a key in his pocket, and he used it to gain access to the second floor. Once he was upstairs he made his way into one of the bedrooms, and that was when things got really strange.

He began talking to the walls. But not just rambling. He was gesturing wildly. Pleading, almost, making begging motions with his hands. And then the room went dark and a sound like a rush of wind ripped through, and when the lights flickered back on, Elkins had been flung across the room like a rag doll, head smashed against the wall so that he landed in a heap on the floor.

“What the hell was that, Marcus?” Your voice was barely above a whisper as the two of you walked out into the night and made your way back to his car. Your hands and knees were shaking, and you felt hyper aware of every cricket and frog making sounds on the grounds of Maplewood. You turned to face him and saw the same terrified shock that you felt mirrored back at you. “What the hell happened to him in there?”

He shook his head and opened the passenger side door for you. “I don’t know. But I know it wasn’t good.” His frown deepened. “You mind if I crash at your place tonight? I booked a hotel room, but-”

“Jesus, Marcus, mind? After that? Please, like I’d let you leave me alone tonight. What’d you book a hotel room for anyway? You know you’re always welcome at my place.” But as soon as the words were out you wished you could take them back. He was always welcome at your place. But the last time he was in town, it wasn’t just your place, and your ex hadn’t been thrilled about the closeness of your relationship with Marcus. “Shit, I’m sorry. I know Bill wasn’t exactly great to you. But…” You shrugged. “Bill’s history. It’s my place again. And I want you there.”

He stared at you for a few seconds, something unreadable in his eyes, even to you, even with as well as you knew him. It seemed almost melancholy, but then he blinked and his expression was back to even. “Well then that’s where I’ll be.”

“Good.” You reached for his arm and gave him a light squeeze. “Let’s get the fuck out of here, I’m really spooked.”

“Yeah.” He waited for you to get into the car and then closed your door. “Me too.”

The numbers on the dashboard clock switched to midnight as Marcus turned the car around the circular drive and headed for the road. If either of you had been looking at the house, you might have seen the glow of a pair of eyes watching you from the second story bedroom window. But you didn’t. Instead, those eyes watched you go, and then they blinked into darkness.

-- -- --

Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be added to or removed from the tag list, please feel free to let me know. You can also fill out the form on my Masterlist! :)

tags: @something-tofightfor @littlemisspascal @mishasminion360 @nyctophiliiiiaaa @alraedesigns @practicalghost @tanzthompson @amb11@harriedandharassed @woodlandmouth @thescarletfang @trickstersp8 @imtryingmybeskar @haylzcyon@wildmoonflower @mswarriorbabe80 @theredwritingwitch @silverstarsandsuns @pedro-pedrito-pascalito @jedi-in-crocs @hannahkatharine @anoverwhelmingdin @chiyo13 @myloveistoolittle @spishsstuff @Noisynightmarepoetry

#marcus pike x female reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike fic #marcus pike x reader #pedrostories #marcus pike the mentalist #marcus pike #spooky story #spirits follow everywhere i go #unfinished

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murdrdocs · 2 years

Note

HI DO YOU THINK YOU COULD WRITW A JANE FOSTER X READER OR VALKRYE X READER STORY PLEASE

you’re in luck! i had this in my docs unfinished and finished it finally lolz

includes. SMUT 16+, riding, throne sex, dildos, gays

word count. 1.1k+ words

Late at night, when darkness fell upon New Asgard, Valkyrie liked to take you like this.

Sitting on her throne in the center of the town hall, her legs spread with you perched upon them.

Everyone within the small city would’ve been asleep, yet just to be safe, you two only had a few lamps connected on the wall lit, barely illuminating the room with a low, yellow glow.

It casted a shadow against Valkyrie’s face, and you’re sure it did the same for you too.

Your hands gently cupped her cheeks, one palm on each side, bright and dark.

Her dark eyes stare up at you, and the whites around it emphasizes the orbs. She admires you, marvels at your beauty.

And you do the same.

As you sink your hips back down, your mouth opens, a soft groan leaving your swollen lips. Valkyrie turns her head, her eyes staying fixated on you, and she presses her lips into the palm of your hand. The force of her kiss against your hand is strong, yet weak when put into perspective of everything else about her.

Still, the cushion of her pink lips against the light inside of your hand is heavy, feeling like a stamp with the pressure and weight she puts behind it.

Once her cock is stuffed to the hilt inside of you, you sigh, the sound constricted and tight as it forces itself up your throat and at your lover.

She nods, eyes soft as she reorients her head to face you completely. Her hand is warm as it sneaks up the Phantom of the Opera crewneck you wore (which was definitely not yours), warm as it glides up your thigh and around your waist, hot as it situates itself at the curve of your back and pushes your chest into hers.

“There you go, love.” Valkyrie coaxes, thumb rubbing at your back. Her hips shift, pushing up and furthering her cock into you, even when you thought that wasn’t possible.

You flinch with the movement, muscles tensing then relaxing almost instantly.

Your eyebrows are pinched together, showing your slight discomfort.

“Relax,” She tells you.

As if your body relied on her word, you follow her command. Every muscle relaxes until you’re able to take Valkyrie better than you were able to a minute ago. She nods when she notices your discomfort fading, a gentle smile coming to her lips.

“So big.” You whisper, more so to yourself than her.

“I know.” Valkyrie agrees, her nose scrunching as her other hand comes up behind your head, urging you forward so your forehead can meet hers with a small thud. “But you can take it, can’t you?”

You’re quick to nod, eager to prove yourself.

To make her believe you, you roll your hips once, and then raise yourself slightly only to bring yourself back down. The small movement brings you satisfaction, and an unexpected moan comes tumbling from your mouth and into hers when Valkyrie forces her lips against yours.

She kisses you messily, no real organization to the way her lips move with yours. When you pull back, your lips are wet, as are hers, and you both lick them with accidental synchronization. All the while, Valkyrie starts moving her hips, both of her hands gripping your waist to keep her steady.

“Good girl.” She coos, the praise sounding like heaven coming from her.

You gasp, head throwing back as your hands find hers, holding onto her as you start to try and move your own hips.

Valkyrie’s grip turns strong against your skin and she tuts. When you bring your head back down to look at her, she has a stern look on her face. One she only uses in meetings.

“Let me do all the work.” She says. There’s no room for argument, so you don’t bother. Instead, you nod and keep yourself still, one hand finding Valkyrie’s shoulder while the other stays atop hers on your waist.

She moves slowly, thrusting in you deep, hitting a spot that has a soft gasp coming from your lips every single time.

You nod, not for any reason in particular, yet desiring to show Valkyrie just how good she was making you feel. She takes your nod as the reaction it was intended to be–positive—and drives her hips harder, faster.

When you accidentally shuffle your hips to the side, Valkyrie’s cock hits an angle you hadn’t expected, and the moan you let out is loud.

“Norns, Val.”

“Good?” She asks, as if your physicality didn’t show just that.

“So good, Val. You always make me feel so good.” You manage to tell her, surprising yourself with your own vocality.

“No one can make you feel this good, right?” She tilts her head, unphased. You nod, tongue darting out to lick your lips which have started to dry out from your panting.

“No one.”

Valkyrie’s hand comes to your face, her thumb inching closer to your lips until it sits along the bottom one. You don’t have to be told to open, nor do you have to be told to suck.

When Valkyrie’s thumb is coated in your spit, she lets her hand travel under your crewneck again, careful to keep her finger slick so that she can rub it along your hardened nipple.

She watches your reaction as she pinches the bud, and when you give her the one she’s looking for, she smiles crudely.

Your fingers wrap around her wrist, and you plead. “Val, lemme take over, please.”

She ponders over it, hips still going at the same pace, as her fingers just casually rest around your nipple.

“Sure. Prove yourself.”

And you do, hips working like they never had before.

Eventually, your eyes close, yet you can still feel Valkyrie’s on you.

It doesn’t take long for your stomach to churn, your brain picking up on an itch that desperately needs scratching till satisfaction. And that satisfaction reaches you easily whenever Valkyrie takes her hand from your nipple to bring it between your legs and to your slickened clit.

She only had to rub a few times and then your muscles are tensing, your head collapsing onto her shoulder as you bite onto your lip to stifle your moans.

You’re paused, so Valkyrie takes over again, her hips slowly pistoning into you to guide you through your orgasm.

When you come down and have enough strength to face her again, she smiles softly. “Wanna go at it on my desk? Good view from there.”

You chuckle a bit, eyelids becoming heavy but not heavy enough.

“Of me or New Asgard?”

“A bit of both.”

#valkyrie #valkyrie x reader #thor #thor love and thunder #thor 4 #valkyrie smut #valkyrie x you

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sailtomarina · 11 months

Text

Did you miss me?

She sipped her scotch as she watched the people around her, some of them friends, others just acquaintances, and yet more of them old colleagues and classmates. The wedding of Luna Lovegood and Blaise Zabini brought in faces from all over the Wizarding world, and as happy as Hermione was for the couple, both of whom she could now call dear friends, she also felt a bit out of her element. The liquid courage of Glenmorangie was impossible to resist, particularly because Zabini held nothing back from his guests—only the best liquor was offered.

So enthralled was she in savoring the burn on her tongue as her eyes panned the room, that she didn’t notice him stepping up until his low voice sounded behind her.

“Hermione.”

Applauding herself for her grace in not tossing her glass in surprise, she turned to confront him in all his dressed up glory. Draco Malfoy. Of course he’d be here.

“Draco.”

Her stomach dropped at his smile to her use of his given name. Codswallop. She should’ve stuck to ‘Malfoy’. At least that way, she could feign some semblance of coolness. Right now, she felt closer to how she’d feel at the end of a cardio workout, all racing heart and heavy breathing.

“You look lovely tonight.” He ran his eyes appreciatively over her form without any lewd leer or awkward fixation. She still felt sunburnt from his gaze.

“Thank you. You look quite nice yourself.”

He nodded in acceptance. He did look good, but then again, he always did—good enough to touch, good enough to eat. She still remembered the way he tasted that night several weeks ago, all dark chocolate, bourbon, and desire, a heady combination that both excited and frightened her. She’d left behind her unfinished slice of pecan pie in her haste to escape before they did something they’d both regret.

But what she really regretted was not staying and giving in to the temptation.

“Did you miss me?”

“Excuse me?” Her eyes snapped up to his. Surely she misheard him.

“I said, ‘did you miss me’? You never did owl afterward, and you’ve been conveniently assigned out of the country ever since.” He tilted his head in that irritatingly charming way of his, knowing full well how perfectly his pale locks fell across his forehead and begged to be brushed aside. He kept his pale grey eyes fixed on her and popped his bottom lip out in a childish pout.

“I didn’t get any owls from you, so I didn’t see why I should be the only one reaching out.”

At that response, he stood back up straight, lips now tight in a scowl. “Your superior is Pucey?”

She nodded, and he snorted. “I knew it. What a prat.”

“What do you mean?”

“If you didn’t get any owls then chances are he’s been intercepting my letters. He’s had a hard on for you ever since you joined the department.”

Hermione gaped at the admission. “No way.”

“Yes way. If you only heard the shite Pucey says about you—”

“No, I mean no way did you write me letters.”

When all he did was smirk and raise his eyebrows at her, she finished off her drink in one large gulp.

“But why?”

Draco huffed in disbelief at her question before taking her glass and setting it aside. “Because,” his hand drifted back towards her to trace lightly across her cheek, “I missed you, and wanted to continue where we left off.”

Her breath hitched as his fingers kneaded their way into her curls, where he tilted her head to the side and leaned in close to breathe her in. She practically stood in his embrace, his other arm curling around to rest against the table.

“You…missed me?” She could barely hear herself, her words sinking into his chest. Godric, he smelled delicious. How did he always smell like dessert?

“Mhm.” His lips brushed against the top of her ear. Heat radiated off him and onto her.

“And you want to continue where we left off?”

“Yes. Would you like that?” Was that a hint of insecurity she heard in his voice?

As much as she wanted to tilt her head even further and feel his lips against her neck, she instead shifted back and straightened to once again look at him, her dark eyes searching his.

“If I say yes, what happens next?” Her question seemed to settle something in him, because his expression steeled itself into one that reminded her distinctly of a rare kind of focus—a snitch darting directly in his view, a potion one rotation away from completion.

He moved in close once more, this time bringing his body up flush against hers. He waited, as if giving her the chance to retreat should she desire it. Instead, she stared expectantly up at him, the perfect picture of daring and defiance and pure Hermione Granger.

His thumb was hot where it grazed her ear. “Next, you follow me to my suite and we don’t leave until check out tomorrow.”

“And after that?”

His smile was almost painful as he answered her. “And if you still want to see me after, I’d like to take you out on dates, wine and dine you, meet all your friends and family and introduce you to mine, stay in and read together on rainy days, discuss the latest findings in Potions Quarterly, throw my support towards any charities or causes you care about—”

She shut him up with a sharp tug, yanking his lips down to hers and recapturing them in continuation of what they started all those weeks ago. This time, he tasted like vanilla and buttercream and espresso—wedding cake. The world around them faded away, leaving just the two of them in their own sphere.

A gentle cough interrupted them.

“Hermione, Draco, before you two disappear–” Luna’s voice was all amusement and encouragement, sentiments that reflected themselves in Blaise’s wide grin. The former Slytherin clapped Draco on the shoulder while his wife tugged Hermione into a tight hug. “--thank you so much for coming today, my loves.”

“The pleasure was all ours,” she murmured back, squeezing her friend back with every millilitre of adoration and gratitude she could muster.

“We’ll see you before you leave tomorrow, promise.” Draco assured them, before taking Hermione’s hand in his own.

Ours.

We.

Their language unintentionally reflected their shift in status, as if their body language didn’t already scream it out for all the world to hear.

Blaise offered one parting shot over his shoulder as the couple continued on their rounds, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Considering tonight’s events, Hermione and Draco knew a blessing when they heard one.

“Shall we?”

“We shall.”

#dramione prompt #dramione #dhr fanfiction #draco malfoy x hermione granger #hermione granger #draco malfoy #harry potter fanfiction

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blinkaftermidnight · 20 days

Text

Angst

Under the cut is everything I have for the angst document I mentioned here. It's almost 4k, very unfinished. I have no idea where I was going to take it, which is why I guess I never bothered to finish it. I am not going to scrap it, though.

“What if I’m not me anymore?”

Fatin is silent on the other end of the call, inhales sharply, unsure of what to say. She doesn’t know what answer Leah wants to hear, doesn’t know what answer Leah needs to hear. Fatin goes the safe route, then, even though too much time has passed, even though they’ve been lingering in this uncomfortable silence. Fatin glances at the alarm clock she hasn’t used in years, sees it’s past three in the morning already. She knows she won’t sleep.

“What do you mean?” Fatin asks softly.

Leah heaves a sigh, rephrases, “What if the island fucked me up, like, irreversibly?”

“I think the island changed all of us,” Fatin says, choosing her words carefully. They’ve done this before – or some version of this. Talking about unimportant, mindless shit until it gets late enough for them to feel comfortable laying all their feelings out there. It’s even easier to do over the phone, when they can’t see each other, even if they’ll have to face each other at school the next day. “You’re okay,” Fatin assures her, projecting confidence she doesn’t feel.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They aren’t friends at school. Not really. They know if they need something, the other person will be there, no questions asked. But they don’t hang out during school hours. In the beginning, Fatin kind of thought Leah would be clingier. She waited for Leah to approach her – before class, or at lunch, or after school.

But Leah doesn’t. They text during school hours, sometimes. Share memes via Instagram DMs. When Leah doesn’t go out of her way to hang out with Fatin, Fatin doesn’t go out of her way to hang out with Leah. Fatin assumes that’s what Leah wants, and Fatin doesn’t ask.

She kind of hates herself for it, for not sucking up her pride and going to Leah first, but Fatin couldn’t even confess her feelings while they were trapped in a literal life or death situation, so it’s not exactly surprising.

“I don’t know what to do.”

Fatin swallows her own feelings down, grip tightening on her phone, and she takes a moment to make sure her voice is gonna come out sounding fucking normal before she says, “Seems pretty simple to me. Either say yes or block him, right?”

“I don’t know if I’m ready to, like, go on an actual date,” Leah admits, quietly.

“Then I guess you’re blocking him.”

Fatin doesn’t mean to sound hopeful, but thankfully, Leah’s too busy sighing to pick up on it. “He’s nice enough,” Leah says.

“That’s not a reason to go out with him.”

Leah mulls this over, agrees, “You’re right.”

“Usually am.”

“I don’t want to block him, though.”

“Then say no,” Fatin advises. “Or be honest and tell him you aren’t ready yet. Come on, Leah. You can handle one boy asking you out.”

Leah can, but Fatin isn’t sure if she can handle watching Leah go out with someone who isn’t her. Even though Fatin hasn’t found a way to actually tell Leah she’s…interested. Putting it any other way feels weird and gross.

“Yeah, it’s just…weird, I guess,” Leah says. “After everything – and I’m still worried about something as stupid as this.”

“It’s not stupid,” Fatin says softly. She looks at the time. “And not to cut this short, but I have a test in the morning.”

“No, yeah, of course,” Leah says quickly. “Sorry.”

“You’re fine,” Fatin tells her. And she means it. Fatin almost wishes Leah would ask her to stay on a little longer. For any reason. Fatin doesn’t sleep after they hang up, can’t get rid of the image of Leah asking Fatin to hold out a little longer, just because Leah doesn’t want her to go yet.

And it’s moments like this that Fatin tells herself that this is exactly why she hasn’t told Leah about her feelings. Because they probably aren’t requited. If Leah was into Fatin at all, Fatin would’ve picked up on it by now. Leah just sees them as friends, and Fatin will have to find a way to be okay with that.

She doesn’t. Of course she doesn’t. She’s blowing off therapy – it’s a bunch of shit, anyway, even if it seems to be helping Leah. And Shelby. And Martha. And Rachel. And even Dot. But it’s not for Fatin, even if her mother insists that Fatin should keep trying. Fatin’s done listening to her parents. Being back under their roof is bad enough. She doesn’t need their input in her life anymore, after what they allowed to happen to her.

So Fatin doesn’t find a way to be okay with any of her Leah sitch. It’s funny, how Fatin apologized for putting Leah’s Jeff sitch on blast on the island, and here Fatin is, mentally referring to her unfortunate feelings as her Leah sitch. It makes it easier, maybe, to address it like that, to fold all of her complicated shit into two simple words: Leah sitch.

She’s thinking about her Leah sitch, even as she picks up a guy at Colby’s shitty party. Fatin needs a distraction, and she desperately tells herself that this will work. And maybe it would’ve, if Fatin wouldn’t have spotted Leah walking through the front door as Fatin follows her guy to the stairs. Maybe it would’ve worked, if Fatin’s eyes wouldn’t have immediately locked with Leah’s. And now Fatin is frozen, and the guy she’s with is getting impatient, and Leah’s expression is just completely blank.

Maybe it would’ve worked, if Fatin wasn’t left to overthink something that should be so mundane. Something that Fatin shouldn’t even care about. And this is the final nail in the coffin, isn’t it? Leah’s total non-reaction. Leah sees them as just friends, and this is Fatin’s usual, right? Get drunk at a party, fuck a random guy, stumble home if she’s too drunk to call an Uber or hitch a ride.

That’s how it’s supposed to go. Fatin’s not nearly drunk enough when she finally gets back downstairs, without her guy in tow, because fuck him. He wasn’t even that good in bed. She doesn’t know that she’s going to fuck everything up, but she has a feeling. She knows if she sees Leah, nothing good will happen.

So of course she sees Leah. In the kitchen, while Fatin’s pouring herself another drink. She curses when she misses the cup at first, splashing alcohol onto the counter and over her hand. When she looks up, someone’s holding a towel out to her, and Fatin freezes when her eyes lock with Leah’s.

Leah’s taller than usual. It’s the first thing Fatin notices, apart from how blue Leah’s eyes look in this shitty kitchen lighting. Leah’s lips twist into a gentle, but wary, smile as Fatin graciously takes the towel and wipes the alcohol from her hand, then the counter.

“You okay?” Leah asks.

“Huh? Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” Fatin scoffs, without even thinking.

“Well, no offense, but you’re clearly trashed and still trying to drink more,” Leah says, and she gingerly lifts Fatin’s half-filled cup from Fatin’s hand and sets it aside. Leah’s smile shifts from wary to wry. “That doesn’t exactly scream okay.”

“I’m just stressed,” Fatin lies. “Blowing off some steam.”

Leah’s eyebrows raise. “Is that what you were doing?”

“Actually, I was blowing this guy named Brandon, but I don’t know why I bothered. He wasn’t any good.”

Leah nods, humming in response as Fatin cringes at her in ability to keep her mouth shut. Maybe she’s drunker than she thought. Fatin reaches for her drink, and Leah catches Fatin’s wrist in her hand. Fatin falters, doesn’t argue as Leah nudges the cup farther out of reach.

“Maybe you should drink something else,” Leah suggests.

“Shots? We can do –”

“Water,” Leah interrupts, but her eyes shine with undeniable amusement. Leah produces a water bottle out of nowhere – well, at least to Fatin’s drunk brain, it seems like Leah pulls it from thin air – and even removes the cap for Fatin. So Fatin humors Leah, takes a small sip.

“Isn’t it kind of funny –” Fatin swiftly cuts herself off, eyes widening as she realizes where she’s intending to steer this conversation, but Leah motions for her to continue. “How we’re only speaking to each other at a party because of the fucked up shit that happened to us?” Fatin finishes, softly.

Leah shrugs, leans her hip against the counter, and crosses her arms over her chest. Defensively, maybe. “It’s funny because you never would’ve spoken to me at a party if we hadn’t suffered together, right?”

Fatin hesitates. She drinks more water now as an excuse not to speak, but she ends up nodding anyway. “Why are you here?” Fatin asks. “Parties don’t really strike me as your thing.”

Leah’s expression darkens, and she shrugs again, but stiffly. Her arms stay crossed over her chest, and she can’t look Fatin in the eye. “I just – didn’t want to be home right now.”

Fatin makes a grab for her drink again, actually gets a hand on it, and as she anticipates, Leah plucks it from her grasp. Fatin flicks the side of the cup, says, “You should drink that.”

“I don’t think that’s –”

“You really wanna deal with my drunk ass while totally sober?” Fatin challenges.

And Leah downs the contents of the cup.

They lie in the grass together, side by side, giggling about nothing. Fatin hates that it reminds her of the island, in a vague way. It’s just the two of them, on an isolated part of the lawn, talking about nonsense when they aren’t simply enjoying the presence of another person. Or maybe that’s what Leah’s doing, because Fatin is enjoying the first moment alone she’s got with Leah in…well, it’s been a while, if Fatin doesn’t count their regular late night phone calls.

Their laughter tapers off, eventually, as sobriety slowly creeps up on Fatin. It creeps up on Leah, too; Leah didn’t drink nearly as much as Fatin.

“I don’t think I’m me anymore,” Fatin says, out of nowhere, not even sure herself where it came from. In her peripheral vision, she sees Leah turn her head toward her, sees Leah’s eyebrows pull together. Fatin inhales sharply. “You asked me once –”

“I remember.”

“Okay,” Fatin says quietly. “I think I’m trying so hard to be whoever I thought I was before, you know, the island. I don’t even know why. It’s not like I have something to prove.”

“I heard you stopped going to therapy.”

“Don’t start,” Fatin warns, and Leah lets it drop.

“I guess this is your chance to discover who you are, then,” Leah says.

Fatin rubs at her eyes with the heels of her hands, exhaling slowly. “Yeah. Whatever. I think I’m gonna go home.”

Normally Fatin would die to be alone with Leah for as long as possible, but now, she honestly just wants to collapse into bed and sleep for twelve hours. But Leah gets to her feet when Fatin does, brushes grass off her ass, and grabs Fatin by the shoulder.

“Hold up. I’ll walk you,” Leah says. She’s not asking, or offering. She’s telling. She’s going to walk Fatin home, whether Fatin wants her to or not.

They walk silently, at first, shoulders bumping together every few steps. Fatin rubs at her temple as a headache begins to form, ignores how quickly the silence turns awkward, and hopes against all odds that Leah won’t break it by starting up an unpleasant conversation. Like how they don’t talk at school. Or the boys that are certainly shooting their shot with Leah; Fatin has rejected her fair share herself, if they want anything more than a hookup. Or therapy. Or Fatin’s feelings. Fatin could do without having any of those conversations, especially right now.

“Thank you,” Leah says abruptly, drawing Fatin’s eyes over to her. But Leah stares straight ahead. “For always answering when I call.”

“Of course,” Fatin mumbles. “You don’t actually have to walk me all the way home. I know it’s out of your way.”

Leah shrugs. “I want to.”

“You mean, you still don’t want to go home.”

Leah hesitates, catches her lower lip between her teeth, and fails to suppress a small smile. “My parents are trying too hard to make it up to me, and as the trial gets closer – it’s just hard to be around.”

Right. The trial. It’s set for over the summer, after they’ve graduated from high school, and Fatin tries not to think about it.

“At least your parents care,” Fatin replies. “Mine like to act like nothing happened.”

“How can they…?” Leah trails off, and Fatin forces a thin smile, forces herself to look at Leah when Leah looks at her.

“I don’t really want to talk about it.”

Leah doesn’t say how Fatin never really wants to talk about it, how Fatin rarely talks about her own shit during their late night calls. Leah probably feels guilty for not pushing Fatin to talk sooner, probably feels like she can’t push Fatin now. That’s more than fine with Fatin. Fatin has to be careful with what she says, anyway. She’s afraid to getting too close to the subject of her Leah sitch.

“So,” Leah says, “how’s the college hunt going?”

Fatin rolls her eyes. “I think I want to take a gap year.”

“Because of the trial.”

“Yep.”

“Me too,” Leah says, and Fatin tries not to visibly startle. “I’m thinking about going to school outside of California, though. I wasn’t before – everything, but now I think I should see something new.”

“Like?”

“The East Coast?”

“Why?” Fatin asks, genuinely confused.

Leah inhales deeply, says, “Well, Rachel’s there. She’s planning to stay in New York.”

So is Nora, and while Fatin is positive Leah has that thought at the same time that she does, neither brings it up.

“That’s a good idea,” Fatin says, keeping her voice even and expression neutral.

Then, out of nowhere:

“You don’t seem like you’re okay.”

Fatin stops walking, and Leah comes to a reluctant stop beside her, jams her hands into her pockets and grimaces as Fatin’s eyes study her. “What makes you say that?” Fatin asks softly.

Leah’s shoulders raise in a half-shrug. “It’s a feeling.”

“I don’t need you to watch after me.”

“I’m just – you can talk to me,” Leah offers. “If you want to. I know I talk to you a lot, but you can – I want to be there for you, too.”

“I’m fine,” Fatin insists, because the main reason she’s not fine is not something she can take to Leah. She only told Dot weeks after the island, after she swore Dot to secrecy, after she made Dot promise never to tell any of the other girls or anyone who could tell the other girls.

“I don’t think you are.”

But Leah’s eyes, at least, confirm that she isn’t sure why. She doesn’t know that Fatin’s agonizing over her feelings for Leah.

“I have Dot,” Fatin says, smoothly, easily, and she watches pain flicker across Leah’s face, the way Fatin knew it would. Fatin doesn’t regret it. Because Leah goes to Fatin first, and Fatin goes to Dot with her problems.

“I know,” Leah says, voice sounding more strained than before. “But just – I’m here, you know? Like, I’m ten minutes away, and Dot’s in a different state.”

Fatin doesn’t know if she wishes she was sober or totally fucked up. Being in this weird in between state isn’t desirable. She doesn’t like the way Leah looks at her. Soft. Vulnerable. Like if Fatin decides to be a total bitch right now, she could probably make Leah cry. Probably only because Leah’s still not entirely sober, either. They stare into each other’s eyes, and Fatin stands with her back straight, trying to reduce their difference in height.

“Why don’t you talk to me at school?” Fatin asks. She waits for Leah to feign confusion or play it off as unimportant, but instead, Leah’s expression softens even further.

“I didn’t think you’d want to be seen with me,” Leah admits. “We receive enough attention on our own.”

“So that’s it?”

Leah’s eyebrows pull together. “Did you think it was something else?”

“No,” Fatin answers, quickly.

“Is that what was bothering you?”

No, but it’s safer to let Leah think it’s that, so Fatin says, “Sure. C’mon. My head’s starting to kill me.”

The moment Fatin reaches the driveway, her parents step out the front door together, even though it’s already pushing eleven. If they have an opinion about the fact that Fatin has shown up with Leah at her side, they keep it to themselves.

“Your brothers are in bed,” her mom tells her. “We’re going to see your grandfather in the hospital. We’ll call if anything happens.”

“Be responsible,” her father adds, and Fatin rolls her eyes. Her grandfather is in a hospital over an hour away, and her parents are in a hurry. They drive off before Leah gets a chance to say a word.

“Do you need a ride home?” Fatin asks. “Because I think your ride just left.”

“Can I stay?” Leah blurts.

Fatin desperately wants to say yes, though part of her itches to tell Leah to go, for a reason Fatin doesn’t fully analyze. Even though Fatin’s had months to process her Leah sitch, the fact that it exists at all still doesn’t sit right with Fatin.

“Yeah,” Fatin sighs. They have guest rooms. If Leah wants to avoid her parents so badly, she can sleep in one.

Fatin can’t really bring herself to believe this would’ve gone any differently. Old habits die hard and all that. Fatin wakes up sometime in the middle of the night with her face pressed against Leah’s shoulder, with Leah’s hand resting limply on Fatin’s thigh. Fatin brushes it aside. Feelings or not, Leah can keep her hands to herself.

Nothing happened, of course. They just went to bed, and Leah didn’t make a beeline for a guest room, and Fatin didn’t have the heart to tell Leah she couldn’t sleep in her bed. They started on opposite sides, at least. And now Fatin’s awake, and Leah’s still sleeping, and Fatin threatens to choke on the emotions swelling in her chest. The Leah sitch is, very much, still a sitch.

Fatin gets out of bed, suddenly feels like she’s overheating even though she’s literally in a baggy T-shirt gifted to her by Dot and a skimpy pair of panties – though she could’ve worn skimpier. Fatin pops her head into both of her brothers’ rooms, just to confirm that they’re still there and still asleep. And they are.

Fatin heads down to the kitchen to get a glass of water, leans back against the counter with the glass in one hand and her phone in the other. It’s not like she’s expecting much. Deletes a few texts from a few random guys. Scrolls through Instagram and likes a post from Martha, a post from Bo. Refuses to check why the Unsinkable Eight is currently trending on Twitter. She can deal with that once it’s actually morning instead of three a.m.

She sets the glass in the sink and turns in the direction of the staircase, jumping when she spots a tall, dark figure lingering nearby.

“Jesus, fuck!” Fatin exclaims, clutching at her chest. “Why would you do that?”

“Sorry,” Leah grunts, and she sounds anything but. “You were gone.”

Fatin blinks. “In my own house. It’s not like –”

It’s not like I’ve disappeared in the middle of the night on the island.

She thinks Leah knows what she means.

“Still,” Leah says. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“I told you, I’m fine,” Fatin snaps. “I don’t need you watching my every move.”

“Maybe someone should.”

They both go silent, then, glaring at each other in the darkness. Or Fatin is glaring, and based on what little she can make out of Leah’s expression, she thinks Leah is glaring back. Fatin glances over at the clock on the microwave, at the bright green 3:14 and absently thinks about how many nights they’ve spent on the phone around this time, talking about everything and nothing.

“Can we go back to bed?” Leah asks, impatience seeping into her voice.

“No one’s stopping you.”

“Come with me,” Leah requests, and Fatin heaves a sigh, as if it pains her to follow the girl she’s had feelings for back to her own bed.

“Dying to get me in bed?” Fatin quips. Her mouth feels dry in spite of the water she just drank. Fatin assumes Leah rolls her eyes before she huffs.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Leah says, going heavy on the sarcasm.

“Keep your voice down. You’ll wake my brothers.”

Leah simply exhales, and she follows Fatin up the stairs.

They lie in uncomfortable silence, both on their backs but with enough space between them to prevent their arms from touching. Fatin’s at the edge of the mattress, in danger of falling off if she moves any closer. It feels safer than getting closer to Leah. She knows Leah won’t sleep, can feel in the tense silence between them that Leah is thinking, waiting until she knows what she wants to say before she breaks the silence that Fatin would rather have stretch on.

“Did I do something?” Leah breathes out. “Apart from asking if you’re okay.”

Fatin inhales sharply, manages to say, “No. You didn’t.”

“I just want to help. The way you’ve always helped me.”

Fatin pauses at that as her stomach twists itself into knots. This is always easier over the phone, when Fatin’s alone in her bed, when Leah’s not within touching distance. “I know,” Fatin says, and to be safe, she folds her hands over her stomach, keeps herself as far away from Leah as physically possible. “But you can’t help me with this.”

“Try me.”

“You can’t,” Fatin insists.

“Does Dot know about it?”

Fatin hesitates, which might as well be Leah’s answer, so she confesses, “Yes, Dot does. But it’s different.”

“How?” Leah presses. “I’m here with you, right now –”

“And that’s the problem.”

There’s a long pause while Leah struggles to process the meaning behind Fatin’s words. “I don’t – what do you mean?”

“I told you I’m okay,” Fatin says. “That should be enough.”

“Maybe it isn’t.” The mattress jostles as Leah rolls onto her side facing Fatin, and Fatin closes her eyes, wishes she couldn’t feel Leah’s eyes boring a hole into the side of her face. “I tell you everything,” Leah whispers.

“I never asked you to,” Fatin replies.

“I’ve asked you if I should stop, and you always say no. So tell me why you don’t want to do the same. Especially since you refuse to stay in therapy.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Fatin.”

Fatin clenches her jaw. “It’s not your problem. It’s mine. I can handle it.”

“You don’t have to handle it alone.”

“I do.”

“Why?”

They shouldn’t be having this conversation in the middle of the night. It’s too easy for words to slip. “Because they’re my feelings.”

“About…?” Leah prompts, and when Fatin doesn’t answer, she asks, “The island?”

Fatin opens her eyes. “How many dates have you gone on since we got back?”

Fatin can feel Leah’s confusion. “I don’t see how – none. I’m not ready.”

“Exactly.”

“Fatin, I don’t –” It must start to click as Leah cuts herself off.

#my fic #the wilds #fatin jadmani #leah rilke #leatin

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crowwritesaway · 6 months

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Thomas Shelby Best Friend XXV

TW: angst, self hatred, self-harm,

“Let’s just say I pulled another stunt of mine. Like last time.” Zoey mumbled, not making eye contact. She never liked speaking about her feelings. Yeah, he was her best friend. But there was that vulnerability that she didn’t want to show. It felt terrible. After all, she grew up in a household that punished her for being too emotional as a child.

Thomas shook his head. Last time. It was when Zoey had recently came back from the war. She looked lost. She would wear a shaky smile to comfort those around her. She kept up her usual routine. Fighting. Smoking. Drinking until she couldn’t feel the pain. The shame. The sadness. The fear. She tried to end it. Of course, he found her diary. He read it. He knew she wasn’t okay. None of them were.

“I didn’t mean to. I just…” Zoey said, looking down at her hands. “It’s okay. I understand.” Thomas said, in an attempt to comfort her. Everything has been too much. He knew from her red eyes and bitten nails. She was not herself.

“It’s not really though.” Zoey said through gritted teeth. “It hurts to sleep.” John looked at her with teary eyes. Thomas balled up his fists. What do I do? What can I do? I don’t like seeing her in pain. I want her to be happy.

“Here.” He put a paper in front of her. Zoey looked up. What’s that? “Write what you want to do. Anything. Dreams you have. Whatever you desire.” She sighed. Dreams.

“You can put down candy.” John said, hinting at her about her sweet tooth. Zoey scoffed. “Or you can list those that owe you.” John smirked, he liked that idea better.

“To live out of spite.” Zoey thought about it. She picked up the pen that Thomas had set on the desk. That does sound like fun. Pay my respects to the dead. And live like no one is watching.

She twirled the pen in her hands. Thomas smiled. Zoey was grinning. His Zoe was happy. Even if it was just for a second, he was content with her being present. She could lose herself in that head of hers. So, distracting her and keeping her company will be his priority. Always.

Zoey scribbled away. She listed the names in a way only she could understand.

“Do you know how’s my mum?” Zoey asked, setting the pen down. “She’s stable. No longer at the hospital.” Zoey frowned. She was glad her mom was doing a lot better.

“Now, you don’t have to finish the list now. We can store it in the safe. And you can add more to it when you want.” Zoey hummed. She looked at the list. “You can store it.” Thomas put the paper aside.

“You have unfinished business. We have earned new enemies. New alliances.” Thomas told Zoey, he was in business mode.

Zoey sat up. “I can’t wait to meet them.” John grinned. His troublemaker was back. Oh, the fun and terror that would come to those that get in their way.

“First order of business that I have for you is to get rid of any rats within our circle.” Zoey nodded, “Got it.”

“John.” He turned to face his brother. “Go with Arthur and he’ll let you know what you’ll be dealing with.” John nodded.

“You may leave.” Thomas dismissed John. John rolled his eyes. He hugged Zoey and exited the office. “See you around.” John whispered in her ear. Zoey waved him off.

“Am I allowed to go or…” Zoey was pulled out of her seat and embraced by Thomas. Zoey hugged him back. “I’ll say again in case you need a reminder. We’re your family. Whatever you need, I’m here.”

“And remember, we don’t run. People run from us.”

Stay around for more of Thomas Shelby Best Friend

#thomas shelby x reader #john shelby x oc #john shelby x reader #peaky blinder fanfic #thomas shelby x oc #crowwritesaway #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinder x reader #female reader #thomas shelby x plus size reader #john shelby x you #thomas shelby fanfic #thomas shelby fluff #thomas shelby angst #thomas shelby x y/n #peaky blinders x oc

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blooky8 · 21 days

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ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤhaiiii :ззз

you are currently visiting the haunted blog of a restless spirit.

«who exactly is haunting this place?», you might ask, and i'll answer that if you look around well enough, you'll be sure to see some familiar faces, even if most of their features are faded and distorted by the ectoplasm.

look at that fella right behind you! seems like it's the ghost of that project you are putting off finishing right now! it looks so clear because it's not quite dead yet, the situation might still be salvageable, but on the brink of death the poor thing has nothing to do but to follow you around until you feel its weight behind you and decide to pay attention to it!

i would guess that you'd want to deal with that as soon as possible, but if you've scrolled through the hellsite far enough to find me, motivating you is already a lost cause...

oh well! since you're staying, we could pay a visit to everyone else hanging around! there are the weeping ghosts of unfinished drawings, some leave smearing ink behind them, some - sharp pixels... oh, and that big unmoving pile of ectoplasm is the ghosts of all the books you dropped reading after barely even starting them! be careful around that place, you might accidentally find a fanfiction poltergeist among them, that's gonna become a problem really fast...

see that sad, fading thing over there? that's the ghost of a forgotten website. not sure where it came from, but that one's still holding onto this layer of reality solely because of me feeding him with simple html code from time to time. he's so ancient, i can barely believe that he managed to reach this place! if i find out who left him like this, that irresponsible user is in big trouble!!!

...it wasn't you, right?

👻 about me:

blook

she/they

adult

🔮 current interests:

animaniacs

pinky and the brain

will sometimes reblog: aa, rgg, su, pnf, mlp, woy

📝 what i post:

analysis

moodboards

screenshots

reviews

random thoughts

rb art, headcanons, non-fandom stuff i find interesting

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going-loud · 9 months

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III - THE EMPRESS

honestly i really knocked this one out surprisingly fast, i've been feeling pretty motivated the past couple of days and i would've finished it sooner if not for my ipad having to charge :). to be honest, something feels a bit unfinished on this one to me, but i also feel like it'll get too busy if i add anything else so... it's gonna stay like this for now until i revisit it lol

The Empress is none other than miss Alecto herself, bodyguard and cavalier primary to The Emperor (spoiler alert for my next card). The Empress is a representation of fertility, femininity, and Mother Nature. She is decorated with pomegranates as a symbol of that fertility, although in my depiction Alecto appears crushing that fruit in her anger at being destroyed and remade in John's image. (side note: i didn't realized until i finished this card how similar my background is to The Arcana Tarot Empress card... so i will put the disclaimer here as always that my series and interpretations are largely influenced by that book!). Upright, the Empress conveys "selflessness and acts of service", an integral part of Alecto's personality she couldn't abandon even after trying. Reversed, the Empress is concerned with an imbalance in how much one is giving of themselves and receiving from others. Alecto gave John infinite power to save her, and in turn, was destroyed and confined for 10,000 years. Alecto continues to give more and more of herself out of love, and often is hurt for doing so. For these reasons, I chose Alecto as The Empress (and John as The Emperor, of course).

in a less serious note, i've been struggling recently comparing myself to other artists online... being a freelance artist nowadays unfortunately means being a content creator as well and honestly i'm not good at it LOL. seeing other people's fanart and the success people have online...it gives me hope in a way, but makes me insecure in another. i'm trying to remind myself that digital art is pretty new to me in this capacity, and i need to give myself room to grow. but anyways, if youre still reading, thank you for checking out my art and if you want to see a print of this work lmk in the tags! i have a print of THE HIGH PRIESTESS on my etsy already!

#the locked tomb #alecto #tlt #queer art #tarot #ntn #artist #digital art #procreate #barbie #i looked at hollywood hair barbie photos extensively for this drawing i hope i captured the vibe #hollywood hair barbie #the empress #tarot cards #tlt analysis #ntn spoilers

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ladysmutwriter · 13 days

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Take me one more time

Continuation of Watching her Fade Away! Summary of that fic// after a nasty fight with your boyfriend Simon Henrikkson, you cheat on him with his best friend David, breaking up with him afterwards.

After breaking up with Simon you move from Stockholm to pursue your studies, however, after a year of no contact with him, Sophie calls you to tell you Simon was badly injured in a hit and run, leaving him paralyzed from his waist down, and that perhaps your company could help him in the deep depression he now has.

This was an unfinished fic, i might not finish it, but here are the two chapters i wrote into one.

art credit @/ throat2834 on TikTok

You were walking out of school, hands in your hoodie as the snow fell from the sky, all the other kids chatting with their friends as they got out of their classes.

You were never one to have many friends, usually more kept to yourself, your only friend being David, a guy who was a few years older than you, about to graduate- you two met on detention, after you got sent there for "vandalizing" the bathroom's walls; the teacher there just told you to stay quiet, and then got out of the classroom to go smoke, there, the only other kid was this messy brunnette, his hair falling on his face and a scar under his eye as he mindlessly drawed on his history book.

Getting closer to see his drawings, you began talking, and then he walked you to your home, exchanged numbers and began talking.

You had a bit of a crush in him, after all he had this "bad boy" look plastered all over him, teaching you how to smoke cigarettes behind school, introducing you to Simon and Sophie, which had the same age as you; you four began hanging out daily, until your crush for David faded away and was filled with Simon.

Thankfully, your attraction was mutual, as Sophie once told you Simon had told her he liked you.

It was the beggining of the sour relationship you'd endure for years.

You were driving back to Stockholm, the map on the copilot seat and Deftones sounding in low volume as you entered the colorless town, all of your memories coming back and the guilt rotting deep in your brain once again eating your head.

After your little affair with David you two cut off all relationship you used to had, the years of being there for each other burned into regret from both parts, the only contact you still had being only Sophie; her constantly talking to you and keeping you up with her life. After you confessed what had happened with David, she promised you that Simon would never know about it in your absence.

Stoping the car in front of Sophie's house, you got out and knocked on the door, after a few seconds a happy Sophie oppened the door and hugged you tightly, telling you how much she missed you, her arms giving you that warmth you missed oh-so-much. Breaking the hug she invited you to her house, you sitting on her couch as she went to get you some coffee, after all you drived some good hours to get back, feeling your eyes close by themselves as you took in the warmth of her house and fell asleep on the couch.

Once you woke up, you saw Sophie watching the TV as she sat next to you, the still warm cup of coffe in front of you in the little table; reaching out to drink it, you began some small talk with her, mostly about how she had been, until the topic landed on Simon.

"I really regret what i did" You admitted, suddenly your throat becoming dry, the memories of seeing Simon cry as you broke up with him coming back to your head.

"I know Y/N" she answered after taking some time to think, her eyes scanning your face as she gave you a soft look, never judging you, instead, understanding you.

She knew how Simon was with you, after all she heard always she sides from both of you whenever you had an argument, her support mostly landing on your side as for all she loved Simon and held him as a dear friend, she knew how toxic he could be.

You ended up crashing at Sophie's, spending the night cuddling with her as you watched movies and ordered some chinese food; preparing yourself to go visit Simon the next day.

The sun rised, Sophie waking you up so you'd go shower and get ready- the warm water hitting your skin making you relax, after all, you were supossed to fix things now.

Second Chapter:

Simon was... Empty.

He still remembers your breakup, you asked to meet him in his house, a day after the big fight; you looked... Bad, to say it somehow, your eyes didn't look at him how you used to look at him, with love; no, it was almost disgust now, empty, voidless eyes staring into him as you said the words he feared so much.

"I don't think we have a future together"

Those lips he used to kiss so much, now giving him the worst words he ever heard. You were his first love, his first everything. And you were leaving him like everyone else, he felt his body go cold, his hands trembling, the urge to scream and beg for you to not leave burning his throat, instead, he went silent, his eyes staring at the floor.

You two were sitting on the edge of his bed, your hand over his as silent tears ran down your tired eyes; his face seemed of pure rage, you were just like everyone else-

"Din jävla tikt"

You frowned your face at the insult, letting out a short squeak of fear as Simon pushed you to your back, him straddling your hips as his mouth forced onto yours.

Was this what you wanted? For him to be like your shitty exes? He could be that and way worse- inflict on you the pain you were giving him right now. Teeth against each other as his hands pressed down on your body keeping you still as you tried to squirm, fingers digging painfully into your soft flesh as more tears ran down your face, screams of desesperation muffled against Simon's mouth.

You'd never forget the taste of that last kiss, cigarettes and coffee, a taste you used to love so much turned into one of the worst memories of your life.

It was when one of his hands left your torso to move onto your neck, choking you as you finally got the strength to push him away, him landing on the floor as you got up, face red, hair messy and tears streaming down your cheeks like rivers, your legs shaking as Simon's mother opened the door after she heard the struggle, asking what had happened in a panicked voice, after all, her son was on the floor looking at you as if he was one step from murdering you, and you completely terrified on the other side.

You ran, away from that house, away from the memories.

...

Simon's thoughts were interrupted as his phone buzzed.

It was already 3 PM, him still on his bed, his curtains closed as he took a look at his phone- his chest hurting as he recognized the number.

"Can i visit you? I'll stay at Stockholm for a few days in case you want to talk"

He stared for some seconds at the message, his hands becoming sweaty as he answered with a simple "yes". Shit, he hadn't bathed in days, less brushed his teeth, and his room probably smelled like shit too- but he didn't bother changing any of that, after all, a part of him wanted you to feel pity for him, to feel guilty, to beg to be back with him, somehow those thoughts making sense in his delusional brain.

Probably half an hour passed before he heard the door ring, hearing his mother squeal in happiness at seeing you, now all that was left was for you to cross the door to his room.

On your perspective, going back to that house made you uncomfortable, the feeling of being choked returning to your head as you hugged his mother, she was a nice lady- always worried about Simon, cleaning his mess and working her back off to afford him treatment. As much as she used to be a motherly figure to you, her hugs felt like Simon's; after having a small chat with her, you told her you were here to see her son, she said goodbye as she had to go meet Simon's dad somewhere and left you alone in the house.

Everything was silent there, only your footsteps ringing in your ears as you finally stood in Simon's door.

Knocking, you got in, the harsh smell of bad higiene hitting your nose as you saw his room, a complete mess, magazines on the floor, rotting food in plates and his wheelchair with clothes stacked up on it, the lump on the bed being Simon, who didn't even bother looking away from his phone to greet you.

He was vulnerable now- you had to remind yourself, he was weaker than never before; a small sense of pity forming in your gut as you walked towards his bed, sitting next to him as you placed your hand gently over his, him letting his phone drop to the covers as his eyes went to yours.

Deep eyebags, unkept facial hair and reddened eyes from sleeping all day- he looked like shit.

No words needed to be spoken, and neither of you wanted to anyways, anxiety filling up both your chests as your eyes met.

Your hand went to his face, caressing it softly, fingers then tangling on his greasy hair, sighing as you realized he was living as bad as he looked, his breath stank too- you trying your best to not make any face of disgust.

"Let's go wash you" You said to his surprise, but he didn't say anything, he was locking his feelings, afraid that if he showed any emotion he'd break into a million pieces, letting out his feelings for you in the proccess.

Getting up, you cleaned up his wheelchair, grabbing him up by his armpits as you dragged him to sit down on it, moving the chair towards his bathroom- thankfully his bathroom was big enough for you two, you going to turn the faucet on as you prepared him the tub, as soon as warm water filled it, you turned to Simon, giving him an awkard smile.

First step was to help him brush his teeth, as soon as he finished you helped him clean any toothpaste left overs from his facial hair.

He didn't even stare at you, his eyes lost on the tub as he thought how long had it been since he properly bathed, layers of sweat stuck to his skin- probably the water would end up black afterwards. Realizing he was a lost case, you kneeled in front of him to take off his black t-shirt, him offering no help nor protest, anxiety bubbling up your skin as you saw he spread his cuts to his torso, some fresh, some older, some already healed; you'd need to disinfect some later. Moving down, you began pulling down his pants, his hands instantly going to grab yours- his face crimson red as he looked away from you.

"It´s nothing i haven´t seen before Simon" You said- his hands leaving yours as he breathed a little more heavily.

Pulling the pants down with his boxers in one fast movement, you avoided looking at his groin- you weren't a perv. Lifting him up and getting him into the bathtub was another whole task, he had gained some weight, making it harder for you to move him in your arms. Once you had him in the tub, you got to work, applying shampoo on his head as you used a cup that was lying around to wet his hair.

You spent a good 15 minutes on his hair, untangling it and massaging his scalp, making him ease into it, letting out little sighs as he relaxed. After his hair looked shiny, you moved some of it from his face, smiling at the tenderness of the situation- the hatred you once had for each other forgotten into the peaceful situation, the only sound being of your fingers softingly cleaning Simon.

Things changed when you went with the sponge, your hand underwated rubbing on Simon's thighs, trying to clean his skin when his hand went to grab your arm, his wet hair pressing down on your shoulder as his fingers digged into your skin. Realizing what was going on, you had a mental debate- where you really gonna go down this path? What if he assumed you were going to go back with him if you "did" this?

However, something lit up inside of you... Seeing him so, vulnerable, desesperate- you were probably the first person to care for him this way in such a long time, wouldn't you extend your kindness just a bit more?

Letting go of the sponge, your hand went up his thigh, feeling his body hair thicken as your hand reached upper and upper, feeling the intense warmth emanating from his crotch, even in the hot water.

He let out a low groan as your hand grasped his hard dick, fingers going to rub his tip before masturbating him, hand moving up and down as he bit your shoulder, his whole body tensing. He finally looked at you- god, were you gorgeous, your brows furrowed as you bit your lip, focused on getting him to cum, now letting out groans and moans for you to hear, your face moving to his direction, finally your lips meeting as he felt his orgasm come closer, since he hadn't done anything in some time, being a bit too sensitive, not really lasting long before feeling the knot on his lower abdomen grow.

Your tongues danced with each other, your hand jerking him off rapidly as his grip on you tightened, letting out little mewls of your name as he broke the kiss, hiding his face on the crook of your neck as he came, his fluids mixing with the water as he came down from his high, breathing heavily.

"Well, we better change the water now"

#cry of fear #cry of fear x reader #cry of fear smut #david leatherhoff x reader #simon henriksson x reader

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